On Thin Ice (Editing)

Chapter 2

Revised 1/1/2018

*

I cringe as I step through the doors of the Daytona Beach Ice Complex, in part because of the freezing temperatures, and in part because it's a Saturday.  What's wrong with Saturdays, you ask?  Well, nothing, unless you're working the counter at a packed skating complex, that happens to have every single rink in use from open to close.  On Saturdays, everyone comes out, which means that all six rinks are being put to use by hockey teams, coaches and their students, skating lessons, and competitors.  As soon as someone's time slot is up on the ice, the next group swoops right in, and it continues in this fashion all day.  Saturdays mean hundreds of people who are in the complex, which also means hundreds of people coming to the concessions stand.

So basically, Saturdays are the fucking worst.

I step behind the counter to take Elliot's place. He gives me a nod and a shy smile before leaving the small room and heading outside for his mom to pick him up.  Elliot's a sweet kid, some high school sophomore with his first job.  He typically has the shift before mine, but he never sticks around long enough to exchange more than a hello.  Despite that, I feel the need to pull him under my wing like a little brother, due to his shy and lovable nature.

I pull my sweater over my head and place my hands in my pockets, clutching my hand warmers desperately as I try to adjust to the ridiculously low temperature of the building.  The first two days, I tried to wear gloves to work, but I quickly realized my mistake when I drenched them in popcorn butter.

Making sure the room is tidy, I settle onto the stool behind the counter and wait for the next customer.  Eventually, a girl who looks to be two or three years younger than me steps up and asks for a Pepsi and two soft pretzels.  She's wearing a pair of soffee shorts and a simple black leotard, and she has a tiny frame that screams figure skater.  I briefly think that she and Elliot would look cute together and make a mental note to play matchmaker in the future.

When I turn back to the counter with her order, I see her eyes widen and she grins.  "Wait, are you Violet Whitney?" she asks excitedly, bouncing on her toes.  I nod slowly, not recognizing her.  "Oh my gosh, I can't believe it's you.  You're like a legend in the figure skating world, you know."

This causes me to pause, and I feel myself growing irritated.  "I'm not a figure skater," I tell her simply, shrugging and repeating the total, so that she'll move along and I can forget this conversation ever happened.

"But you were," she frowns, before grinning again.  "You were the best, actually.  This is so exciting.  I totally looked up to you whenever you were still skating for Missy.  You probably don't know me, but I'm Isabel Placencia, and when I was in Missy's beginner class, she brought you in to show us some moves, and wow, I never thought I would actually get the chance to meet you again.  What are you doing here?  Did you start skating again?"

I place two fingers at my temple and prod the area, feeling a headache coming on.  "That's eight dollars and seventy-two cents," I tell her through a tight-lipped smile, and her face falls as she realizes that I'm done with the conversation.  She slips me a ten-dollar bill and I hand back the appropriate change, letting out a sigh of relief when she walks away.

Missy swoops up to the counter next, shaking her head at me.  "Not cool, Violet," she sighs, obviously disappointed.  "Isabel is a sweet girl, you could've at least tried to show an interest in the conversation."