Will O Wisp | YA Novella

Chapter 8: It's Just What We Know

We never learn, we been here before, Why are we always stuck and running from, The bullets? The bullets?

Will opens his hands to the arena's roof, while Ocean swoops in from the side to propel them in a clockwise motion—the direction they've always practiced their spins, so many times that dizzy is now a foreign word. A synchronized backspin enters them into the same motion, gathering velocity into a their most simple element—a camel. As they move faster, their arms stretch out, as if in a constant tug of war.

Will glances up to meet Ocean's gaze—always so intent and focused, yet filled with the emotion that Will sometimes finds it hard to grasp in their performances. His partner always draws it out of him. By pulling, persuading, or in moments like these, when what's on the line is more than just an hour of added practice.

So they draw nearer, and while they finish their spin, propelling into a lower squat, Will leaps up to place both his skates onto Ocean's thighs. Ocean reacts perfectly, shifting his weight so that they speed like a Beyblade on a polished-wood floor. They rely on the balls of Oceans feet. As Will uses his right arm to reach out to the highest bleachers, as they're only connected by a left-handed grip that feels just a tad shakier than usual.

The crowd screams its approval.

We never learn, we been here before, Why are we always stuck and running from, The bullets? The bullets?

Will is set down like a feather onto a pillow, and they skate, matching their edges to each others and the singer's voice, entering into another complex sequence.

"A minute left," he can imagine Ocean whispering. Of course, both their mouths are shut, but Will can imagine the voice like a constant tide lapping up against him. It washes over his aching hamstrings and thighs, injecting a shot of energy to his veins.

Their next lift has Will faking an axel jump, Ocean catching him half way. The lighter boy is spun overhead, stretched out like the most dramatic starfish on the planet. At one point, he is only suspended by a steady palm against his navel. A risky move that will surely impress the judges.

We don't talk enough, we should open up, Before it's all too much

Will chose this song. That's how it has always worked—his choice for the short, and Ocean's for the long. The lyrics resonated with him in more ways than one, namely in how it reflects the grief he felt—and still feels—at the loss of his mother.

But now, the grief transforms into another entity altogether. Because Will believes, judging by all the words and evidence, that he and Ocean really do hate each other. Will doesn't know why the thought enters his mind while skating, while pulling back and pushing just as how their choreographer directed them.

Two angels whose wings were clipped, clad in blue and dancing on the thin layer between heaven and earth.

Will we ever learn? We've been here before

Now, for the most difficult part. Will uses all his control not to lose the flow of the music.

"I can't believe it," Ocean had said—once they began practicing this element two seasons ago. "If we land this jump, we'll be the first to do it at the Olympics."

"That's true," Will responded. "But don't get your head stuck in the clouds. We still have another two years. A lot can happen in between that time frame."

Turns out, all that happened in between were countless falls in their practice rink.

It's just what we know

They both skate backwards. Will's eyes are unfocused on the surroundings, only envisioning the many times he's made this jump. The times that he's fallen and taken glaciers to his face are out of the question.

Shoot.

Will's toepick hits the ice, and Ocean turns and launches him upward.

In moments like these, time is both frozen and escalated. Will holds his breath but it leaves him anyway, he tucks everything in but they still fall loose and uninhibited. Four revolutions pass. He extends his right foot, back outside edge to break the descent.

Will feels his knees screaming from the impact, and he knows immediately that he's landed wrong. The revolutions were in place, but the angle of his skate was off by a fraction. He curses at himself, inwardly, as a flurry of ice rises from the botched landing. He struggles to stay upright, but the palm of his hand graces the surface of the rink. Like the fire of wrong against his skin.

Will and Ocean, keeping their composure, move along with the choreography.

And Will's right knee continues to scream.

Stop your crying, baby, it's a sign of the times

Their next individual element is a double-axel, triple toe, and Will and Ocean land it like they always do—in perfect timing and synchrony.

And Will's right knee continues to scream.

We gotta get away, we got to get away, We got to get away

Their last, creative element, inspired by Alina Zagitova, is a triple lutz followed by three triple toe loops. It is meant to be out of sync, matching to the spontaneous drumming that the song ends to. One after the other, the elements are completed, although the Will curses at his pain and how it leads to under-rotating the successive jumps.

When the track ends, and they're standing with both arms crossed and joined between them, Will lets out a cry that's lost in the crowd's chants. And from there, the applause turns to gasps spreading like an infection.

He is so good at hiding, playing along with Ocean to give the crowd only what they expect and nothing else. But today, Will can't hide the so-obvious injury. It's paralyzing.

"What's wrong?" says Ocean, joining the slight gap between them.

Will dwells on the fire between his femur and shin bone. It's enough for him to fall against Ocean's side, as the other boy catches him and supports his weight. His expression is twisted into one of pure agony.

"I wish I were dead." 

A/N : Thank you for reading, and please vote and/or comment if you enjoyed!