Breaking the Ice Read online

  Sydney elbows me. “Where did he come from?” she whispers.

  “He came from the rink. And now he’d better go home.” Miyu starts to pull her window down.

  Braedon leaps forward. “Wait a second. I’m here to talk to Kaitlin.”

  He came to see me? I kind of wish I hadn’t eaten those carrots. They feel like they’re tangoing in my stomach right now.

  “Do you need me to punch him?” Jane asks me.

  I shake my head.

  “She has a phone. You can call her,” Miyu says out the window.

  “Miyu!” Sydney pushes her a little sideways. “Hey there,” she says to Braedon with a smile. “Kaitlin’s here.” She grabs my arm and pulls me into Miyu’s spot.

  “Just tell him to go away,” Miyu says before she moves back to stand with Jane.

  “Hey, Double Axel.” Braedon pushes his hair out of his eyes.

  Sydney sighs. I totally get it. He makes me want to sigh too.

  “Hi,” is all I say.

  He smiles at me. “Can I come in?”

  I open my mouth, but Miyu speaks first. “No! This is my room. You can’t barge in like it’s some random locker room at the rink.”

  Braedon laughs a little. “Well, then, can you come outside?” he asks me.

  “Um . . .”

  “She’s hanging out with us, and she’s not into sneaking out,” Miyu says from behind me.

  Sydney reaches back to swat at Miyu, while I stare at Braedon and try to form words.

  “Kaitlin?” Braedon shoves his hands into his pockets.

  “Um . . . sure.” I glance back at Miyu, who looks like her eyes are about to pop out of her head. “Just for a few minutes.”

  Sydney practically squeals with excitement as she helps me push up the screen and climb through the window. My feet dangle for a second before I drop to the ground.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this. I just climbed out of a window to see a guy. Miyu’s frowning at me from the window. Mom would completely lose it if she found out.

  What’s wrong with me?

  But it’s not like I’m running off somewhere with him. I just came outside to talk for a few minutes. That’s not so bad, right?

  “Come on, Syd. Give them some privacy already.” Jane pulls a grinning Sydney away from the window.

  “Just knock when you’re ready to come back in,” Miyu says as she pulls the screen back into place. “But if you’re not back in fifteen minutes, I’m coming out there.” With that, she thumps the window down and disappears into her room.

  I follow Braedon around the other side of the tree. The sun is starting to set across the street, and the light makes his face look orange. Which means it’s probably making my face orange too. I turn my head toward the tree to try to cut down on the Oompa Loompa look.

  “I’m going to Burger Hut. You want to come?” he asks.

  Yes! I want to yell. But instead I cross my arms and glance back at Miyu’s window. “I would, but I’m at this sleepover. . . .”

  Braedon shrugs. “They’ll still be here when you get back.”

  True, but it seems super rude to take off with Braedon when I’m supposed to be hanging out with Miyu and her friends. And then there’s the whole sneaking out thing.

  “Sorry . . . I should stay here. We have food inside.”

  “Rabbit food, I bet,” he says. “A big plate full of lettuce, carrots, celery, raw broccoli. Yum.” He rubs a hand over his stomach.

  I laugh. “How’d you guess? But we have chips, too.”

  “You know you’d rather have a big, greasy burger and fries.” He stretches an arm out to prop himself against the tree.

  “Maybe another time?” As soon as I say it, I can’t believe it came out of my mouth. I’m making a date with Braedon.

  “Okay.” He doesn’t say anything about when.

  “Okay,” I repeat. “See you at the rink. I should . . . um . . . get back inside.” I motion at the window.

  Braedon walks with me around the tree. “Thanks for braving the wrath of Miyu to come out and talk to me.”

  I smile as I knock on the window. “Anytime.”

  He disappears as Miyu lifts the glass and the screen. I find a brick that sticks out a little more than the others on the side of Miyu’s house and use it to hoist myself back inside.

  Once I’m in, Sydney peppers me with questions. “Who is that? Is he your boyfriend? Where does he go to school? How’d you meet him? How does he get his hair to look like that?”

  Even Jane, who was ready to punch him in the nose, looks interested. It’s fun, sharing this stuff. And it’s nice not talking about skating all the time.

  This is what it would be like if I went to school.

  “Sorry,” I say to Miyu when Sydney starts the movie again. “I know you don’t like him.”

  “I don’t care about him,” Miyu says. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

  That makes zero sense. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m okay.”

  As the movie rolls on, I’m only paying half attention to it. I’m wondering if Miyu’s being worried about me has something to do with what she said back at Pizza Supreme—that Braedon isn’t serious about skating or anything.

  But as hard as I think, I can’t figure out how him not caring about his skating or his grades in school has anything to do with me.

  While I’m warming up on the ice Tuesday morning, Braedon joins me. “How was the sleepover?” he asks.

  “Fun.” I do a quick turn so I’m skating backward. “Did you get your burger and fries?”

  “No, didn’t want to go by myself. So that means you owe me a trip to Burger Hut. Maybe later this week?”

  “Um, sure.” I shiver—and not from the cold of the rink. I pull up to the boards for a sip of water, since my throat is suddenly dry.

  Addison skids to a stop next to us. “Hey, I want to show you something,” she says to Braedon.

  “Double axel?” he asks. “Did you land it?”

  “Maybe.” She smirks at me. “You’d better practice, Kaitlin. Fourteenth place won’t get you to Nationals.” She grabs Braedon’s arm. “Come on.”

  And off they go, leaving me alone at the boards. Something sour rises into my throat. I definitely don’t feel sorry for Addison anymore. I don’t know what to think about Braedon. I thought he liked me, but maybe he just wants someone to eat burgers with.

  Greg glides over while I’m watching Addison attempt double axels for Braedon. “Ready to work that program again?” he asks.

  “I guess.” I pull my eyes away from Addison and Braedon and try to focus on Greg.

  “I know you’re disappointed about the competition.”

  “I thought I’d skated better than that,” I say.

  “Your elements were perfect. It was your disconnect from the music that landed you in fourteenth place.”

  “What if . . .” I don’t know. It feels like whining to ask Greg if the real reason might be my outburst at Praterville.

  Greg raises an eyebrow. “What if what?”

  I stab at the ice with my toe pick. “What if it’s because the judges don’t like me? Because of what I said to them? I know it’s not the same judges, but I’m sure they talk to each other.”

  Greg sighs. “Well, you didn’t make it any easier for yourself with that reaction. But you sent apology letters, right?”

  I nod.

  “Then you’ve done all you can to fix that mistake. Now you have to focus on the future. If you wow them—if you skate a program that gets to their souls—they can’t help but give you the scores you deserve. But you have to work for it. Are you willing to work for it?”

  “Yes. Definitely. I want to go to Nationals more than anything. But I tried in Chicago, and I couldn’t do it. The emotional thing,
I mean.”

  “It’s in there.” Greg taps his chest. “You just have to find a way to bring what’s inside to the outside. Pull it out and let it work through you, to every part of your body, even your fingertips.”

  He starts the music, and I try to tango with my fingertips. Addison’s mom is in her usual spot on the bleachers, watching her daughter’s every move. I pretend she’s a judge. How do I make her feel my program in her soul? How did Baby show everyone the way she felt in that last dance in Dirty Dancing?

  When the music ends, Greg shakes his head. “You’ve got the technical skills. We just need to make you a dancer. And we’ve got about three weeks to do it.”

  “I’m doing the tango classes, but I usually end up dancing with Addison. And I took that ice dance lesson, like you said,” I tell him.

  “Hmm. Maybe if you skated with a partner. An actual partner, not Addison.” Greg scans the rink. “Wait here a second.”

  He glides to the boards, where Tom is chatting with Samantha. They talk for a second, and then Greg returns with Tom behind him.

  Oh no. What is he going to make me do now? Whatever it is, it can’t possibly be as bad as forced flirting with Braedon. But at least Braedon is almost the same age as me. Tom has to be at least fifteen.

  But I have to try. I promised Miyu. And I want Nationals so badly. If I don’t keep trying, then there’s no way I’ll do any better at Regionals than I have at any other competitions lately. I guess this is what Greg meant when he said he thought the judges were pushing me. Maybe he’s right. It’s not like I insulted them before the Praterville competition. And I never got such low scores last year. At least I hope he’s right. . . .

  “You’ve learned the Canasta Tango, right?” Greg asks.

  I nod. It’s the second easiest dance—one that I’d learned a long time ago, and that Svetlana had me go through the week before the Chicago competition.

  “Good. You’re going to skate it with Tom. Take your cues from him.”

  What does that mean? Tom grabs my hands and puts them in the right place. I’m glad I have gloves on, because my palms are all sweaty.

  “Ready?” he asks. “Greg wants me to help you with your tango expression.”

  The music starts, and he’s almost dragging me along with him. I’ve never skated so fast in my life.

  “You’ve got to look at me, not your feet,” he says over the music.

  I can’t help looking at my feet. I’m scared to death that I’ll trip over my toe picks or kick him in the shin. But I have to do it or Greg will just make me dance with him again. Plus, maybe it will actually help my program. I drag my eyes up to Tom’s face—and crack up.

  Tom is looking at me with the most intense expression I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “Kaitlin, you can’t laugh,” he says, letting a little smile break through his Serious Tango Face. “Tango is all smoldering glances and passion.”

  “I know,” I say. “Greg’s only told me that five hundred times.”

  “I know it’s weird, but you can do it if you take it seriously,” he says.

  I try to smolder.

  “You look like you’ve just eaten rotten fish,” Tom says.

  “Thanks. How does Samantha do this without laughing?”

  “We’ve been skating together since we were nine years old. We’re sort of used to each other now.” Tom says all this while keeping that crazy intense expression on his face. “Use your eyes more,” he says.

  How do I do that? My eyes are attached in my head. It’s not like I can wave them around or something. And what is it with ice dancers and eyes? Svetlana was all about the eyes too.

  “That’s better,” he says.

  I wish I knew what I’d done to make it better.

  The music stops. I’m completely out of breath from skating so fast and trying to smolder and use my eyes.

  “I think you got it toward the end, Kaitlin,” Greg says. “Now use that in your program.”

  Tom returns to Samantha, and I skate my program again. I pretend I’m skating with Tom. I smolder while I count the steps in my footwork. I use my eyes. I try to look like I haven’t eaten rotten fish. I do it all while I think through my program piece by piece. The music ends, and I turn toward Greg.

  He shakes his head.

  I’m never going to get this.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mom leans out the window of the car. “Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?”

  “Mom, yes! It’s just a dance class.” And I’m actually a ­little excited that she’s just dropping me off. I mean, she rarely watches every move I make on the ice, but she’s always there. Like she’s babysitting me or something.

  “Okay. Call if you need me. I’ll be back in an hour.” Mom waves as she backs out of her parking spot and heads to the grocery store.

  “Hey, Double Axel!” a guy’s voice calls from down the sidewalk just as I’m about to push the studio door open.

  “Braedon?” A wave of warmth rushes through me as I let the door go and step back. There he is, headed right toward me. “What are you doing here? Did you sign up for dance class too?”

  “No way.” He stops in front of me and pushes his hair out of his eyes. My heart beats just a little faster. “Besides, I have a better idea. Skip and come to Burger Hut with me,” Braedon says.

  I peek inside the glass door of the studio. Fernando’s there, gliding across the shiny wooden floor with one of the giggling older ladies. Almost everyone’s already inside, ready for the class to start. “I don’t know . . . I really have to work on my expression.”

  “But you owe me a burger, remember?” Braedon smiles at me.

  Would it really be so awful if I missed one class? I’ve been to a bunch so far, and there are still a few more before Regionals.

  I know I shouldn’t, though. I still haven’t nailed whatever it is that Greg thinks I need to make this program work. And if we got caught, Mom would ground me for all eternity. I could hang up any chance of Dad convincing her to let me go to school.

  But Braedon came all the way over here, from . . . somewhere. He wasn’t at the rink this afternoon, and he’s still wearing his St. Benedict’s uniform. And he’s giving me that adorable grin. I feel a little melty, like the ice on a ninety-­degree afternoon.

  “Okay.”

  “Really?” Braedon’s face lights up.

  Just then the door opens. Addison steps out, looking perfect in tight black pants, a black top, and a little red tie-on skirt. “What are you doing out here?” she asks me. Then she notices Braedon, and her frown dissolves. “Hi, Braedon.”

  “Hey,” he says. “Double Axel and I are going to Burger Hut. You want to come?”

  Is he seriously inviting Addison? My face goes red. Maybe this isn’t a date after all. Maybe we are just friends.

  Addison gives him a flirty smile and twists her ponytail with her finger. “I’d love to, but Kaitlin and I have tango class right now. Come on, K, it’s about to start.”

  K? Since when does Addison call me by a nickname?

  “Um, I’m kind of hungry. I’m going to the Burger Hut instead,” I say.

  Addison’s fake friendly smile retreats into her usual frown. “You’re skipping class? Can you really afford to do that with Regionals coming up?”

  “One class won’t make or break her chances at qualifying,” Braedon says. “Not with that double axel.”

  Addison looks like he just punched her in the stomach. She hasn’t even landed a double axel, as far as I know. “Fine,” she says as Mrs. Thomas taps impatiently on the studio window. Addison nods at her mom, and then turns back to me. “So where’s your mother, Kaitlin?”

  There’s something about the way she narrows her eyes at me. I know she’s not just asking where Mom is. It’s almost like a threat. As in, You go off w
ith Braedon, and I’m so telling your mother you skipped class.

  I swallow hard. “At the grocery store. She’ll be here later.”

  “Hmm.” Addison gives me a little smirk, and then dis­appears back inside.

  “What was that all about?” Braedon asks.

  “I think she’s going to rat me out.” Now I’m not sure I should go. Is this worth getting into loads of trouble with Mom?

  Braedon pulls on his loosened St. Benedict’s tie. “She wouldn’t do that.”

  “I don’t know. . . .”

  “You’re not going to stand me up again, are you?” He gives me this sad puppy-dog look. “We’ll eat fast and have plenty of time to get back before your mom. If Addison does say anything, you can deny it all.”

  That is true. There’s no way Mom would believe Addison over me.

  “Okay, let’s go.” I take a step forward and stop. “Wait, how are we getting there? Did you steal a car?”

  He laughs, and for a split second, I wonder if he did. It seems like the kind of thing he’d find fun.

  “No, we have to walk. Sorry. But it’s not very far.”

  It isn’t, but there aren’t any sidewalks here either. Just a really busy street and some overgrown grass between the parking lots of stores and gas stations.

  Mom got me a pair of black heels called character shoes. They aren’t very high ones, of course, and I can only wear them for dance. The heels are sinking into the soft ground between a Gas Up station and a Good Times Family Buffet. “Ugh . . . mud!”

  Braedon laughs as I rub my shoe against the grass. It doesn’t do a lot of good, though. The black heel is now brown. I’ll have to clean them off before Mom sees. “So gross.”

  “Burger Hut is worth it. Just think of having a good, greasy burger instead of your usual rabbit food.”

  “I don’t just eat rabbit food,” I say, but he’s already scrambling up a small hill toward the Burger Hut parking lot.

  “So, where were you today? I didn’t see you at the rink,” I ask Braedon after we get our food and sit in a booth in the back. Just the two of us.