It’s been a few days since Coach Daniels left for Chicago. A few days of pretending I’m fine. A few days of skating on the pond because it’s safe. A few days of avoiding the rink because it isn’t.
I haven’t told him I’m planning to compete again. Not the next competition. Not Nationals. I want to. I want to be there. But wanting and believing are two different things.
Today… I’m supposed to take the next step, back inside the rink. Mom drives. Mrs. Hart sits in the passenger seat. Gabby is in the back with me, practically vibrating with excitement. I wish I felt even a fraction of that. When we pull into the parking lot, my stomach drops. The building looks bigger than I remember. Colder. Louder. Like it’s waiting for me to fail again.
Inside, the air smells like ice and rubber and memo
