The Silver Medalist

Chapter 1It’s over, Danny realizes as the cameras flash, and he smiles to match them, holding his gold medal up to his face. He’s sixteen, his Juniors figure skating career is over, and he’s ended it on top, with a World Championship gold medal. He’s done it. His coach meets him at the boards when the photo op is over, grinning as Danny skates toward him. “Well done,” he says, holding out his hand formally. Danny shakes it, still beaming. “I’ll be excited to see what you do under Coach Hartmann in Seniors,” the man goes on. “I expect great things from you, Danny.” “I won’t let you down,” Danny promises. “Can I take a shower now? I put on way too much hairspray this morning and I’m starting to get light-headed.” Coach Friedl laughs and leads him out of the rink, right into the crowd of press that stand between them and the outside world. A couple of interviews later, the two of them manage to escape the crowd and leave the building. It’s March in Germany, so the air is bitingly crisp, and Danny tilts his face into the wind. It feels like he’s skating again, the cold air of the rink rushing past him as he flies across the ice. There’s no better feeling in the world, and he sighs happily, despite his coach’s grumbling. The hotel is a few blocks from the rink, and he and his coach walk in silence. Coach Friedl has been good for him over the past few years, drawing out his potential, but he only coaches Juniors and below. He’s the one who introduced Danny to his next coach, Nico Hartmann, at the start of this past season. “You’ll want this one,” Danny heard Friedl murmur to the Seniors coach. “He’s going to go far.” Danny has kept that locked in his chest ever since. To his surprise, there’s a figure lurking in the shadows by the hotel entrance. Danny squints at it as they approach, and whoever it is steps out of the darkness, light glinting off their—his—shiny blond hair. It’s Andrei Lebed, Danny realizes with a lurch. The Yellow Swan of Russia, who graduated to Seniors two years ago despite being only a year older than Danny, two seasons’ worth of Juniors gold under his belt and already a decent amount of Seniors gold too. What is he doing here? “Daniel Schaer!” he calls out, lifting a hand. “You know me?” Danny manages, freezing in his tracks. Andrei laughs and steps toward him. “Of course,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets with a shiver. He nods to Friedl and turns back to Danny. “I wanted to say congratulations on your win today,” he goes on. “Your triple flip is quite good.” It’s Danny’s signature move. He blushes to the roots of his dark hair. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ll have quads soon.” Andrei is famous for, among other things, landing the quadruple toe loop at just thirteen, and he’s added the quad Salchow this past season. “You’d better,” Andrei says, giving him a mock-stern look. “I expect you to be a proper competitor when you hit Seniors. Are you moving up next season?” Danny nods. “Good,” Andrei declares. “No point hanging around what you’ve already conquered, I always say.” “Really?” Danny says, unable to shut his mouth. “You always say that?” Andrei barks out a surprised laugh. “No,” he admits ruefully, “but I should. It’s catchy. Well, I won’t keep you,” he adds, rocking back on his heels. “Just wanted to say congratulations.” “Thanks,” Danny says again. “See you in Seniors.” Andrei flashes him a grin and they part ways, Danny and his coach into the hotel and Andrei away from it. “You’ve made your first friend in Seniors already,” Coach Friedl remarks. Danny shakes his head. “Andrei was just being nice.” “‘Being nice’ is what friends means, Danny,” his coach says teasingly. Danny just rolls his eyes, grinning, and heads for the shower. His costume is starting to itch. His parents are appropriately thrilled with his victory when he calls them afterward, his father cheering so loudly in the background of the call that Danny knows they’ll get a noise complaint from their neighbors in the morning. “Thanks,” he says when he can get a word in edgewise. “I’m really proud of myself.” “We’re proud of you too, sweetheart,” his mother says. Then, of course: “Have you done your homework?” “Moooooom,” he groans. “I just won the World Championships, and you want me to write an essay?” “Yes,” she says sternly. “If you don’t have at least an outline by the time you get home, we won’t put your medal up in your cupboard.” That’s a lie and they both know it, but he just sighs and says, “Fine. I’ll do it on the plane, even though I should be sleeping because I’m a growing boy and I need all my rest, but I’ll stay awake and do my essay instead, and never mind what it does to my growth.” She’s laughing by the time he’s done, and he grins. “Love you, Mom.” “Love you, too, Danny.” “Love you, son!” his father hollers. Danny shouts his love back and hangs up, slipping his feet into the soft slippers he packs for competitions and padding out of the room in search of a vending machine. He manages to finish the whole outline on the flight back to Bern the next day, and half the writing too, and his father hangs his medal up with its fellows with pride, taking a cloth to it until it shines. The contract from Coach Hartmann arrives the next day, couriered over from his office at the rink, in a crisp white envelope. “You’re sure?” Danny’s mother asks him, pen hovering over the paper. “I’m sure,” Danny says firmly. She signs, and then he signs, and then it’s really done. His Juniors career is over, his Seniors career about to begin. They slip the papers back into the envelope and the courier gets back on his bike to ferry the signed contract back to the rink. The rest of the school year is almost an anticlimax, after that. His friends are all congratulatory, and Simon in particular clasps him in a close hug, which makes him shiver with something unknown and thrilling, but none of his teachers seem to care. He passes his essay, which is something, and manages to scrape together good enough grades to pass the year completely. His classmates throw a rager once the year is officially over, but for Danny, the real work is just beginning. As soon as Danny texts him that his schoolwork is over for the summer, Nico Hartmann schedules a time to bring him into the rink to meet his new rinkmates and set up an off-season training schedule. Danny spends long enough in front of his mirror that morning that his mother has to shout up the stairs that he’s about to be late. The rink is far enough away that it makes a decent workout at a run, but he’s not officially training today, so he takes his bike, locking it up at the rack outside the front door and taking a moment to shake his clothing straight again and pat down his hair. Nico meets him just inside, a round, squat, jovial man with a shiny bald head, blue glasses, and a whiff of cologne even from a few feet away. “Nervous?” he asks knowingly, and laughs when Danny frowns at him. “Come on, they don’t bite,” he says, putting an arm around Danny’s shoulders and steering him toward the rink proper. “Normally everyone has separate practice times during the summer,” Nico says, “but I schedule a group one at the start of every off-season to reevaluate training regimes and introduce new people. So most of them you won’t see very often.” Danny nods, jamming his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting, and they go through the doors, the bite of the chilled air instantly calming him down. The rink is relatively full, half a dozen skaters working individually or in pairs. They’re all skilled, Danny notes, and he quails a little bit at the thought. Nico calls over the pairs skaters first—he introduces them as Nolan and Emma Rohner, a sibling pair in their early twenties, with matching dark brown hair and twinkling eyes. “Great job at Worlds!” Nolan says. “Killer step sequence in your free skate.” “Thanks,” Danny says shyly, and they wave and zoom off back to the far side of the rink. Nico also has two ladies singles skaters under his tutelage, Malea Rossi and Mira Walker. Mira is about Nolan and Emma’s age, light red hair and freckles, but Malea is closer to Danny’s; he remembers her senior debut two years ago and is able to compliment her on a Grand Prix Final bronze medal from last season, which makes her beam at him. She’s a bright one, shiny blond hair almost the same shade as Andrei Lebed’s, and sparkling white teeth when she smiles. Taken all together, she makes Danny’s eyes ache like looking at the sun, but she’s nice enough when she welcomes him to the rink. “She has that effect on everyone,” Nico murmurs when the ladies skate away. Danny laughs. “And now, my ice dancers,” Nico says, signaling to the last pair on the ice. “I admit I don’t usually take ice dancers, but I’ve made an exception for these two.” The pair make their way over to where Nico and Danny are standing, and Danny feels his heart stutter in his chest. The girl is pretty, dark skin and darker hair slicked back from her face in a tight ponytail. She grins and waves at him, sliding into the boards with a practiced glide that Danny takes a moment to distantly envy. But it’s the boy that catches Danny’s eye, tall and broad-shouldered, maybe two years older than Danny, with wavy light brown hair cascading down from his head and a crooked smile. “Noemi Tanner and Noah Favre,” Nico introduces them. “This is Danny Schaer, our newest member of the rink.” “Welcome,” Noemi says brightly. “I saw your free program at the Junior Worlds; it was really amazing.” “Thanks,” Danny manages, tearing his eyes away from Noah. “I hope I’m good enough for Seniors.” “Nico’ll whip you into shape,” Noah says airily. “He’s a good coach.” “Damning me with faint praise, I see, Noah,” Nico says drily, and Noah laughs. Danny’s heart stutters again. “Welcome to the rink,” Noah says, turning back to Danny. “If you have any questions about anything, just find me or Noemi and we’ll help you.” “Do you have a cell phone?” Noemi asks. Danny nods, patting his pocket where the sturdy flip phone is safely stowed. “Give him our numbers, Nico,” she says to their coach, who nods. “Call or text us anytime,” she tells Danny. “I’m glued to my phone. When I’m not practicing,” she adds quickly, with a nervous glance at Nico. “Nice save,” the coach says. “Alright, back to it, you two.” The ice dancers wave again and skate back to their spot on the ice. “That’s everyone,” Nico says. “You’ll fit in splendidly.” “I hope so,” Danny says. “Everyone seems nice.” “For the most part they are,” Nico says. “And like I said, you probably won’t see much of them until the season starts and you get more ice time. But for now, we have some paperwork to go over.” Danny follows him over to his little office off the rink and fills out form after form. “We’ll make you an appointment with our nutritionist,” Nico says, “but I wouldn’t worry too much about that. I talked with your last coach and the regime you were on should be just fine to continue.” “Okay.” Danny signs his name on the last form. “Last thing.” Nico scribbles on a sticky note and passes it across the desk. “Noah and Noemi’s cell numbers and emails,” he says as Danny takes it. “I hope you take them up on their offer. They’ve both been with me for several years and know the ropes well by now.” “I will,” Danny promises, folding the sticky note and slipping it into his pocket alongside his phone. “Good.” Nico puts his hands flat on the desk and stands up. “That’s all for today, I think. I’ll see you back here next Tuesday for some solo ice time. Keep up with your workouts and your diet until then.” He looks at Danny over his glasses. “I’ll know if you slack off.” “Yes, sir,” Danny says, standing. “And no sir,” Nico adds, smiling to take the sting out. “I’m Nico, or Coach if you have to be formal.” Danny nods. “I’ll walk you out,” Nico says, and does, lingering by the door until Danny unlocks his bike and straddles it. “Enjoy your break from school,” he calls. Danny waves and sets off for home again. “How was it?” his father asks when Danny gets home. “Fine.” Danny flops down on the couch next to him. “Everyone seems nice.” “Good,” his father booms. “I’d hate to have to go down there and start cracking heads when we’ve only just signed the paperwork.” Danny laughs and steals the remote from him.