Ice Games
Page 17
The makeup artists had taken their time with me before the show, making sure that I looked like the others…which meant lots of make-up in bright colors. I wasn’t surprised. Skaters were used to heavy eye-makeup, blush, and lipstick so you didn’t look featureless and washed out on the ice. Of course, I was also used to my hair being pulled into an ultra-tight bun so it wouldn’t get in my face, and they’d insisted on braiding it into two cutesy tails over my ears. Ugh. It went with my horrible psychedelic cowgirl costume, I supposed.
I eyed the costumes of the other contestants. Most of them wore a more casual look—jeans and plaid for the guys, denim dresses for the girls, and some sort of cowboy hat or fringe motif. We were the only ones in garish colors, and judging from the sympathetic looks Emma was sending my way, we looked pitiful. Oh well.
We were the first up after the montage, and I tried not to be nervous. Well, tried and failed. I’ve always had a bit of nerves before a performance, and this was no different. Except the difference here was that in Nationals or at the Olympics, I’d be given time on the ice to warm up and prep. On the show, we were expected to take care of that beforehand and just stroll out onto the ice, ready to skate as soon as the music started.
I didn’t like that, but no one asked me. So I simply leaned over and touched my talismans taped to the bottom of my skate with my free hand, trying to increase my good juju.
“Okay, first team, you’re up. Montage ends in sixty seconds,” one of the production team told us, then pressed a hand to the headset over his ear. He pointed to the door at the far end of the Crash Room. Another assistant opened it and beckoned for us to come through.
In a daze, I stood. Ty grabbed my hand again and pulled me forward, and the butterflies in my stomach turned into pterodactyls. I stumbled after him, my legs feeling wooden. We were about to be on TV. National TV. Live TV. And Ty still didn’t have the routine down pat. How could he? He wasn’t a skater, and we’d only had two weeks to learn it. I didn’t blame him. It was the show. The entire set-up was stupid. I was stupid for even agreeing to be on it. He’d look terrible and then, thanks to our ugly costumes, we’d be the laughing-stock of the figure skating world. And, oh God—
“Breathe, Zara,” Ty told me as we moved into place. A cameraman was there in our faces, filming us as we waited, and I could hear the host talking to the audience, explaining the rules. There was a bit of chatter from the judges’ panel, and then more from the host. The audience began to clap again, and my panic grew once more.
“Okay, in thirty seconds, you guys are going to step right out onto the ice, wave to the audience, and then get into position,” the assistant told us. “Take off your blade guards now so you can be ready.” She held her hand out.
I did so, obediently—so did Ty. As we did, I looked at the big red curtain that would pull back in mere seconds, cuing us to step onto the ice. There was a problem. I looked at the assistant. “I need to kiss the ice first.”
“What?” She shook her head, taking my skate guards and tucking them under her arm. “Music’s starting. Get ready to go out.”
“I can’t go out onto the ice unless I kiss it first,” I said, and my voice raised to a hysterical note that was quickly drowned by the clapping of the audience. “It’s bad luck. I can’t do that! It’s bad enough that we’re going first!”
“Zara,” Ty said calmly, “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” I babbled, turning towards him with a panicked look. I tried to move forward to the curtains. I didn’t care how stupid it’d look; if they’d let me just stick my head out and kiss the ice really fast, I’d be fine. My nerves would disappear because I’d have luck on my side. It didn’t matter how torn up or dirty the ice was—I always kissed it. Always. “I have to do this, Ty. I have to. I can’t—”
“Listen, Zara,” Ty said, grabbing my hands before I charged through the curtains in my panic. “Listen,” he said soothingly. “They’re not going to let you kiss the ice—”
“First, no warm up, and now I can’t kiss the ice?” I asked hysterically. Tears were pooling in my eyes. I was going to hyperventilate. I couldn’t breathe. “I can’t—”
“I know,” he said, and his voice was calm. He squeezed my hands. “It’s okay. I understand. Do you know what I do when I’m about to go out into a fight? For good luck?”
“Time to go out,” the assistant said, urgency in her voice.
We ignored her. My gaze was locked on Ty’s face. I needed reassurance, and I needed it badly.
He let go of my hands. “My coach and I have a secret handshake,” he told me in a calm voice. He grabbed my hand, made a fist, fist-bumped me, and then grabbed my fingers and made a loop. Then he looped his own through it. He did three or four more hand motions before he was satisfied. “There. Lucky handshake. It’ll counteract the bad juju, okay?”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Go out,” the assistant hissed, giving us a little shove. “We’re live, damn it!”
Ty winked at me, grabbed my hand, and then surged forward through the curtains. I had no choice but to follow.
After being backstage in the dark prep-room behind the curtains, gliding out onto the brightly-lit ice was blinding. The audience rose up into a wild cheer, and both Ty and I raised our free hands to wave at the crowd, moving to the center of the ice, our hands locked.
Ty stopped, digging his toe-pick into the ice, and then he pulled me close. We got into our starting pose, froze in place, and waited. As I stared at him, my hand clasped in his, I realized his palms were sweating, and he was more nervous than he’d let on. Strangely enough, now that we were on the ice, all my nerves had gone away.
So, I winked at him to let him know everything would be okay.
The music began, assaulting us with the thick guitar twang of “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.” We jumped into the dance, our hands tightly clasped, and began to perform to the music. I wore my brightest smile, trying to make this seem like fun, since the look on Ty’s face was one of pure concentration. He was supposed to smile at me and look at ease; we’d practiced that multiple times. But it seemed he couldn’t smile and do footwork at the same time, so I settled for footwork.
The chorus swelled, and we began the first footwork sequence, our skates moving fast and in-sync on the ice. Perfect! I knew we’d nailed it when I’d heard the audience clapping, and we continued on through the song.
Somewhere in the second half, Ty began to slow down. Perhaps it was too much to concentrate on, or maybe his nerves were getting to him, but I tried to cover for it as best as possible, making my moves a little more sweeping to disguise the fact that he wasn’t quite able to keep up with the song. By the time the chorus moved through a second time, though, we were a full step behind. Nothing to do but carry on and persevere.
We only had a minute and a half to perform, so the song was truncated. I wanted to wince when the music ended before our dancing did. We flung our hands out into our finale pose, ignoring the fact that we were a step or two off, and the audience burst into applause.
We’d survived the first skate. I sucked in a breath and looked over at Ty, grinning.
I eyed the costumes of the other contestants. Most of them wore a more casual look—jeans and plaid for the guys, denim dresses for the girls, and some sort of cowboy hat or fringe motif. We were the only ones in garish colors, and judging from the sympathetic looks Emma was sending my way, we looked pitiful. Oh well.
We were the first up after the montage, and I tried not to be nervous. Well, tried and failed. I’ve always had a bit of nerves before a performance, and this was no different. Except the difference here was that in Nationals or at the Olympics, I’d be given time on the ice to warm up and prep. On the show, we were expected to take care of that beforehand and just stroll out onto the ice, ready to skate as soon as the music started.
I didn’t like that, but no one asked me. So I simply leaned over and touched my talismans taped to the bottom of my skate with my free hand, trying to increase my good juju.
“Okay, first team, you’re up. Montage ends in sixty seconds,” one of the production team told us, then pressed a hand to the headset over his ear. He pointed to the door at the far end of the Crash Room. Another assistant opened it and beckoned for us to come through.
In a daze, I stood. Ty grabbed my hand again and pulled me forward, and the butterflies in my stomach turned into pterodactyls. I stumbled after him, my legs feeling wooden. We were about to be on TV. National TV. Live TV. And Ty still didn’t have the routine down pat. How could he? He wasn’t a skater, and we’d only had two weeks to learn it. I didn’t blame him. It was the show. The entire set-up was stupid. I was stupid for even agreeing to be on it. He’d look terrible and then, thanks to our ugly costumes, we’d be the laughing-stock of the figure skating world. And, oh God—
“Breathe, Zara,” Ty told me as we moved into place. A cameraman was there in our faces, filming us as we waited, and I could hear the host talking to the audience, explaining the rules. There was a bit of chatter from the judges’ panel, and then more from the host. The audience began to clap again, and my panic grew once more.
“Okay, in thirty seconds, you guys are going to step right out onto the ice, wave to the audience, and then get into position,” the assistant told us. “Take off your blade guards now so you can be ready.” She held her hand out.
I did so, obediently—so did Ty. As we did, I looked at the big red curtain that would pull back in mere seconds, cuing us to step onto the ice. There was a problem. I looked at the assistant. “I need to kiss the ice first.”
“What?” She shook her head, taking my skate guards and tucking them under her arm. “Music’s starting. Get ready to go out.”
“I can’t go out onto the ice unless I kiss it first,” I said, and my voice raised to a hysterical note that was quickly drowned by the clapping of the audience. “It’s bad luck. I can’t do that! It’s bad enough that we’re going first!”
“Zara,” Ty said calmly, “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” I babbled, turning towards him with a panicked look. I tried to move forward to the curtains. I didn’t care how stupid it’d look; if they’d let me just stick my head out and kiss the ice really fast, I’d be fine. My nerves would disappear because I’d have luck on my side. It didn’t matter how torn up or dirty the ice was—I always kissed it. Always. “I have to do this, Ty. I have to. I can’t—”
“Listen, Zara,” Ty said, grabbing my hands before I charged through the curtains in my panic. “Listen,” he said soothingly. “They’re not going to let you kiss the ice—”
“First, no warm up, and now I can’t kiss the ice?” I asked hysterically. Tears were pooling in my eyes. I was going to hyperventilate. I couldn’t breathe. “I can’t—”
“I know,” he said, and his voice was calm. He squeezed my hands. “It’s okay. I understand. Do you know what I do when I’m about to go out into a fight? For good luck?”
“Time to go out,” the assistant said, urgency in her voice.
We ignored her. My gaze was locked on Ty’s face. I needed reassurance, and I needed it badly.
He let go of my hands. “My coach and I have a secret handshake,” he told me in a calm voice. He grabbed my hand, made a fist, fist-bumped me, and then grabbed my fingers and made a loop. Then he looped his own through it. He did three or four more hand motions before he was satisfied. “There. Lucky handshake. It’ll counteract the bad juju, okay?”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Go out,” the assistant hissed, giving us a little shove. “We’re live, damn it!”
Ty winked at me, grabbed my hand, and then surged forward through the curtains. I had no choice but to follow.
After being backstage in the dark prep-room behind the curtains, gliding out onto the brightly-lit ice was blinding. The audience rose up into a wild cheer, and both Ty and I raised our free hands to wave at the crowd, moving to the center of the ice, our hands locked.
Ty stopped, digging his toe-pick into the ice, and then he pulled me close. We got into our starting pose, froze in place, and waited. As I stared at him, my hand clasped in his, I realized his palms were sweating, and he was more nervous than he’d let on. Strangely enough, now that we were on the ice, all my nerves had gone away.
So, I winked at him to let him know everything would be okay.
The music began, assaulting us with the thick guitar twang of “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.” We jumped into the dance, our hands tightly clasped, and began to perform to the music. I wore my brightest smile, trying to make this seem like fun, since the look on Ty’s face was one of pure concentration. He was supposed to smile at me and look at ease; we’d practiced that multiple times. But it seemed he couldn’t smile and do footwork at the same time, so I settled for footwork.
The chorus swelled, and we began the first footwork sequence, our skates moving fast and in-sync on the ice. Perfect! I knew we’d nailed it when I’d heard the audience clapping, and we continued on through the song.
Somewhere in the second half, Ty began to slow down. Perhaps it was too much to concentrate on, or maybe his nerves were getting to him, but I tried to cover for it as best as possible, making my moves a little more sweeping to disguise the fact that he wasn’t quite able to keep up with the song. By the time the chorus moved through a second time, though, we were a full step behind. Nothing to do but carry on and persevere.
We only had a minute and a half to perform, so the song was truncated. I wanted to wince when the music ended before our dancing did. We flung our hands out into our finale pose, ignoring the fact that we were a step or two off, and the audience burst into applause.
We’d survived the first skate. I sucked in a breath and looked over at Ty, grinning.
