One
Danika
“I’ll be fine, Mom.” Fighting a big sigh, I try to hold my patience. I’m on a shuttle bus with the rest of the figure skating team and I speak quietly so the other teammates won’t hear. “See you in two weeks.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come? I could change my flights and meet you there in a day or two. I’m sure my boss will give me the extra time off if you need me.”
“I need to do this on my own. It’ll be all right, I promise. The whole team will be with me. Besides, I’m not a teenager anymore.”
“But you’ll always be my baby, no matter how old you get.” Her voice goes up two octaves and I know her bottom lip is quivering. “I’m just so proud of you, Dani. I don’t want to miss a minute of your time in Korea.”
I roll my eyes at my best friend and fellow figure skater, Tasha, who just got off a similar call with her mother. We’re on our way from the rink to the airport. Even though all of our parents dropped us off less than half an hour ago, we’re all getting the same call from panicky parents who want to change their plans and come now. Our coach, Pierre Rondeau made it very clear that no family members are to come until the start of the Winter Games. He needs us to concentrate on nutrition, discipline, and perfection for the next fourteen days. He needs us to get away from the tiger moms and the doting dads who think they know better than the coach himself. In my case, I hope that this will be the difference I need to finally achieve my life’s goal of being the best figure skater in the world. Every competition I come so close, but never make it onto the podium which is hugely frustrating. I have all the parts needed to make it, but somehow, I never quite manage to pull it all together to win the gold.
My dad’s voice comes on the line. “Pumpkin, it’s me. Your mom and I just want you to know that if you need us, we’ll be there in a heartbeat.”
“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it, but I’ll be okay.”
“All right. Now, you remember what we told you about Athlete’s Village. It’s full of young men with bad intentions.”
Oh, God. Not this again. “Relax, okay? I’m not going to end up in some orgy or something. I’m there to win gold, not let some idiot jock distract me.”
“Good, because we’ve all worked so hard to get to this moment. I’d hate to see you waste this opportunity.”
My shoulders drop under the weight of his words. We’ve all worked so hard. My parents aren’t like the other skating families. We don’t pull into the parking lot of the rink in a shiny new Lexus, my mom hasn’t had a nip and tuck, my dad didn’t retire early so he could play more golf. Instead, he’s still pulling double shifts at the water treatment plant to pay for my extra ice time, coaching, physiotherapy, massage therapy, sport psychologists, skates, and costumes. “I won’t let you down, Dad. I promise.”
“I know, Pumpkin. It’s just that everything’s going to be completely new to you and there will be about a million distractions to throw you off your game.”
“I’ll stay focused. I know what to do.”
“Good girl. Just remember, we believe in you. We always have.”
“I know. Thanks. We’re just pulling up at the airport.”
“Okay, have a safe trip. Text us as soon as you land.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Two
Clint
“Wake up, you dumbass. I refuse to let you make me late for another flight.” My teammate and roommate, Hunter, flicks on my bedroom light.
“Fuck off,” I groan, lifting my pillow and tucking my head under it. “You just killed a very fun moment I was having with a hot stewardess.”
“Well, if you get your lazy ass out of bed, you might just meet a real hot stewardess in the flesh.” He kicks the foot of my bed. “Twenty minutes. Do not make me late for the fucking Winter Games.”
> I yawn loudly. “Is that today?” I ask, knowing it’ll get a rise out of him to pretend I forgot.
“Are you fucking serious? Of course it’s…oh, you asshole. You knew all along, didn’t you?”
“Now that you mention it, it rings a bell. I should probably start packing, right?” I scratch my two-day old whiskers on my jaw and try to fight a smile.
Hunter, who has been packed for over a week now makes a grunting noise then walks out into the hallway muttering, “Prick.”
I chuckle to myself as I drag my ass out of bed. There’s nothing easier than upsetting a goalie. They’re all fucking nuts to begin with. Hunter’s the worst of them all. A total control freak, type-A, needs to line up his fork and knife when he sets the table, kind of guy. I, however, am the complete opposite. First off, I don’t set the table. I eat on the sofa while balancing my plate on my lap and surfing through the sports channels. Second, I play center, which means I jump in and go wherever the moment takes me. In my case, it’s taken me to the pros at the tender age of seventeen and now, at the ripe old age of twenty-three, it’s taking me to the Winter Games for my second attempt at a gold medal. That fucker Sydney Crosby is not going to beat me this time. Canada is going down.