Page 1 of Side By Side

CHAPTER 1

Belle’s favorite part of early morning skating alone on the ice was the feeling that always washed over her, knowing that it was a new day. There was the smell of coffee coming from the concession stand because she was usually the first in every morning and always started the big machine up herself. She didn’t drink the coffee then, though. She got it started, turned on everything else that needed to be turned on, and checked on the stuff in the fridge and freezers to make sure they had enough to get them through until their next delivery. If there were any deliveries, she brought those in and put everything away first, but then Belle got to skate.

Every morning, she put on her skates and couldn’t wait to get on the ice. Still, after all these years, she got such a rush out of gliding around as if she were floating. Her alone time on the ice every day had been part of her ritual since her dad had bought the rink years ago now, and still, every day, Belle thought about what had led them to this small town and her father to buy this place when it had been falling apart and not worth much at all. It was now, though, and that was all because of their hard work and the community that had embraced this building as part of their town. Belle loved this place and thought of it more as a home than the apartment she had not far from here, where her stuff rested more than anything else. The ice had always been her home, so as she moved backward across it, gaining speed and working up to a jump, she tried to push the thoughts of the past out of her mind.

She landed her jump and smiled as she came out of it, moving forward on the ice now, just as she’d done a long time ago in competitions. A smile on the face was key in getting the judges to award you decent points, even if your jump wasn’t solid. She’d learned that from her first coach when she was just three years old.

“You always smile. Ladies always smile when they’re on the ice,” she’d said, and Belle had smiled up at her with her baby teeth and cheesy grin.

Her mom had put her in lessons more so that Belle would have something to do than anything else. She had ballet as well, but her mom had told her later that she was too restless for ballet. She’d wanted to really dance, and jump, and twirl, so while her mom still kept her in ballet classes for years, those were more to support her figure skating, and Belle had only gone once a week when all the other kids in ballet had started going every day if they were serious about it.

She’d had so much energy as a little kid that her parents had tried everything, really. She’d played soccer and ran the whole field back and forth for the entire game and somehow still had energy left over at the end of the game. They’d also put her in cheerleading for the Pee Wee boys’ football league, but she’d hated that, so that hadn’t lasted long. They’d gotten her piano lessons from a nice old woman who offered them for free to the neighborhood kids because she was lonely, and it was something for her to do. Belle hadn’t particularly liked the piano, and soccer was just running to her.

From the moment she’d first stepped foot on the ice, though, that was where she wanted to be. Whenever she wasn’t on the ice, it felt like she was missing something. That was why the thoughts of what had happened, what had been, and what could have been still hit her every morning when she came out for some alone time on the ice. Even though she tried to stop it, she’d picture it all over again.

She’d been moving her way up through juniors and into seniors, making her mark as a figure skater. Belle had been selected for a program that fed directly into US Figure Skating, and she had a real shot at making an Olympic Team. Her parents had moved her there, and she’d begun tutoring instead of going to regular school as part of the program in order to maximize her training time. Everything had been going well until Belle had realized something.

Belle ran into the side wall, gripping it with her hands and catching her breath. She hadn’t been ready to make her next jump, so she’d used the wall to stop herself and now breathed hard as she gripped it and tried, yet again, to fruitlessly just be okay with where she was now and not think about what she might have had. It was like a song she couldn’t get out of her head. When Belle backed up on her skates slowly and made her way to the middle of the completely empty rink, she looked around and decided to embrace it. If she went through it in her mind again – if she just listened to the song once – she’d be able to move on. So, if she replayed the moment that had changed everything for her, she could refocus.

Belle had been fourteen years old and at the program, and she’d had a crush. Well, not just a crush. She’d been in that silly kind of first-crush-that-felt-like-love phase with another skater, and that skater wasn’t a boy. She hadn’t told anyone at first because she knew it had been wrong; she couldn’t like another girl how girls liked boys. So, she’d pretended for a while. But after a long practice, she’d found her crush taking off her skates and tossing them onto the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Belle had asked and had sat down on the hard wooden bench next to her, leaving some distance between them to be safe.

“I suck,” her crush had replied. “I can’t do this. God, I’m supposed to make an Olympic Team? I can’t even land a jump.”

“It was just a bad practice,” Belle had reminded.

“I can’t have a bad practice. I have to have perfect practices. I’m fourteen years old.”

“So?” Belle had asked.

“This is supposed to be my cycle. I’m supposed to go to the Games. I’m supposed to be selected. But I just got in trouble because I couldn’t land shit today,” the girl had argued. “What is wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” Belle had said softly. “You had a bad day, but nothing’s wrong with you. You’re the best skater out there.”

Her crush had looked up at Belle then, and there had been something in her eyes that Belle had clearly read wrong. She knew that now, but she hadn’t known it then.

“You’re really nice, Belle,” she’d said.

“Thanks,” Belle had replied.

“We’re competing for the same spot; you know that, right? You should want me to be bad.”

“I don’t,” Belle had said. “I want you to be good. If it’s not me out there, I… I’d want it to be you.”

“Why?” She’d turned to Belle, dropping one leg on the other side of the bench, straddling it.

“I… don’t know. You’re nice, too,” she’d said.

“Me? I’m a bitch,” her crush had replied.

Belle had laughed a little and said, “You work hard. You want to be the best. I get it. I’m here for the same reason.”

“You’ve been here for longer than I have.”

“Since I was ten,” she’d replied. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here, though.”

“What? Why?”

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