Page 2 of Ice Me Baby

I’ll have no flexibility. No movement in that ankle. Sure, with years of physical therapy, I’ll be able to do more. But that doesn’t begin to touch the pain I feel from my best friend’s betrayal. I choke on a sob as one of the paramedics looks down at me with a sad smile. “It will be okay, darlin’.”

I shake my head as I cry, “It’s over. My dream is dead.”

The female paramedic on my other side shushes me. “Now, now, hunny. That’s no way to look at it.”

“Then how am I supposed to look at it?” I whimper. Everything I’ve wanted and dreamed of for so long, gone.

She gives me a kind smile as they load me into the ambulance. Hoping up beside me, she brushes a few strands of hair out of my face. “Dreams can change. They are a malleable thing, hun. You may not be able to skate like before, but that doesn’t mean you won’t ever skate again.” I huff a heavy sigh. Like most sixteen-year-olds, I don’t believe her.

But with a six-hour surgery that changed with the help of my dad. My days are spent in a hospital room, stuck watching TV most of the time. The only thing that catches my eye as I channel surf is hockey. I’m entranced as I watched them glide across the ice. Granted, I don’t understand the game much, but the brawls the players get into are the only thing that make me smile. I believed that woman. Dreams could change.

It makes me wish I could take a stick to the side of Emmitt’s head, but I figure that may be a little too violent. At least that’s what my mom would say. My dad, on the other hand, loves that I have gotten into watching his favorite sport. When he isn’t at work, he comes by and watches it with me. He happily explains the game and grins ear to ear when I ask questions.

We argue over our favorite teams. To be honest, mine changes depending on my favorite player at the time, at least that’s what I tell my dad. Which I know irritates my father more than anything. Don’t tell him, but my favorite team will always be the same as his. The Toronto Maple Leafs. My favorite player? Morgan Rielly of course, but don’t tell my dad.

Now that I’m no longer skating, I have more time for school, and I put every bit of that time toward doing well. I do so well that I am on the road to graduating from high school early, and I take advantage of that. I’ve taken as many AP classes as I was allowed. If it were up to me, I would have taken more, but my guidance counselor said the workload would be too much.

My senior year of high school, I send my application to the University of Florida. It’s the only school I want to go to, and I am determined to get in. I want to soak in the sun and visit the beach. As a figure skater, I didn’t have much time to travel for fun, and most of the money my parents made went toward my dream. Vacations were never a thing in my family, so I am going to take advantage of it now.

I’ve always wanted to go to the beach and, this way, my parents will no longer have to spend all their money on me. I can get a part-time job if I have to.

“What’s your plan if you get into Florida, Liz?” My mom's voice rings through the house from the kitchen.

I smile as I work on my homework at the coffee table in the living room. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll be so far away,” she whines.

I laugh. “Mom, I’ll be fine. I’ll get a part-time job to help with expenses. I’m sure they have an ice rink. Maybe, I can teach kids to skate.”

She hums. “You shouldn’t need a part-time job, hun. Your father and I can help pay. Your focus should be on school.”

“Mom, you and Dad have spent enough money on me for a lifetime. I’ll manage.”

She pops out of the kitchen on a huff. “You are as bullheaded as your father. I won’t argue with you because I know how to pick my battles. But if you need anything, we are only a phone call away.”

“I know, ma. You worry too much.”

She laughs as she walks back into the kitchen. “Yes. Well, it’s a mother's job. Don’t forget you have physical therapy tomorrow.”

I groan in protest. “But ma!”

“No buts, missy! You will finish every session of physical therapy.”

I frown, staring down at my homework, then eventually say, “It’s too expensive, ma.”

“I don’t care. That horrible boy and his parents should be paying for this! But—”

I interrupt. “I don’t want anything to do with them, ma.”

“I know”—she sighs— “which is why you will complete every PT session and show that horrid family that you are better than them.”

I smile. “Yes mama.” I turn to the front door as my dad shuffles in. His bright eyes meet mine as I grin. “Hey, da. How was work today?”

“Work,” he grunts.

I snort as I turn on the TV and switch it to the sports channel. The game should be on soon. My dad holds an envelope out in front of my face.

“This came in the mail for you.”

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