Page 136 of Oh, Flutz!

“My blade isrusted!”

A shrieky voice pierces though my reverie, and sure enough, Katya’s standing in the doorway, wielding a skate like a murder weapon.

Juliet curses, and Katya marches over to us to display the sprinkle of spots on the metal. ‘How is that possible?”

“I don’t know, they were fine when I packed them!”

“It won’t make a difference, stop overreacting,” I mumble, and my partner stops freaking out over nothing long enough to give me the nastiest look of death I’ve ever witnessed.

“Overreacting? This could screw my skating up tomorrow. Or have you forgotten the whole reason we’re even here?”

I snort. “Oh, right. How could I forget? Win at all costs.”

That sends her screeching to a halt. “I—"

“Forget it. I don’t care.” I turn brusquely to Juliet, who’s doing an excellent job of pretending like she’s all alone with Katya’s skate. “What’s the verdict, Campbell?”

“It should be fine,” our assistant coach says lightly, handing it back. “I’ll go up later and show you an easy way to get rid of the spots.”

“You’re sure?” Katya asks anxiously, and something about how hysterical she is over something that doesn’t even matter is getting under my skin. How can she obsess over a microscopic fleck of rust, and make life-altering decisions at the drop of a hat?

“Whatever,” I mutter.

“Whatever?” She turns to face me, looking at me like she doesn’t know who I am. “Whatever?”

“I’m gonna run and get Lian,” Juliet says nervously, but neither of us pay attention.

Katya shakes her head frantically, pushing her hair back from her face. “No, you know what, that’s it. I don’t understand. I just don’t understand. Get yourself together! What is wrong with you? Why don’t youcareanymore?”

Something spikes in my memory, my heart rate kicking up. “Katya—”

Katya’s tearstained, hiccupping, practically distraught. “I need you to care, Bryan! I can’t do this all by myself!”

“Stop it, please just stop it,” I’m practically begging all of a sudden, the pounding in my head growing with every passing second, but she’s choking back tears.

“We win today? We lose tomorrow? Whatthen, Bryan?”

That’s all it takes.

FIVE YEARS AGO

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS—U.S. NATIONALS

“With three new world records for junior men’s scores, the now three-time junior national champion, Bryan Young!”

“Is that the actual score?” I blurt out for the fiftieth time, hands to my forehead, struggling to pick my jaw up off the floor.

“You did it, kid,” my coach says, gripping me by the shoulders. “You did it. I think three’s your lucky number.”

“Oh my god, I did,” I yell out, and Lian presses me into a tight hug. When I pull away, I stand up and wave to the crowd, then turn back to her. “Lee, I think I can add the quad Sal into the free for Worlds. I know I can do it.”

“Bryan, you’re already a lock for gold, you don’t need to push so hard. Don’t take—”

“Any unnecessary risks, I know,” I finish for her, then groan. “Come on, I just nailed that! I want tochallengemyself now.”

Lian shakes her head, smiling. “Take a breath. Enjoy the win.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, saluting, and she pretends to not enjoy it, steering me out of the kiss-and-cry to where everyone’s waiting.

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