Page 15 of Oh, Flutz!

I push down the unfamiliar feeling gnawing at the pit of my stomach—and the reminder that itstillcould be taken away. I don’t want to agree with that lunatic coach, but she was right that this is my last shot. At least for now. I’m sure I can convince the Americans that I belong in singles. All I need is the quads, and I’m golden—literally. It’s only one extra revolution, right? And that way, not only will I have a fighting chance at beating out Polina and whatever new girl shows up between now and next year’s Olympics in Helsinki, but I’ll have more support here than I would back home, because I’d be the AFSC’s best bet at taking home a medal in the women’s event.

The only problem is that…boy. It’s one thing having to prove myself, but if I have to do it with someone else, then it can easily become problematic. I was only in regular education up until right before I was supposed to move up to middle school—I joined my teammates in the center’s in-house program after that—but it was long enough to know how much I hate working in groups.

Call me uptight. I don’t care. There’s a reason I’m in an individual sport; I need control over my own chances of success. And that boy in the office looked—well, aside from being entirely unfamiliar to me (and I know every name worth knowing in this sport, so that’s a bad start), he looked lazy. And messy. And all toorelaxed. In short, a far cry from all the male skaters at my camp, who were all wound up like tin soldiers. And for good reason—you need the fear drilled into you, otherwise you have no incentive.

Clearly he has none, otherwise his coach wouldn’t be so eager to switch things up for him. Back home we don’t have that luxury. There are always plenty of skaters lined up behind you, waiting to take your place at any given moment.

Although, who the hell am I to talk? When that’s exactly what just happened to me?

I swallow a sigh and just keep walking, and when I finally find the rink, I sit down on the bleachers closest to the boards, stuffing my hands in my jacket pockets. And I watch.

A little girl, maybe eight or nine, zooms by the big Plexiglass dividers right in front of me before setting her position and leaping into a Lutz jump. It’s shaky, and far from perfect, but the huge grin that takes over her face as she lands takes me back to when I used to be like her.Excitedabout the sport. Right now, it feels like an addiction. Less of a want than a need, something I dread but can’t stay away from.

If I can land that combination, I might actually look forward to getting on the ice again.

I just need to land it. Then everything will be fine.

My phone buzzes, and I dig through my purse and pull it out, clicking accept the second I see the Russian country code. “Allo?” I say, heart pounding.

“Katyusha? Is that you?”

Disappointment fills my mouth, but only for a split second, because then I start smiling. “Privyet, Dedushka.”

“Ha! It can’t be you,vnuchka, or else I wouldn’t be racking up obscene telephone bills right now. Who are you, and what have you done with my granddaughter?”

“Nice to hear from you too,” I joke, and the old man huffs.

“Nice to hear from you too,”he mocks. “It was nice to hear from the television that you’re in America right now. I would appreciate being kept in the loop of my granddaughter’s business.”

“Sorry,” I mumble abashedly, like I’m a kid in trouble. “There wasn’t much time. It all happened so fast.”

That’s enough to get him back onto the real target of his frustration, and I smile to myself as I hear the tell-tale signs of a Dmitriy Antonovich Andreyev rant coming on—huffing, puffing, and increasing amounts of out-of-date cursing.

“I just can’t believe they cut you out. You’re the best skater they have.”

I sigh. “Tell the Federation that.”

“Thefederatsiyacan go fly a kite. All those politicians, they’ve been a pain in our ass since the dinosaurs. You’re my granddaughter, which automatically means you’re exceptional. Trust me, it's a very good sign if the bureaucrats don’t like you.”

I have to laugh. He’s always been good at getting me to do that. “Touché.”

“Damn right.” His laugh is hoarse and scratchy from sixty years of cigarettes. “Have you talked to your mother?”

I haven’t spoken to her outside of text messages since she and Mikhail drove me to the airport. Today, or yesterday, whatever. I’m already giving up on keeping track of the time zones. “No,” I say. “Have you?”

“She went straight back to the office. You know Lyudmila. “

I do know Lyudmila. I laugh, but it’s more of a sigh, and I wipe my hand across my face, feeling the ache strengthen in my chest. I just pray it doesn’t spread, because the last thing I need right now is a migraine. At this rate, I’ll be out of my prescription in a week. “I’m tired, Dedushka. I want…” God, what do I want? What do Iwant?I can’t finish the sentence. The usual answers aren’t springing to mind.

He sighs on the other end of the line, like he can sense my thoughts, long and drawn out, and that’s how I know what’s coming. “Ay, little girl. What did I always tell you?”

I fight the urge to cry. “Don’t let them kill you,” I say, repeating the words I’ve heard all my life.

“Don’t let them kill you, Katyusha. Don’t let them stomp that fire out. You’re special,malyshka, and I don’t just say it because you’re my granddaughter. You have something they don’t. Use it. Don’t tell anyone I said this, but if skating for the U.S.A. is what you need to do, then I’ll buy a star-spangled banner and wave it at your competitions.”

I choke out a laugh, wiping at my face before anyone can see. “I would pay to see that.”

Dedushka snorts. “The universe is playing a joke on me. All those times I could’ve left to work for them, for a hell of a lot more cash, and the unfortunate matter of my morals stopped me. Just for this to happen.”

---