Page 29 of Oh, Flutz!

BRYAN

“Oh shit, oh shit,ohshit!”

And, well, he’s called it, because Oliver’s axis is practically horizontal as he takes off into the air into a triple Lutz. There’s no chance of saving it as he falls flat on the ice.

I can’t help but laugh. “I think that was the best one yet.”

He throws me a dirty look, but it’s a little hard to take him seriously with all the snow in his hair. “Shut up.”

I lean through the door to the ice and give him a hand. “Man, you need a haircut. I think that’s your problem right there, that you can’t even see where you’re going.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ollie reaches past me for his slime green guards on the ledge. “How’d it go?”

I play dumb, which isn’t all that hard. “How’d what go?”

“Dude, I’m gonna hit you with this.”

It’s an inch-wide piece of floppy plastic, so I don’t think it would really do much, but I don't fight him.

“Was it better than yesterday, at least? Worse? Come on, give me something.”

You can always rely on Oliver Kwan to be the nosiest damn person you’ll ever meet, and it’s a good thing when you need someone to talk trash with. I look around for Lian first, then lean in when I’m sure no one can hear me about to bash my supposedpartner.

“This girl is freaking psycho,” I tell him, handing him his water bottle from his board bag.

He suppresses a snort, then takes it, chugging greedily, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. “Like, hot psycho, or psycho-psycho?”

“Who cares? She’s crazy. She’s mean, for one, and she’s obsessed with being the best. Plus, she makes fun of me constantly.” I honestly don’t know how I’m going to put up with all her crap for the next twelve months.

“You sure you’re not talking about me?” he quips, and I roll my eyes, leaning my back against the boards.

“Believe me, I wish you were still the most annoying person in my life. Anyway, I really am starting to think that my golden years might be over at twenty,” I sigh. “And I didn’t even go to college. What a waste.”

Ollie snorts. “Why do you think I go out so much? I’m making up for lost time we could’ve spent going to parties and getting dicked down.”

“I don’t know what you mean bywe, but go off.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to. The glories of young adulthood aren’t about to be totally lost on me just ‘cause I made a decision as a young, impressionable gay child to become Jason Brown,” Oliver says nonchalantly, and I burst out laughing.

“Oh, god, do you remember your ponytail phase?” I choke out, and my best friend groans, burying his face in his hands in embarrassment.

“I don’t know how my mom ever let that happen. Between the hair and the tights, people would confuse me and Nina all the time.”

I’m howling with laughter at this point. “And then—and then at competition, the introduction guy would think it was a typo and call you Olivia!”

“I think that was the same year I tried doing a Riverdance routine,” Oliver recalls miserably, and I double over, clutching at my stomach, struggling to breathe.

He swats me. “Asshole. Don’t think I forgot about your Whitney year. The little disco outfit, with the ruffles and the—” He does a hand flourish straight from that absolutely appalling choreo. I kick him, but he ducks out of reach, cackling. “Oh my god, baby Bryan, skipping and hopping around to ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’ and ‘I Will Always Love You’ was something I wouldpayto see again.”

“Yeah, not a chance in hell.” Oliver’s Jason Brown era might have been bad, but I think that program might have been even worse. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Whitney Houston, but not enough to go through that traumatizing experience again.

“That’s a shame. Really though, even that was miles better than whatever weird shit you had this year. Some people can pull off mopey instrumental, Bry, but you aren’t one of them.”

He’s right. The fact that I absolutely hated the music Lian and the choreographers picked out for me this past season didn’t help. “Yeah. How much you wanna bet that Katya’s going to suggest some boring, totally overdone piece of music?” I huff. “God, I miss doingfunprograms.”

Oliver shrugs, unlacing his skates and replacing his guards with the soft blade covers we use to make sure they don’t get rusted between practices. “Tell her that.”

“That’s not gonna go over well, trust me.” I run a hand through my hair, and a memory hits me. “Do you remember that year, when you, me and Nina all did musicals for our free programs, and we’d learn all the lyrics and do insanely bad karaoke and piss everyone else off?” I laugh, remembering that particular Nationals when Oliver broke into song in the middle of my skate so loudly and obnoxiously that Mia, Juliet and Nina had to gag and restrain him because I could hear his terrible rendition ofThe Room Where It Happenedall the way on the ice.

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