Page 44 of Oh, Flutz!

I think if someone had told me in January I’d be watching the ungodliest (and most addicting) reality show known to man, with my partner and his little sister asleep next to me, I would’ve laughed in their face.

Being here makes me think about home. My friends, especially. I was an only child for eleven years; then I moved to Moscow, and suddenly I had a second family. Tatyana was strict, but she loved us, Anna was like a sister, and Mikhail and Vanya were my brothers. Vanya was just a baby when he first showed up at training, hiding behind his siblings, after their Olympian-turned-coach parents joined Tatyana’s staff, bringing their younger children with them. Vanya must’ve been six or seven. Us girls collectively decided to adopt him. He had no choice in the matter.

And all the others—well, we may not have gotten along all the time, but that’s what siblings are like, right? Even though we were competitors, we still gossiped, and did each other’s hair and makeup; all the things friends do.

Even if all gloves came off during competition season, we were still some kind of big family. And maybe I was expecting Bryan’s to be the same. Not just him and his little sister in a house that feels oddly empty, despite its warmth.

I glance back at him, lashes fluttering, arm tight around Alexandra even in sleep.

I think, maybe, I might understand something now.

We walk along thesidewalk, the asphalt shining under the streetlights, the remnants of this afternoon’s rain shower glowing in the night.

The wind’s nipping at my face, and I rub my hands together. Cold or no cold, if Bryan weren’t here with me, there’s no way I’d be out at this hour. But before I could order the Uber, he finally woke up and insisted it would be stupid to waste thirty dollars on a ten-block walk, practically dragging me all the way to Main Street, where the string lights are flickering overhead and the shops are closing, the stream of passersby dwindling except for the two of us.

“So…what is your middle name, anyway?” he asks, a goofy smile pulling at his lips.

He’s not funny, I have to remind myself, before shrugging. “Guess.”

“Uh…Anna?”

“Nope. It’s Dmitriyevna.” In Slavic countries, we have a first and surname, but also a patronymic, which is usually taken from the father’s name. My mother gave me Dedushka’s, because my own couldn’t be bothered to stick around to the first sonogram. I think Dedushka was relieved when he left. As for me, I’m happy with it just being the three of us, although sometimes I wish it were a little easier to make the bills so I wouldn’t feel so awful about always missing the prize for first place.

“No way. Ekaterina Dmitriyevna Andreyeva? How old were you before you could pronounce your full name?”

I roll my eyes. “Very funny. And it’s pronouncedYekaterina, by the way. But what’s yours? Bryan Bonehead?” I shoot back, and he laughs.

“Robert, for my dad. I mean, I have two, but—”

“Your initials areB-R-Y?Isn’t that what everyone calls you?”

“Technically, it’sB-R-A-Y,which is even more unfortunate.”

“Like a donkey? Oh, that explains so much.”

He shoves me in the shoulder playfully, and I shove him back hard enough that he stumbles into the melting remnants of the snowbank.

“Hey!” he protests, then a wicked smile passes over his face. “Oh, you know, just for that, we’re going somewhere right now.”

“Where?” I ask suspiciously, and he just grabs my hand, starting to run down the street.

“Just come on!”

We run down Main, all the way down to the busy end, where there’s people laughing and falling out of pub doors, couples and elderly people huddled on the sidewalk as we blast past all of them, the wind whipping in our faces.

“Slow down!” I shriek, nearly colliding with a lamp post, but Bryan lets out a wild laugh and yanks me out of the way.

“You’re just a slow-poke, hurry up!”

“What’s a slow-poke?!”

We keep running, leaving Main in our dust, passing town buildings and a big church. When he finally lets go of my hand, I double over, out of breath. “Are you done torturing me yet? Is this some kind of punishment for being so superior to you?”

“Look over there.”

“Where?”

Bryan reaches behind me, taking my arm and pointing both of ours to the right. I squint, trying to see in the dark, but then he takes my hand and drags me after him again, stumbling down the snowy hill, past the parking lot and up to a little green shed.

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