Page 55 of Oh, Flutz!

“You do realize I listen when you talk, right?”

Kenny’s belting out the high note, which fades into the next part of the music arrangement; “Top Gun Anthem,” the movie’s theme.

“I can’t believe your favorite is strawberry.”

“What’s wrong with strawberry?”

“It’s so…pink.”

“Mudak.”

Pair spin, then choreo into the death spiral. I’m in what’s essentially a chair position, holding one hand up in the air while the other holds onto Katya’s, swinging her around as she keeps her body taut in one straight line.

Crossovers, then I swing Katya up and over my head into a lasso lift, and put her down exactly on beat as it transitions back into “Danger Zone,” which, unfortunately, means it’s time for the hardest part of the program.

Lian had already told us we’d have to back-load our programs a tad in order to maximize our scores—you get a point increase if you do difficult elements closer to the end of your skate, because by then you’re tired and worn out—but still. The whole reason we’re doing the side-by-side jumps at the end is exactly what makes it extremely hard to do.

Christ. I’m dizzy as hell, and it doesn’t help that going back into a more upbeat music segment means you have to up the energy.

We keep going, grinding it out, getting ready for the quad toe-triple toe combination, which has been going well. No problem.

Except there is, in fact, a problem.

I feel slow, clumsy, I’m lagging behind. I swallow roughly, trying to keep my breathing steady, blinking away the dizziness and pushing harder to keep up.

What iswithme today? Between the annoying reporter lady, the camera crew following us around, and the feeling like I’m about to fall asleep mid-element…I need to focus. I need to pull myself together. Still, I turn to Katya, embarrassed even before I ask it. “Can we triple?”

Katya shakes her head. “Not now. We need to impress them.”

“I—” No. she’s right. We have to pull out all the stops right now. “Okay.”

She glances back at me. “Ready?”

No, not at all. I nod. “Ready.”

I let go of her hand, and we space apart. I can just barely see her in my peripheral vision, and for a moment it feels like I’m back in singles, alone on the ice.

Quad toe.You got this. It’s fine.I’ve been landing this jump lately like I’ve been landing it all my life. I can do this. Who cares about Giselle? It’s fine.Focus.

I straighten out my arms, forcing my toe pick down into the ice, sending me flying up with what should be more than enough momentum to get me into all four rotations and back down.

Except there’s a split second between where I’m in the air and I’m not that I realize that this isn’t going to end well. All I can think is,oh, shit.

Everything’s wrong, my arm position is fucking crazy, my feet have somehow kicked up diagonally, and I slam down into the ice—and usually I’d shift my weight so I fall on my side and not anywhere more damaging, because that’s one of the first things you learn how to do as a little kid in lessons.

But I don’t.

I don’t feel it for a second. I can’t, I’m totally numb, but then I glance down and see my right foot not pointing in the direction it should be, and then it’s like I’ve been electrocuted. Blinding pain tears through me, and I think I start yelling.

“Bryan!” I can barely register the shouting, barely register Katya’s hands on me. I roll onto my side, curling into a fetal position as I clutch my leg right above my ankle, because I think I might die if I actually touch it; I’m groaning, making horrible noises.

Oh god, oh god, ohgod—

There’s cameras.The realization hits me like a bucket of ice water, washing away the pain and replacing it with terror. There are reporters getting this all on film. I can’t have another bad story. I can’t ruin this again. I have to move; I have to get up.

“Stay still, you idiot!”

I gasp for air, but nothing comes out, my mouth stuck open like a fish. I shake my head, still trying to scramble to my feet even as said foot is currently screaming in pain. “No, we—again, the quad—”

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