Page 83 of Oh, Flutz!

“I think Juliet told me once that sundaes are the best hangover cure,” I mumble, not bothering to lift my head so my voice comes out muffled by my sweater sleeves.

I can hear the clanking of her spoon against the bowl. “Mm-hm. Makes sense.”

“Ollie was right, sadly. I think ice cream is the only way to make me feel better.”

“Well, I think technically it’s because of the nutritional aspects. The ice cream is cold and settles the stomach, the sugar boosts your energy, and depending on the flavor, it has caffeine. Not just coffee. Chocolate, too.”

“So…you’re saying sundaes are healthy?” I ask, finally lifting my head and trying to smile. “I think Katya would flip.”

Lian tilts her head, trying to analyze me. “How are you two doing?”

“What do you mean? You see us every day.”

“You know what I mean.”

I play dumb. “Umm, no…”

“Umm, yeah…”

“Fine. What do you even wanna know? Whether I have the serious urge to find the closest tall building so I can jump off it whenever she opens her mouth? Then yes, I do.” I roll my eyes, reaching across the counter and sliding the tub of coffee towards me, picking up a spoon and stabbing at it. “Anyway, it’s whatever at this point. There’s no chance of it getting better, so it might as well get worse.”

She frowns. “What does that mean?”

I snort into my ice cream. “Come on.”

“Bryan, honey.” Lian reaches across the counter, taking my hand, and I can’t look at her. I can’t see another person feeling sorry for me. I already have Katya reminding me every chance she gets that I don’t deserve to be here. I have to force myself not to rip my hand away. “Why are you getting so fixated? This isn’t…normal, for you.”

“I’m usually content with being a total loser, you mean?”

My coach gives me a withering look, and I drop the bullshit.

“It’s just—” I swallow the tightness threatening to block any words from coming out, lowering my voice so it doesn’t betray how shaky it is. “I was thinking about it. Maybe, if I start winning again, maybe…”

Lee sighs. “Oh, kiddo.” The pity in her voice—the immediate understanding—is unmistakable. It makes me want to vomit. “When are you gonna learn not to listen to them? You know better.”

They didn’t even have to say anything this time,I almost say. I’ve got their voices in my head, and now I can do their job for them. Now they won’t ever leave me alone.

“Uh huh.” I can feel my heart beating out of my chest, the lump in my throat growing even tighter as I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my chest from exploding. Bryan, get yourself together. Man up. Come on!My vision gets blurry. “Yeah. Okay.”

And as I’m picking the spoon back up, dropping the subject like the coward I am, it hits me, and the ice cream suddenly tastes like sawdust. That maybe Katya was right.

I can’t even remember the last time I was happy to just do this.

The rest of theweekend drags on to the point that you’d think everything was moving in slow motion. Maybe it’s the feeling like you have no reason to keep on moving that leaves you so stuck in place.

Practice. Bachelor night, only without my sister, just me in my sad little apartment eating cold pizza and zoning out instead of actually watching. Then more training, over and over, until the next competition, and then the whole cycle starts from the beginning. I’m so exhausted I’ve been having to set extra alarms to make sure I actually get up in the morning.

Katya hasn’t let up, either. I don’t know why it surprises me.Keepssurprising me, actually. I guess some stupid part of me was thinking that she would sense something was going on with me. It’d be almost as if we were partners and spent basically all of our time together—oh wait, that’s exactly what we are!

Forget it. We have to get ready for American Prix. There’s no time for anything else.

It’s the end of the day, and despite us barely looking at each other, let alone speaking, it went fine enough. Even though I was extremely reluctant (i.e., they had to force me kicking and screaming), we tried the quad twist, and we didn’t die. All the throws were decent, and our jumps and spins were “passable,” according to Lee, which means they were almost perfect. Maybe not quite there yet, but we have time. Sort of. Not really.

So I’m sitting in the off-ice room at the end of the day, stretching to mitigate the soreness I can already feel creeping up on me, when Katya walks in. She, as usual, does not look happy. But I’m getting a bad feeling already.

“What’s up?” I say tonelessly, and she drops her skate bag with a thunk before glaring at me.

“What do you care,mudak?”

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