Page 87 of Oh, Flutz!

The few times I remember my mom being able to stay at home while I was sick when I was really little, she used to take my head in her lap and gently rub at my scalp until the aches went away, or at least until I fell asleep. I try it, and Katya lets out a wobbly breath.

“That feels nice.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to find you some Tylenol?” I whisper, and she lets out a teary laugh, muffled by my sweater.

“I want to put my head through a wall. Repeatedly.”

“Yeah, let’s not do that.”

I can feel her tiny laugh. “Bryan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” she says, so quietly I almost can’t hear it, and then she falls asleep.

Chapter Twenty-Five

KATYA

NOVEMBER

NORDIC PRIX—ESPOO, FINLAND

“Are we ever goingto escape this snow?” Bryan gripes, before tearing off a piece of croissant and stuffing it in his mouth. “It’s November, for crying out loud.”

I turn to Lian, who’s sipping on a cup of coffee—black, of course, just like mine. “Did the issue with our practice ice get resolved?”

“Yes, thankfully.” Lian puts down the coffee. “Did the issue with your scheduling get resolved?”

I sigh. “No, not yet. I need to text Sanjiv and ask.”

We’ve been so busy these past couple of weeks with constant traveling to and from competitions, not to mention the competitions themselves, that there hasn’t been any time to eventhinkabout anything other than flight arrangements and skate sharpenings. But sure enough, psychological problems wait for no man, and I have to figure out when I’m going to be able to see Sanjiv in the middle of all this craziness.

“We were discussing potentially doing virtual sessions once the season starts back up after the holiday break,” I add, and that’s when I notice that Bryan is looking extremely awkward all of a sudden, fiddling with his croissant.

“Um, how’s that…how’s that goin’, by the way?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck.

“Fine,” I say curtly, and Lian hides her amusement. “According to the good doctor, I’m ‘certifiable, but in a fun way,’ and I’m making progress on the other thing.”

He starts to laugh until I pin him with a glare. “Well, that’s good, then. Right?”

I roll my eyes. “Right.”

Lian clinks the sugar spoon against the cup, presumably for dramatic effect. “Let’s focus. We need to lock in today.”

She’s right. Ever since we got here, though, I haven’t been able to get over how bizarre it feels to be in this country, when I hope—Iknow—that we’ll be back here in just a few months, just a twenty-minute bus ride away, for the Olympics. It feels insane to be sitting here worrying about a Prix event whenthat’sthe end goal. Then again, my mother would laugh and tell me to take it one step at a time.

She’d also tell me to eat something so I’m not in a foul mood by the time there’s cameras in my face, which is why I continued the pattern of putting aside all my usual routines and joined Bryan and the others downstairs for breakfast.

“Weneedto clean up the side-by-side triple Axels,” Lian is saying for the millionth time. “You both have flawless ones, there’s no excuse. You could be getting major bonus points if it weren’t for your inability to count to five.”

“We know,” we mutter.

“And transitions out of lifts.Please, for the love of god. Transitions or nothing. Lasso and overhead are looking good, but Bryan, you can’t be so terrified of dropping her. You look like an old man, you’re taking so long to get her down. Katya, get off your toe pick when he puts you on the ice. You’re jerking backward onto your blade. It looks sloppy.”

“We know.”

“And smile! Katya, you’vegotto emote. Bryan might skate constipated, but at least he’s selling it. You have to sell it. You’re door-to-door salesmen on that ice, you hear me?”

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