Page 35 of Shining Through

He took her hand, and they walked into the park beside the rink. Warm afternoon sun bathed the footpath with dappled golden light. She hoped he wouldn’t try to talk her into jogging. She hated jogging. Instead, he stopped at the playground and dropped his skate bag beside the swing set.

“I thought you were joking about the swings!”

“No joke.” He took a seat in a swing and held out his hand inviting her to take the one beside it. “Nothing against the law. No calories and you can’t get hurt. Not badly, anyway.”

“I feel ridiculous,” she said, but trudged over, and sat down in the rubber sling seat.

“But you’re doing it anyway. That’s progress.”

He pushed off from the ground, pumping his legs backward and forward. She stayed closer to the ground, so he wouldn’t have the satisfaction of thinking she enjoyed this. But as he gained height, her natural competitiveness kicked in. She propelled herself higher and higher until she was neck and neck with him. As they approached the top of the forward arc, he looked over and grinned. “Now jump!”

“Are you insane?”

He laughed, and stretched out his legs, no longer pumping but enjoying the ride as his swing slowed. “Not insane. You’re right; we don’t want to risk injury because of a bad landing. But it was fun, even if you feel ridiculous. And you aren’t mad anymore.”

She slowed down too, letting her feet brush the woodchip covered ground. He went to their skate bags and returned with their water bottles. She opened hers and took a drink. “I wasn’t mad. I just don’t like being criticized because I was never free to chase every shiny new thing that comes along. Someone had to be the grown-up.”

“Because your mom and sister had all those bad experiences?”

“That’s part of it. In my life, there’s been no shortage of drama. Only a shortage of money. I handled it the best I could, but I wasn’t always successful.”

“It’s hard to think of you not being successful at something.”

She shrugged and glanced down at her left hand. The red polish had chipped away on her index finger. “Well, I wasn’t.”

“Tell me what happened. I can keep a secret.”

She thought of his neglected social media pages and realized that it was true. He wasn’t the type to gossip or over share. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “It’s not a secret. Peter thinks it shows how driven and committed I was to skating. But I don’t like to talk about it. It’s not something I’m proud of.”

“Because you didn’t have money? That’s no reason to feel ashamed.”

“Says the son of the billionaire and the supermodel.”

“Do you think I’d look down on you? I’m the last person who should judge anyone. Tell me what happened, Tabitha.”

She stared at the ground and kicked up woodchips. If nothing else, it would prove she wasn’t still pining over ice dance and that skating had mattered to her. It still did. He’d promised not to judge her. This would prove if she could trust him. If he laughed or belittled her, she’d know the person he really was. And if he didn’t?

That was trouble of a different sort.

The shouts of kids running and playing took Tabitha back to that awful day. She could recall every detail, from what she’d worn to school, to the gross cafeteria pizza she’d eaten for lunch. Even twelve years later, the Ice Queen had never vanquished the Scholarship Girl.

“Because of money, my early training started and stopped a lot. But when I was eleven Fiona worked part time at the rink to cover the cost. For the first time, I was making real progress. I had all my double jumps and my coach thought I was ready to compete. Then one morning, Fiona told me she’d lost her rink job. I knew it was because she’d flirted with the rink owner’s husband, and that once again, I’d have to quit skating.”

“By lunchtime, I was practically sick. I sat in the school cafeteria, eating the lunch I got for free because we were poor, furious that Fiona’s screw-up meant the end of my skating. I realized that no one would save skating but me. I walked out in the middle of the school day and caught a bus to the rink.”

“Just like that?” He sounded impressed.

“Yep. I marched up to Diane, the rink owner, and told her I had to keep skating. I said I would take over Fiona’s job in the snack bar, and stay after the rink closed and clean every night until midnight if that was what it took. Diane shook her head and said no.”

“That was when I lost it. I threw myself down on the floor at her feet, and screamed and cried, and even threatened to jump in front of a bus. People were staring, and Diane was this close to calling the police. Then Sheila, an instructor who liked me, calmed me down. She said she would find a way for me to keep skating.”

“And that was Olga Zelanskaya?”

“First it was scholarships, but with money to train, I gave it my all. Since I was almost in my teens, I had a lot of catching up to do. But I started to win. Sheila worked to place me with a coach who could take me to the next level.”

“But everyone passed.”

“Everyone except Peter Flanagan. Once he offered me a place in his training group, he brought me to Olga, who had helped other skaters. At sixteen, I won junior nationals; at seventeen, I made the jump to senior level. Except for blowing my shot at the Oslo Games, it’s been a good run.”

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