Page 57 of The Favorites
“There you have it, folks,” Kirk announces. “Lin and Rocha are going to the Grand Prix Final.”
Garrett Lin:We knew Bella and Heath would give us a fight.
Kirk Lockwood:I thought it might be close. But everyone expected Kat and Garrett to win. They were more experienced. They were the reigning world champions.
At the 2005 Grand Prix Final in Tokyo, Japan, Katarina and Garrett sit in the kiss and cry with Sheila, awaiting their free dance scores. In the lead after the original dance, they were the last team to skate. The numbers appear, and Katarina’s face falls.
“Incredible!” comes Kirk’s voice over the commentary track. “In their first season together, Isabella Lin and Heath Rocha take Grand Prix gold!”
Cut to Bella and Heath backstage, celebrating their win. Bella kisses Heath on the cheek, leaving a smear of pink lipstick. Then back to Katarina and Garrett. Katarina’s face has twisted into a furious scowl. Garrett squeezes her knee and smiles, seeming to remind her to be a gracious loser, but it’s too late: her reaction has been broadcast for the whole world to see.
Ellis Dean:Listen, if you’d just had your ass kicked by your ex-boyfriendandyour ex-bestie, you’d be pretty upset too.
Katarina and Garrett leave the kiss and cry. Her expression is more neutral now, but she sweeps past the outstretched media microphones without speaking to anyone.
Ellis Dean:If only Heath and Bella had stopped there.
Chapter 31
Following our defeat in Tokyo, all I wanted was to fast-forward to Nationals in January, when Garrett and I would have the chance to defend our title and redeem ourselves.
Unfortunately, Sheila had volunteered all the Academy’s senior ice dance teams for a charity gala on New Year’s Eve. I can’t even remember what the cause was—whales or children or something else in perpetual need of saving—but we were to be the night’s entertainment, skating an exhibition show on the beachfront ice rink at the Hotel del Coronado.
The hotel was impressive, like a Gilded Age ocean liner run aground on a stretch of pristine island sand right off the coast of San Diego. When we arrived the morning of the event, the place was still decorated for the holidays, with string lights tracing the turrets and, in the two-story lobby, a Christmas tree tall enough to brush the polished ceiling coffers.
Their skating facilities, though, left something to be desired. The rink was a temporary structure, set up every winter for tourists to stumble around in rental skates while sipping spiked hot chocolate. Without any shade from the California sun, the top layers of ice softened until it felt as if you were trudging through slush.
After the preshow practice session, while most of the other skaters seized the opportunity to lounge on the beach or explore the resort, I retreated to my room, exhausted. We’d left LA at daybreak, and myseat on the chartered coach had offered an entirely too clear view of Bella leaning against Heath’s shoulder while he listened to the iPod she’d bought him for Christmas. Instead of flying home after the NHK Trophy, the two of them had stayed in Japan for the few weeks leading up to the final, sightseeing and doing who knows what else together.
I didn’t want to think about it. But I also couldn’t seem to stop.
The elevator in the hotel lobby was an old-fashioned birdcage contraption, operated by a stooped, gray-haired man wearing a uniform complete with little round hat. As he dragged the metal accordion gate closed, he whistled a cheerful rendition of “Auld Lang Syne.”
“So you’re one of the ice skaters?” he asked.
I nodded. He switched to whistling the Olympic fanfare.
“You going to the Olympics?”
“I hope so,” I said.
The polite, humble answer—the one I’d been trained to give in interviews so I didn’t come across as an entitled, egotistical bitch. But I knew damn well I was going to the Games.
Despite Bella and Heath’s unexpected Grand Prix triumph, Garrett and I were still the top ice dancers in the United States. The U.S. National Championships served as the de facto Olympic trials, but for us, they were a formality. Two American dance teams would compete in Torino, and we would be one of them. My childhood dream coming true at last.
Only it was no longer enough for me.
I’d spent years aching,yearningto compete at the Olympic Games. Now that I was well on my way, simply competing didn’t feel sufficient. I wanted to go to the Games as reigning U.S. champion. I never wanted to stand on a silver medal step again.
The elevator arrived at my floor. The attendant shuffled over to retract the gate. And there, in the corridor, was Bella, her fist raised to knock on the door to my room.
“Hey,” she said. “There you are.”
“You were looking for me?”
This was already the longest conversation we’d had since the day I found out she was skating with Heath.
“Yeah. I was wondering if…”
