Page 1 of Heat It Up (Off the Ice)
Chapter One
Sofia
Forgiveness. It doesn’t matter how many times you say it, or if you say it five times fast, or even if you sing it in the shower to the beat of your favorite pop song. The meaning never changes. It’s that word most of us don’t even think about as we go through our day-to-day life. If someone bumps into us, we don’t have to yell “I forgive you” as the person hurries off.
No, saying the word is easy, but meaning it…now that can be tough. Sometimes it’s easier pretending. Pretending nothing is wrong and that you’re moving on with your life.
Pretending. That’s a much more interesting word.
I stare at the urinal, willing it to spontaneously clean itself. When it doesn’t (stupid urinal), I pull on the rubber gloves and let out a long breath. With the industrial strength cleaner, which reeks of pine and disinfectant, I scrub the urinals, thankful no one back home can see me. And for the first time since I arrived in Helsinki, doubt slips in. What was I thinking?
I was thinking it would be great to get away from the memories haunting me every day. Sure, I could have stayed in Minneapolis for the summer and hung out with my friends, maybe even landed an athletic-therapy internship. But when I saw the ad in Student Services for the overseas work-swap program, and saw Finland listed, there was no way I couldnotdo it. It was like destiny.
Only I hadn’t imagined destiny would equal quality time with my new porcelain friends.
I finish the urinals, which are now clean enough to…I won’t say eat off, because I don’t think they’ll ever be that clean. But they’re shiny enough for Mr. Clean to give them his bald-headed stamp of approval.
Two guys walk into the bathroom. Awesome. I must’ve forgotten to put up the sign warning people that the bathroom’s closed. Their gazes sweep over my body, hidden beneath this hideous brown uniform. From the expressions on their faces, they have quite the imagination. I wouldn’t be surprised if my C-cup bra has magically transformed into a DD. My face grows hot under their scrutiny. They smirk at me and say something in Finnish, none of which I understand. Judging from their tone, they’re not commending me on a great job. Too bad. A little recognition would’ve been nice.
Note to self: guys are jerks no matter what country they live in. It must have to do with the Y chromosome, where the douchebag gene is located.
As I contemplate waving the disgusting mop in their faces to chase them out of here, a girl my age, wearing the same hideous uniform as me, strides into the bathroom. She glares at the guys and lets loose a rapid stream of Finnish that leaves them chuckling. But more importantly, they back away, wave, and exit the room. Maybe she’s my guardian angel.
Funny, I always imagined my guardian angel to be male. With hot abs.
“Hi,” she says. “Fanni told me you’d be in here and we should have lunch together. I’m Maija.” Relief washes through me at her ability to speak English, which sounds exotic buried in a Finnish accent.
I nod, having lost all ability to speak after not saying much in any language for the past week—with the exception of emails to Claire and my mom.Earth to tongue. This is Houston. Will we have communication anytime soon?
“Sorry about those idiots,” Maija says.
“That’s fine. Believe me, guys aren’t any different where I’m from.”
She makes a face. “I’m sorry to hear that. I thought it was only Finnish men who are idiots.”
I laugh. “No, I think it’s pretty much universal.”
“Will you be finished in half an hour?” she asks as I give her the standard once over. She’s about my height and slim, with dark blond hair pulled back in a short ponytail. Like me, she has a little makeup on, but nothing that will make us look glamorous—as if that would even be possible with the uniforms and sneakers. At my nod, she says, “I’ll meet you in the staff locker room at eleven. Okay?”
“Sounds good.”
With the new incentive ahead of me, beyond escaping this room as soon as possible, I move quickly to finish up and meet Maija as planned. After we scrub our arms and hands with more soap than I normally use in a week, she takes me to the staff lunchroom.
The windowless room only has enough space for two long tables, so we’re forced to sit with four women who looked to be in their fifties. Maija introduces me and they smile. Or at least they smile until one speaks to me and Maija has to explain that I’m from California and I don’t speak Finnish. That wipes away their smiles. It’s not where I’m from that’s the problem. It’s that I don’t speak their language. I can’t contribute to the discussion, and Maija will have to translate. I don’t even bother to correct her and tell her I’m from Minnesota. There’s no point.
The women go back to their discussion. I take a bite of my open-faced cheese sandwich.
“I’ve always wanted to be a character actor at Disneyland. But not a Disney Princess,” Maija says. “Have you worked there?”
I shake my head. “I’m from Minnesota, not California. But I know what you mean. I wanted to be one when I was eight after we went there one summer.” The rest of the lunch break is spent with Maija asking me a gazillion questions about Minnesota.
“Why did you want to come to Finland to clean toilets?” she eventually asks.
Good question. “My mom’s from Finland but I haven’t been here in years. I thought it would be a great chance to spend time with my grandmother and get to know her better. Cleaning toilets was the added bonus.” I laugh at her shocked expression about the toilets. “I’m kidding. When I signed up for the work-exchange program, I thought I’d get to do something related to what I’m studying at college.” Especially when I found out I’d be working in a sports center. Silly me.
“What are you studying?”
“Athletic training.” At her confused expression, I clarify, “I want to work with athletes who’ve been injured so they can play again. I’d love to work with a sports team one day.” But it’s a tough field to get into.
