Page 1 of The Cutting Edge
Chapter one
Coco
Well,Ican’tjustleave her here.
This is definitely the worst day this could've happened. If I don't make it to the hospital in the next hour everything will go to crap.
I'm still in my hibiscus pink skating dress, nervously playing with my necklace and trying to calculate exactly how much time it will take me to change my clothes and get out the door if Poppy’s babysitter or father or whoever shows upright this secondto pick her up.
Which of course, they haven't.
“Poppy, who's picking you up today?” I ask impatiently. This is the only downside of working with kids – somebody’s parents are late pretty much every single day.
And on most days, it’s not a big deal. But today is not most days.
Poppy shrugs her little shoulders, her brown ringlets just dusting the top of her sparkly pink jacket, which matches her sparkly pink leotard. She absent-mindedly bangs her skates against the bleacher seat, a repetitive clang clang clang that wears on my last nerve as I anxiously await the arrival of some responsible adult tasked with picking her up.
Poppy is my youngest figure skating student by a couple of years. She's five, and my next oldest student is seven. She holds her own in my class, though. Of all of my students, she is by far the most naturally gifted on the ice, and has better coordination than some of my 10-year-old students.
“Miss Coco, I’m hungry,” she says. “Do I have a snack?”
“Let’s check,” I say, digging into her small backpack. There are some crayons and paper; a drawing of Poppy, her dad, and either a very large dog or a regular-sized horse; a couple of little games; some mittens (which seems hilarious, given it’s March in Florida and a balmy 80 degrees all week); but no snack.
“Nothing in here,” I say.
"But I'm really hungry, "she answers. “I’mstarving.”
I have a protein bar stuffed in my bag that I was planning on scarfing down in the car for dinner, but I'll figure something out.
I hold it out to her and ask, “Do you have any allergies? Can you eat this?" I know for a fact that there’s nothing in her file about allergies, but it pays to be extra safe with kids.
She snatches the bar out of my hands quickly, “This is the same kind my dad gets at home."
She struggles with the wrapper until I help her tear off the end, and takes a big bite, her little cheeks bulging like a chipmunk’s with my salted caramel protein bar.
"This one's pretty good, "she says, mouth full. Have you ever tried the chocolate peanut butter?"
My stomach growls. "Yeah, I really like that one too."
She happily munches on my protein bar for a few minutes, But when she gets about halfway done she hands the bar back to me and says, "I think I'm finished." Thank you very much.”
“You're very welcome,” I say, eyeing the door for any signs of life. I’ll admit, I’m half-tempted to finish the bar myself, but I don’t because let’s face it, that would be weird.
We sit in silence for a minute or so and suddenly she looks up at me with her big hazel eyes, tears starting to wet her dark lashes. “Did my dad forget me?"
Oh no! I’m clearly telegraphing my stress at the situation, and now she’s picking up on it. The last thing I want to do is cause this little girl any anxiety.
"I'm sure he didn't forget you, sweetie," I say. "Sometimes moms and dads are just late because there is a lot of traffic on the street, or they got stuck at work…"
"My dad works here, "she says.
“He does?” I ask. "Where does he work?"
“Um,” She says, "I don't know. It's a very big building."
"Well, "I say, "let's see what we can do to find him." I grab my phone out of my skating bag to access my student files online. Apparently, Poppy's father is a guy named Logan Rivers, and he has listed his work address as the exact same skating facility where we are now. He’s one of those dads everybody notices because he’s like 6'4 and built like an action figure, but he’s always in and out so fast I’ve barely spoken with him. Unfortunately, there’s no indication whatsoever in the student files where in the building Poppy’s father works.
But, the fact that he's here somewhere is the first positive sign I've had in the last 45 minutes. If I can just track down Mr. Rivers, maybe I can still get to the hospital in a reasonable amount of time.
