Page 17 of The Cutting Edge
“You got 4th, in the whole world. That’s pretty amazing if you ask me.”
“But I didn’t medal. Well, not individually. And nobody remembers fourth.” I’m trying to take deep breaths subtly through my nose to still my rapidly pounding heartbeat. This is not a topic I really want to discuss with Mr. Hockey Star. Or anyone, for that matter. “Wait, how did you know I got 4th?”
“After I picked up your bag with the Olympic insignia plastered all over it, I Googled you at a stoplight on my way over.” He smiles at me kindly and I feel my humiliation start to dissipate a little. “Why, is it a secret?”
“It might as well be,” I snort. I worked my whole life for that medal, and when it came down to it, I choked.
“Team USA won a gold medal. You were a big part of that. Your teammates won individual gold and bronze, you won 4th.”
“You do not ‘win’ fourth. That’s a loss. You’re an athlete. A team medal is not the same as an individual medal and you know it,” I say, more harshly than I intend.
“That team gold medal would not have happened without your fourth-place win, andyouknow it.”
He’s right, but it doesn’t feel true. Since that day, I’ve felt like the underperformer who let everybody else down. Let myself down. Let my parents down. Let my entire country down.
“According to Wikipedia, and Poppy, your sit spin is the best in the whole world. And also, both the gold and bronze medalists said they wouldn’t have won if it hadn’t been for you.”
“Yes, if it hadn’t been for mechoking.” I catch myself before I say anything more. “Actually, that’s not true. They both skated their asses off.”
“What did they mean by that?”
My eyes shift downward. This is embarrassing.
“They think I’m their lucky charm.”
“What?” he laughs, “are you serious?”
“Yes. It’s a long story, but basically, if I don’t win, Team USA wins. It happened at the Olympics, five years out of seven at the World’s’…”
“What happened the other two years?”
“I won.”
“I’d say that’s just a coincidence, but I know how athletes are. I mean – nobody’s more superstitious than hockey players.”
“Maybe figure skaters…anyway, I was like 15 or 16, and after the second time it happened, one of the French coaches told me that my name, Coccinelle, means ladybug, which the French apparently consider extremely lucky. So then my teammates and coaches and even people I didn’t know started to call me Ladybug, or lucky charm, or whatever. And a bunch of them bought me ladybug t-shirts and ladybug scarves, and ladybug skate covers. It was funny at first, but then it started to feel like something I couldn’t escape. Honestly, I’m surprisedthatwasn’t on Wikipedia. I’m probably better known for itthan my skating at this point.”
“I know you best for your skating.” His dark eyes dance a little as he grins.
“You literally looked me up on Wikipedia twenty minutes ago. You didn’t know me from Adam.”
“And yet I’ve known you as the greatest skating instructor who ever lived for over a year.” He wiggles his eyebrows in this adorable way that seems like a gif come to life. “I have it on good authority.”
I stop myself from rolling my eyes and smile instead. “Poppy. Yes. Well, thank you.”
“Are your parents French or something?”
“Or something. My mom is French-Canadian.”
“Are you going to compete at the Olympics again?” he asks earnestly.
“That’s the plan,” I say. “But Milan is a long way off, and I’ll be the grandma of figure skating by then.”
“Grandma?” he laughs loudly, “What are you? 20?”
“I’m 24. I just look young because I spent my entire childhood preserved in an icebox and away from the sun.”
“Like a frozen pizza,” he offers helpfully.
