My personal best. Enough to shoot past the current top skater and favorite to win.
I grab Maude who is sayingsomethingencouraging, but it’s like my ears can’t work the same time as my eyes and I am really,reallyfixated on that 200 score.
The number itself almost dwarfs winning gold. Almost.
“Third and winner of the bronze medal from France, Rémy de Villeneuve,” The announcer booms overhead. Rémy’s thin tail swishes as he skates onto the ice. The crowd cheers and I know it’s impossible in the sea of fans and French flags, but I search for Alex. I haven’t seen her on or off the ice since she only scored high enough to be an alternative.
Yuri Aoba waits for his name to be announced. He’s been the favorite for years, every skater in the league has gotten used to losing to him. But there’s something different about him. Something other than the drop in rank. Maybe it’s the lighting, but I swear his blue skin is washed out, or maybe his tusks are a little duller. But then again, this is his last Grand Prix before retirement, so my brain could be playing tricks on me.
“Second and the winner of the silver medal, from Japan, Yuri Aoba.”
He gives me a smile and a nod before leaving to join Rémy on the podium. The crowd cheers even louder, but it doesn’t feel like nearly an appropriate enough send off. It’s hard not to feel a twinge of disappointment that there won’t be any more Yuri Aoba routines to look forward to. Competitions might be easier without him, but not nearly as interesting.
“First and winner of the gold medal, the Grand Prix world champion, Rodrick Steele.”
I skate to the center of the ice and bask in the best part of the ceremony, my final bow to the audience. The weight of gold is nice, but it’s here, taking a moment to thank every corner of the audience, that I can finally breathe.
The press conference is not nearly as dramatic, but much the same; Yuri and Rémy at my flank and way too many lights in my eyes. Faced with dozens of camera lenses and eager journalists, I wonder how many notifications are blowing up my phone right now. If I should ignore them all and go straight to poundr or at least pretend like I care about anyone else’s opinions right now.
“We’ll take our first question,” the moderator announces. “The journalist in the front.”
“A question to all skaters, congratulations,” a kappa with thick glasses says. “How has your approach this year been different, if at all?”
Shit—usually I have some time to think over my answer whilethe winner responds. I glance at Aoba, who gives me an encouraging nod.
“I’m following my passion.” Has my mouth always been this dry? I push through. “I’m not doing a program or wearing a costume if it doesn’t excite me. I figure, if I’m wowed by it, the judges will be too.” I nod, signaling the end of my answer.
By the time I’ve downed half a bottle of water, we’ve moved on to the next question.
“This was the last chance to score points for the Olympic Team event. Are the three of you excited to face off again in two months?”
I look down but the mic catches my nervous laugh anyway. “I’ve been competing against these guys for years, but yeah. On the Olympic stage is a whole other level. I can’t get ahead of myself. None of us have officially made the team yet.”
People still like their athletes to be humble, right?
“This question is for Mr. Steele.”
Oh, what the fuck I’mMr. Steelenow? I know better than to stare directly into the camera. It seems simple enough to avoid that glassy gaze, but that feeling of being watched never gets easier. Especially with livestreams making it easier than ever for your asshole roommate to watch you squirm. Maybe take a few screenshots for prosperity.
“You scored your personal best in your free program, but you’ve mentioned switching it up to a new program soon. Is that correct?”
“Yes. It’s a program I’ve been working on for a while. A medley of my favorite songs from my favorite album. I’m really excited to show it off at the U.S. championship next month.”
“No nerves about switching after your performance today?”
“If I let nerves decide what I do next, I wouldn’t be the one making the decisions then, would I?” A few people in the audience chuckle.
“There’s always a risk when debuting a new program. Personally, I don’t want to become stagnant. I can’t get too comfortable. There’s a balance of course. The other day, I was thinking back to my program from last year. I guess I’m already a bit nostalgic for it, maybe I’ll bring that back one day.” There’s that nervous laughter again.
“More than anything, I’m excited. I’m excited to show this thing that I love to the world. And, at the end of the day, everyone else’s opinions are secondary.”
So much for humble. Was any of that even true? I do love my new program. Mrs. Mims absolutely killed the costume—rhinestones, skirt, and all. Except, if the judges hate it, if I don’t get even remotely close to two-hundred again, it would be silly for me to cling to that program out of pride. Better a hypocrite than a loser.
Thankfully, the rest of the questions are pretty standard; what is your advice for young athletes? What exhibition skates are you looking forward to? Do youeverrest?
The last question seems to hang over the three of us as we exit the press conference. I tap Yuri on the shoulder.
“Amazing job out there.”
