“Then.” Joshua turned and pointed at the far end of the rink. “Kardok. You start down there, alone, and you skateyourway. Hockey stride, full speed, everything you are. You’re not trying to look like a figure skater and I—wedon’t want you to. I want the audience to see exactly what you are: power, speed, that thing you do with your tongue, whatever. I want you to look like you own whatever ice you’re standing on.”
From beside me, I felt Kardok shift his weight. I did not look at him.
“At this point in the performance, you two haven’t acknowledged each other yet,” Joshua continued, pacing now, which he always did when the ideas were coming fast. “You’re in the same world, but you haven’t found each other. And then—” He paused for effect, turning to us, hands out, and lowered his voice. “The musicchanges. Not a new song. The same song, but it opens up, and you start to move toward each other.”
He waved us both onto the ice.
I pushed off without thinking, settling into the familiar cold and silence of blades on fresh ice, and I heard Kardok’s heavier stride behind me. Joshua skated behind us, still talking.
“This next section is call and response. Lila, you do something—a turn, an edge, whatever comes naturally, we’ll work through it—and Kardok, you’ll answer it. Not by copying her. Bytranslatingher. The same impulse, your language.”
I did a slow back edge along the curve of the rink, feeling the familiar pull of it in my hip, and heard Kardok’s blades shift behind me—a hockey stop, quick and controlled, that somehow had the same quality of intention. I turned to look without meaning to.
He was already looking at me.
Intentwas still the right word. His expression hadn’t changed, but his eyes were more green than black now. His hand was still pressed to his chest.
“Good,” Joshua said approvingly, though I wasn’t sure either of us had done anything intentional. “That. Exactly that.” He skated between us, gesturing. “Then you come together—side by side, inside hands joined—and this is where the story shifts. You’re not two separate things anymore. Not in two separate worlds. You’re learning to share the ice, figure skating and ice hockey.”
He pointed to each of us, delivering the instructionsdecisively. “Hispower drives you forward,heredges guide the direction. Neither of you are leading entirely.”
“Stronger together,” I whispered, and I saw understanding flare in his eyes.
We fell into the paired position automatically, the way we had been doing for weeks, his hand warm around mine. I felt rather than heard the low sound in his chest—not quite a rumble, something quieter, like…a question answering itself.
I told myself this wasn’t arousing.
But myself, being myself, didn’t listen, and I had to stop from swaying toward Kardok, leaning against his body in surrender. Just the memory of his body…
I shuddered, and his hand tightened around mine.
“The lifts come in the third section,” Joshua said, skating alongside us now, his voice taking on the reverence he got when he was talking about something he found genuinely beautiful. “Press lift first. The audience willfeelthe significance—he raises her, she trusts him, and together they make something neither of them could make alone.Et cetera.” He looked at Kardok. “When you have her up there, you’re not showing off your strength. You’reholdingsomething precious. That’s what the audience needs to see on your face.”
I felt Kardok’s grip on my hand shift and his warmth momentarily grew closer.
Could Joshua see what had changed between us? Besides my flaming-red cheeks, was it obvious how much I wanted—needed—to be touching Kardok? I hoped not,and considering the way our coach continued to narrate, maybe he was as oblivious as I’d hoped.
“The platter lift builds on that—she’s fully committed, fully trusting, and you’re carrying her. And then—” Joshua stopped skating and let us glide past him, his voice carrying across the ice. “The overhead lift. That’s your thesis statement. That’s the moment the whole audience has been waiting for, really. Lila, you’ll start down there and hurtle your way toward him. Kardok catches you and you go up—and what the audience sees is two people who have learned to be stronger together than apart.”
I was focusing very hard on the far boards.
“The ending,” Joshua called after us, “is the two of you side by side. Matched stride. Kardok’s power, Lila’s grace, now in this world—no, thisdanceyou’ve built together. You’re not in contrast anymore, but the same thing.”
We reached the far end of the rink and came to a natural stop. Behind us, Joshua’s flowery description faded to silence, and I glanced shyly at Kardok.
His eyes burned.
I tried for a smile. “I like the imagery he’s describing. Us coming from different worlds, building something new.” Was it too soon, too foolish, to be excited about something like that? “And it doesn’t sound too difficult.”
“Doesn’t it?” he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips. They were the first words he’d spoken since he’d arrived. “A month ago, I would have said it sounded impossible.”
Was he talking about the routine, or this—thisbetween us?Building a new world. My smile was probably sickly when I asked, “And now?”
“Now I’m not sure of anything.”
“Well, I am.” I took a deep breath and slowly turned us back toward center ice. I guess it was up to me to be clear what I wanted—to remember the boldness he’d taught me. “I had a lot of fun this weekend, and I would like to do it again.” I snuck a glance up at him. “Tonight, maybe?”
His eyes were locked on mine. “Tonight,” he murmured, as if distracted.
