Page 31 of Ice Dance

“I danced with a lot of people in Montreal,” he said on my phone’s small screen.

“So, you did dance with Hasegawa?”

He shrugged. “Like I said, I danced with lots of people.”

“On the ice?”

“Yeah.” He laughed.

“So you’re not denying you and Hasegawa danced together?”

My heart pounded. The interviewer would not let it go.

“I’m saying selection week is full of rumors. That one’s got a little spice. But let’s focus on the Meridian Cup. That’s where the real heat will be.”

The interviewer shifted forward in her chair. “People are naturally curious, because on paper, you and Hasegawa would be a fascinating match. His technical control, your performance flair. The gender open category? The drama writes itself.”

Navarro scratched at his cheek and looked away, the first real tell that the topic of conversation had begun to dig under his skin. “Ren Hasegawa is one of the best ice dancers in the world.”

“Would you be open to dancing with him?”

“Let’s be real, he’s too highly strung to dance with someone like me.”

“Someone like you, meaning?”

“Meaning, I don’t like to stick to the rules. He thrives on them. We’d be a disaster.”

My hand tightened on the phone. A disaster? Is that what he thought?

“That almost sounds like a challenge?”

“I’m not going to be baited into commenting on a competitor.”

“I think you just did comment.”

The clip cut off. I stared at the play button over his face and resisted the urge to rewatch it for all of five seconds.

Admittedly, I was not in the best place mentally to be rewatching Camden Navarro interviews. If he knew Alisha was out, knew I was out again, he’d laugh. He’d probably have a few short, sharp words for me too. Words I deserved.

I tossed the phone out of reach. It skipped across the table and fell to the floor. Flopping back, I lay on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. My father had said ice dance was where figure skaters went to retire. He’d said I should only ice dance if I couldn’t aim any higher. He’d also said never to contact him again. And I hadn’t. That had been ten years ago. I didn’t even know if he was alive to see me fail again.

I’d been trying to prove so much, and I’d failed every time.

I got off the sofa, picked up my phone, and texted Dylan before common sense did something rational, like step in and stop me.

Do you have Navarro’s number?

FOURTEEN

CAMDEN

The Canadian team had set up their base in Montreal—those who had been selected. Jen and Casey were training hard. Our paths crossed often at the local rinks. Jen was probably about three days away from asking me out for a drink, just me and her. Casey had already mentioned it. But relationships on the run-up to a major competition were a very bad idea, mostly because they crashed and burned as reliably as a twizzle when it unraveled. I didn’t mess around during training. That was one rule I tried not to break. Anyone who took dancing seriously didn’t have a minute to spare for date nights or random hookups.

Teaching a kids’ class at a smaller public rink was all the indulgent fun I was allowed. It helped that they treated me like a skating god, and they also reminded me that skating didn’t have to be torture, which was sometimes what it felt like after hours running the routines off ice on mats, collecting blisters. Outside of that, I was on the rink or working on my form, core, and stretches at a friend’s dance studio on the industrial side of Hochelaga-Maisonneuve, next to cheap commercial units with their cracked sidewalks. I’d also picked up a coach, who was thorough, friendly, and nice. Maybe too nice, but we’d work on that.

The day had started well. I’d taught in the morning, and had spent the last few hours going over my off-ice routines at the studio. My friend who owned the place, Saga, was in and out of my room, helping me with some of the trickier steps in my routine. He knew me and my dancing well, and had a good eye for when I was screwing up. Better than my coach.

We’d worked up a sweat, the music was playing, and Saga was doing his own thing while I sat out, taking a break to breathe and rehydrate. I watched Saga move. He’d been a ballet prodigy as a kid, but then puberty had done a number on him. Not just his body, his head too. He also had parents who hadn’t had the will or the money to take his skill further.