Page 10 of Hate You Most

She was trying out harder jumps, she wasn't landing a single one, and she was getting really tired of hearing Dakota’s name.

Her coach called her over after a particularly bad fall, tablet in hand, and pulled up footage that wasn’t of Viktoriya at all.

“Look at her entry,” he said, tapping the screen. “She carries speed through the transition. You slow down, it makes me think you are scared.”

On the screen, Dakota entered a triple lutz effortlessly, outside edge clean and her arms steady as she snapped into the rotation. She landed softly on the ice and flowed directly into the next element. Viktoriya hated how easy Dakota made it look. She hated even more that it worked.

“She shouldn’t get a high score with skating like this,” Viktoriya said to her coach. “She has one good jump, the rest is just filler.”

“And yet she does,” her coach replied. “The judges see her confidence. You give them perfection, technical jumps, and you don't smile much. The audience and the judges like girls that smile, Viktoriya. You should try it sometime.”

Viktoriya looked her coach in the eye. “I am not going to change who I am just so the judges, the audience and the media will like me more. My skating should do that for me.”

Her coach exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Your skating is exceptional, but excellence isn’t always what sells.”

“I’m not for sale,” Viktoriya said.

That earned her a long look. “Everyone is eventually,” he replied, tapping the tablet once before turning away. “Back on the ice.”

Viktoriya pushed off without another word, toward the middle of the ice. Her blades cut deep lines in the ice. If they wanted a girl that smiled, they could find her somewhere else. She would give them medals. She would give Russia medals, even if Dakota stood directly in her way.

August 4th, 2011.

— Viktoriya’s Family Apartment. Moscow, evening.

On the TV, the sports channel was talking about Dakota Sanchez, because apparently she was all anyone could talk about in women's skating.

She hadn't spoken to Dakota since their conversation on the ice that night, but she was unavoidable. It was as if the universe had decided to test how thoroughly Viktoriya could ignore someone. Her face turned up in interviews, in highlight reels and in headlines that framed them as opposing rivals for clicks and views.

Viktoriya would have liked to say she hadn’t thought of Dakota once since their encounter, but the more she pushed the thought away, the more it returned, sharpening itself each time. It was becoming a pattern she didn’t like. And patterns were supposed to be things she controlled. The constant reminders of her in interviews didn't help one bit.

Dakota filled the screen, looking directly into the camera with emerald eyes, like she was looking through the camera, and into her eyes personally.

The background behind Dakota had large skyscrapers and a light open sky. Viktoriya had never been there, but it appeared to be somewhere fancy—like New York or Chicago.

“Would you say it's true,” the interviewer asked, holding a microphone to Dakota's lips. “That you skate differently when you’re up against Viktoriya Volkova?”

The mention of her name made Viktoriya focus fully on the interview. Dakota didn’t look the interviewer in the eye. “I skate differently when the competition’s good.”

“Would you say she pushes you?”

Dakota smiled. “I’d say she hates losing.”

“Do you feel pressure to win gold next time you're up against Volkova?” the interviewer asked.

“Pressure? No. But I do enjoy reminding her who's standing on top of the podium.”

Ha. As if, Viktoriya thought. The interview with Dakota ended.

Someone posted a clip from the interview to various social media and news sites, and it had gone viral by the next morning. Publicly, they had become rivals in every sense of the word—and the media loved it.

August 17th, 2011.

— State Training Facility, Moscow.

Viktoriya’s coach tossed a newspaper onto the table in front of her. “Dakota is provoking you.”

Viktoriya took the paper into her hand, immediately recognizing her own face on the front cover.