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Right?
The screen was showing footage of the judges’ table. Addisyn scrutinized the scene for some sign, some clue, but saw only nine distinguished-looking people studying their computer screens, faces expressionless.
The scene changed to slow-motion replays of the last performance, given by a girl named Sheila Harbor. Watching the highlights, Addisyn had to grudgingly admit—there was no question the girl was good. Sheila had skated to a lyrical interpretation of “Bring Him Home” fromLes Misérablesand worn a costume to match. Still, Addisyn couldn’t help but feel that her own scarlet outfit and snappy routine to Avicii’s “Wake Me Up” had held much more pizzazz. But of course, she wasn’t on the judging panel.
And that panel could easily award theLes Misgirl a higher score than 156.65. Brian could say what he liked about the quality of Addisyn’s performance, but she knew that when it came down to it, judges were unpredictable. They might rank a skater who’d fallen three times higher than one who’d flawlessly performed multiple clean landings. Brian swore that outward appearance—makeup, hairstyle, and overall attractiveness—influenced the scoring, but Addisyn always flinched at such an idea. Surely skating wasn’t a mere beauty contest!
No, skating was about guts—real, raw guts. It was nothing less that had brought Addisyn this far. For a second, she pictured herself as she’d been at the beginning of her skating journey—a troubled kid growing up in New York City, skating at Rockefeller Center to blow off steam. She’d come all the way to who she was now...a talented, twenty-year-old figure skater looking to set the sport on fire after having trained professionally for only five years.
A miracle, Avery might have called it, with her constant tendency to see a divine hand in everything. Addisyn wrinkled her nose in skepticism. There’d been nothing miraculous about her journey. She’d climbed every step herself, with hard work, hard work, and more hard work.
Yet Avery had always insisted that the hardest work and the best-laid plans were worthless without God’s blessing—as if people’s lives had to be rubber-stamped by some sort of heavenly holiness patrol. The mere thought was enough to make Addisyn roll her eyes. Of course, Avery was wrong about most things—blinded by the confines of her religious views. All the same, Addisyn did wish Avery could see her now. She’d juggled competitions, received accolades, and salvaged her career even after the crushing defeat of her injury. And in a few seconds—fingers crossed—she’d stand on a podium wearing a pewter medal and celebrating a score that took her one step closer to the Olympics!
Yes, if Avery could peek into Addisyn’s world for just a moment, she’d have to admit she’d been wrong. She’d have to swallow all those delusional ideas she’d had, all her warnings and gloomy prophecies. She’d claimed she was worried about her sister’s “spiritual health,” whatever that was supposed to mean.
This is the wrong road, Addisyn...For a minute, Avery’s voice flickered in the back of Addisyn’s mind.
A prickle of something almost like fear crept over Addisyn. The next instant she frowned and shifted in her seat. What was the matter with her? The words were meaningless—just more sanctimonious preaching from Avery. And wrong road or not, her course had led her here. To her biggest moment yet.
Anyway, why was she thinking about Avery? She shook her head, annoyed with herself. Her big sister was out of her life. And most of the time, Addisyn kept her out of her thoughts also.
“Here it comes, baby.” Brian’s words slipped over each other in his agitation. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, their earlier spat apparently forgotten—or temporarily overlooked.
Sure enough, the echoing voice of the announcer was reverberating over the speaker system. A vacuum seemed to suck the air from Addisyn’s lungs. She felt Brian’s arm tighten. “Sheila Harbor has received in the free skate a score of”—impressive pause.
Addisyn leaned forward, tingles rushing up and down her legs. If she had subscribed to Avery’s school of thought, this might have been the moment she said a prayer. The tension was a giant balloon, expanding, expanding, and preparing to burst any second.
“—156.68.”
No.
Addisyn didn’t hear what came next. She didn’t see how Sheila Harbor reacted. It no longer mattered that there was a Sheila Harbor in the world as she slumped forward, face on her knees, collapsing under the weight of every fallen ambition, every plummeting hope.
All she could feel was the world dropping out from under her, crumbling, falling in pieces. All she could hear was the cracking and crashing of her dreams toppling, shattering into shards as hard and brittle as the ice itself.
She’d been balancing on a knife edge, a skate blade width between her and her goal. Now the tightrope walk was over.
And Avery had been right.
THREE MONTHS HADN’Tlessened the pain.
Addisyn slumped in one of the ornate chairs in the main room of Brian’s swanky apartment in New York’s prestigious Upper East Side—her apartment, too, since she’d moved in with him over two years ago. Normally the opulent furnishings and the incredible view comforted her, but since Sectionals, nothing seemed able to soothe her heart.
Brushing her palms over the stiff taffeta weave of her fuchsia dress, she wished for the hundredth time that she could just snuggle in some comfortable pajamas and spend the bitterly cold night at home—curled up with a good book, maybe. Instead, Brian had insisted she accompany him to a Valentine’s Day gala—some fancy get-together he’d snagged tickets for.
Irritation swelled inside Addisyn’s soul. Surely Brian could see how depressed she was. Valentine’s Day or no, did they have to go out tonight? She was in no mood for small talk, didn’t want to force a glamorous façade—especially since she was more than a little miffed at the man. He’d always had an uptight personality, but over the last couple of months, he’d been extraordinarily cranky. Oh, she knew he was disappointed by her defeat at Sectionals, but really, shouldn’t she have the most right to grieve? After all, it was her plans—her dreams—her whole life that had vanished in a nanosecond, like her breath on a freezing New York day. Brian’s emotional investment wasn’t nearly as high. Couldn’t he shrug off his own frustration and try instead to help her through her pain?
Well, no use thinking that way. She was going, certainly. Brian could pitch a royal fit if he didn’t get his way. Addisyn tried to shake off her pessimistic mood. Maybe the party could help them rekindle their bond. It was Valentine’s Day, after all. And Brian always went big for this holiday. Last year he’d bought her a box of real Swiss chocolate truffles, a dozen long-stemmed red roses, and some fancy Parisian lingerie.
Addisyn glanced at the clock. What on earth was taking Brian so long to get ready tonight? She had been ready half an hour ago—mostly because wasting time agonizing over her appearance wasn’t high on her priority list right now. She left her chair and strolled to the window, gazing out over the city.
Square towers and skyscrapers stretched as far as she could see, sprawling over the earth. If she looked down—down—down into the narrow slits between buildings, she could see the yellow smears of taxis, darting this way and that. And even from the height of the townhouse, she could hear the horns blaring and sirens wailing and the music from Times Square—an unnoticed backdrop for anyone living in the Big Apple.
Home to over eight million people. Did any of them feel as lost and lonely as she did on this frigid night? Did any of them feel as if the cold and sadness had soaked deeply into their soul, double-dying it in melancholy?
She returned to her tufted wingback chair and tucked one leg under her. The longer she thought about going to the party tonight, the more she felt as if her emotions just would not cooperate. How could she possibly keep everything together without falling apart?
And if she had a meltdown while at the party, it would undoubtedly embarrass Brian to death. He’d drilled into her the need for glamorous appearances and correct social behavior. She winced, remembering how mortifyingly frequent her faux pas had been when she’d first come under his tutelage. Avery, of course, had seen teaching her younger sister socialite manners to be about as useless as teaching her how to skydive.
