Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Her message is short, asking if we can talk.
I give her a thumbs-up, and my phone rings two seconds later.
“Hey. What’s up?” I ask.
“Hey. Hi. What’re you up to?”
“Just dropping off a friend. What’s going on?”
“Did you have big plans tonight?”
“Nah, just hung out on the dock and took the boatercycles for a spin.” And made out with the hockey player I’m crushing on. “You wanted to talk?” Sometimes it’s hard to keep Adele on track. And sometimes I feel bad that I keep my skating and my personal life so separate. But Adele knows what happened with my previous pairs partner, and that I won’t let it happen again.
“Yeah. Uh…I, uh… I wanted to apologize for today. I know I wasn’t on point, and I was messing up the twists. I just got in my head and couldn’t get out. I know how important this competition is.”
“It’s okay. We all have off days. Don’t sweat it.” I don’t want Adele to stress about it all night and come to practice underslept and anxious.
“I just don’t want to screw this up, and I know if we don’t have at least one complicated combination, we’ll probably get docked points. And if we don’t place, that has a huge ripple effect, and then we could be looking at another four years before we’d be able to qualify for the Olympics. I know how much this means to you, and I don’t want to put that at risk.”
“Hey, hey, take a breath, Adele.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m worried I’m going to fuck this up.”
“I get that, and I appreciate you wanting to nail this combination, but I think we need to look at this logically. We can’t risk an injury because we’re pushing too hard, too fast. My mom is coming up with a few alternatives.”
“But I think I can get this one, BJ. I don’t want to give up yet.” She sounds like she’s on the verge of tears, which won’t help either of us.
“Okay. How about this, if things aren’t working by Monday, and we haven’t nailed the combination, we try swapping the triple twist and see if that works better? We still have time to get it down.”
“Maybe we should add a practice tomorrow afternoon.”
“We already have practice tomorrow morning. Both of our bodies need a break, otherwise we risk an injury.”
“Right. Yeah, I know. But maybe after practice we can talk through some of the other lifts? Figure out what would be the best one to swap it with if it’s not going to work? Not that I wanna plan for the worst but—”
I stop her before she can work herself up. “I get that this is stressing you out, but I think it would be better to sleep on it. We can look at it with fresh eyes when we’re on the ice tomorrow.”
She sighs. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I’m just…overthinking things.”
“We’ll get this sorted out, Adele. We always do. Remember last year when we struggled through that one routine and thought we weren’t even going to place and won silver?”
“That combination wasn’t as complicated, though.”
“No, but we’ve improved as a team since then. Now you can do that routine in your sleep. This will be the same. Once you get it, it’s yours. Don’t stress, okay? Get some rest, and we can work through it tomorrow, when we’re fresh.”
“Yeah. Okay. Thanks, BJ. You always make me feel better.”
“No problem. That’s what partners are for.”
I end the call and run a hand down my face.
With Adele handled for now, I hop out of my Jeep and walk up the hill toward Winter’s driveway. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more going on here than it seems. I stop at the mouth of her narrow driveway. Even though it’s dark, I can see her cabin. The lights are on inside, and a single bulb illuminates the front door. It highlights the wooden steps that sit on a slight angle. To the right of the cabin is a small garage and her dad’s rusted-out Buick. A recycle bin sits next to the door, empty beer cans littering the ground around it.
The cabin is run-down, but that’s not a surprise or the part that concerns me. Even from the end of her driveway, I hear the yelling. The loudest voice is male, and I catch the occasional f-bomb, but not the content of the argument.
I wonder how often it’s like this for Winter—and whether angry words are the only things being thrown around.
12 THE FISSURE
Winter
“You were with that rich kid with the tattoos.” Dad flicks his cigarette, and ash hits the table.
“I got invited out. I didn’t think it was a big deal.” Defending myself is pointless. Reasoning with the unreasonable gives me a headache.
They’re both sitting at the kitchen table, a united front apparently. Mom holds a cigarette between her fingers so tightly, she’s nearly crushing it. Her eyes flash with betrayal. I lied and put her at risk.