Page 8 of Blade

“Yeah—your roommate.” Kayla placed her hands on the end of the ledge and rocked back and forth, her legs not reaching the floor but kicking the wall with each swing.

“Indy’s from Minnesota,” Jolene continued. “Her mom is Patrice Cunningham—do you remember her? She beat Dawn that year when she fell twice at Nationals and missed the Olympic team.” Jolene’s eyes got wide. “By two-tenths of a point!”

Kayla motioned toward the open door. “Maybe you’ll cheer her up.”

“Oh my God!” Jolene had a sudden thought. “Indy and Ana—IndyAna! It’s perfect!”

Jolene smiled, then gave her that same shoulder bump she’d given Kayla. Ana shuffled her feet to hold her balance and took a deep breath to calm her brain—jolted by what appeared to be a sign of affection but felt like a field tackle.

Kayla started to tell her something about sneaking in after curfew, “which isn’t hard because the window downstairs won’t lock ...”

But just then, Connie and Edie walked out of the room. Ana’s room. Mio’s room.

“Shhh,” Jolene said to Kayla, who zipped her lips and changed her face.

The adults were suddenly in the hall, looking their way.

Connie started to walk toward them but stopped. “I’ll be downstairs filling out some paperwork,” she said. “Find me when you’re ready so I can say goodbye.” The last word emerged like a tremble. Like she might cry as she said it.

And then, suddenly, Ana thought she might cry, too, as she listened to the sound of her mother’s heels—clip-clop, clip-clop—fade away. Realizing that her life had pieces apart from skating—Connie, Carl, Tim, the only house she’d ever lived in—and all of that would now be replaced by this beige box that needed shutters and some boxwoods, and these two girls, plus Indy Cunningham, crying on her bed.

But no matter. The second they were out of earshot, Jolene started in about Edie’s cooking, the shitty coffee in the snack bar, the unfairness of this place because the boys’ wing had a Ping-Pong table, and theirs didn’t.

“Have you met Coach Emile?” Kayla asked when Jolene stopped talking.

Ana’s head was spinning with the new information, trying to assess what part of it was important to her and what was just important to Jolene and Kayla, and for what reasons, all the while swallowing tears.

When Ana didn’t answer, Jolene gave her another shoulder bump, this one sending her a step to the right.

“Emile Dresiér is a former Canadian and world champion. Dawn’s head assistant coach.”

Kayla rolled her eyes, but Ana also saw a little smile in them as Jolene finished her thought.

“You’ll want to know Emile. He dries the tears Dawn makes you cry.”

Kayla, shaking her head, said, “Wow, Jo—that’s so poetic.”

Jolene shrugged. “Just wait, Orphan Number Four. You’ll see.”

Ana nodded robotically—“okay ... okay ... okay”—as each new piece of information was conferred, though her conviction faded in lockstep with her mother’s disappearing footsteps.

Chapter Three

Ana

Now

I am stunned. Electrified. Calling after Grace as she leaves the room.

“What does that mean?”

Her pace quickens, and I follow, down the short hall to the stairs.

“Grace—wait! Youaresafe. I promise!”

A door opens at the top and Jolene appears, dressed in sweatpants and a sweater, her hair flying around her face where it’s come loose from a clip.

“What’s happening?”