Page 81 of Blade
But that was the end of it. Five weeks later, here they all were. Back at Sectionals. Indy poised to win and ride into Nationals that January as the favorite—likely to win there too. Certain to place, making the Olympic team. It was an incredible journey back after last season, when she’d placed ninth.
Ana knew how happy this would make Indy. Not just because of the Olympic team. Patrice had promised her two years ago that she could return home if she landed the triple Axel in competition. Which meant after tomorrow, Indy might leave The Palace for good. Ana refused to be sad about this, even though it meant she would be alone.
So she sat quietly as the Cunninghams scraped their plates and chewed their pasta—until, finally, Paul broke the silence with talk about Indy’s little sister, Sally.
It was directed to Ana, this information about their family, because she was the only one who didn’t already know that Sally had quit skating after just a year of lessons when she was five, and that she now played lacrosse because that could “buy her a ticket to college” if she practiced and played all year on her middle school travel teams and summer leagues.
He told Ana other things the rest of them knew, but that he apparently wanted to say out loud. Things about their home. It wasmodest, he explained. And the guest bathroom needed updating. And that they couldn’t put in a swimming pool, apparently.
“Skating is expensive,” Patrice said. “It’s a sacrifice the whole family has to make. Everyone has to be committed. Indy started skating as soon as she could walk,” Patrice laughed. She said this as if Indy had discovered the sport on her own. As if it had nothing to do with Patrice being a former Olympian.
“It’s important to start young.”
Ana could picture Patrice shoving Indy’s little feet into doll-size skates, then dragging her around in circles at a public session. She looked at Indy across the table, wondering if she had cried because it was cold and her feet hurt. That was what they said had happened when they tried to get Sally on the ice. But Indy didn’t look up from her plate. Spinning the pasta around and around with her fork.
“Sadly, she wouldn’t have any part of it,” Patrice said, glancing briefly in Sally’s direction. “But we already had our skater.”
Patrice was the only one left talking, like she had started down a road they all knew not to travel—but once on it, Patrice couldn’t steer away and was now pedal to the metal.
“My parents didn’t know any of this—about starting young, finding the best coaches. I’ll always wonder what might have been. But not you, sweetheart.”
And with this, Paul picked up his fork and speared a meatball so hard it split into pieces.
Then Patrice passed the bowl of pasta and the plate of bread, suddenly quiet. Maybe she was thinking about Indy’s free skate tomorrow. Her first attempt at the Axel in competition.
Or maybe she was having memories of the year she made the Olympic team, beating Dawn Sumner, but then didn’t make the podium. The photo of her with Team USA hung on the wall above the stairs withthe worn carpet, next to the family portrait taken by a lake, and then Sally and Indy when they were little girls.
When he’d swallowed the meatball, Paul said, “It’s a shame you outgrew Bobby. We miss having you around.”
Indy looked up from her plate at the mention of her old coach. She smiled at her father. “I’ll be back soon enough.”
And then Patrice cleared her throat and looked in a disapproving way at Paul, who seemed confused, like maybe he had no idea about anything that was happening between his wife and daughter. Promises made. Maybe about to be broken.
It left Ana totally confused. And she thought, as terrible as life was for Indy being an Orphan at The Palace, maybe things would be worse here, even with Bobby as her coach again. In this modest house with an outdated bathroom and no swimming pool, and where they couldn’t send their kids to college—all because of Indy, and the dream she had to finish for her mother.
The senior ladies’ free skate began in the afternoon. Indy was third to skate and now circled the ice near the door while they announced the score of the girl who’d just finished, having fallen on one triple, but landed the rest, three in combination.
Indy seemed focused, her mouth reciting the mantra she’d chosen with Dr. Westin, the repetition meant tostimulate her vagus nerve, calming her fight-or-flight response, which was clamoring to take over, and for good reason. Because it all came down to this: four and a half minutes in a yellow sequined dress.
Ana prayed Indy was better at the Fear Training than she was; she’d skated with a surge of adrenaline she hadn’t been able to contain. She’d somehow landed the jumps anyway, but two had been shaky and one had felt stiff. Indy couldn’t afford one disconnection between mind and body. The triple Axel was too new for her to rely on muscle memory. Every cell in her body had to follow orders.
“Punch the sky.”
Ana was in the stands with three skaters from The Palace who’d made it to Sectionals in the novice and junior divisions. Patrice, Paul, and Sally were down several rows to the right, close to the boards and behind the row of judges. Dawn stood by the door, now closed, in her blue coat and thick makeup, her hair sprayed into a tight bun at the back of her neck.
And what was going through her mind? She’d been neutral toward Indy these past few weeks, impossible to read. Before Mio had gone home to Japan for the season, she’d told Indy to be careful, but neither of them knew for sure what she meant.
Whatever Dawn felt about Indy and her path to the Olympic team, and possibly a medal, part of her had to be pleased now. Everyone knew Indy had the triple Axel, including the judges, who were waiting with great anticipation for her to skate. And Dawn was the one standing by the boards, an even greater coach than before—taking credit for the jump even though she had tried to sabotage it by not showing Indy how to fix her arm.
The announcement came over the speaker. “From The Palace Skating Club, please welcome Indy Cunningham.”
Then applause, hoots, and hollers from Ana’s row. “Let’s go, Indy!” Paul and Sally shouted. Patrice, jaw clenched, grabbed the back of the seat in front of her like she was in the first car of a roller coaster.
The opening notes from her music—Phantom of the Opera—bled from the speakers, and Indy pushed off onto her right blade, arms by her side, fingers extended, free leg pointed, before reaching down to the ice, sending herself into motion.
The program was simple, focused on the jumps, and the first one came. The double Axel, which Indy could land in her sleep, was flawless. More applause, but muted this time because everyone knew, as she rounded the boards at the far end, then cut into the middle, that this was the moment. History in the making if another American woman landed the triple Axel in competition.
Ana chewed her lip, her heart in her throat, as Indy stepped onto her left blade, the forward outside edge. Both arms peeling back behind her hips, then sweeping forward, punching the sky, the way Mio had showed her.