Page 78 of The Roommate Game

“Mmhmm.”

“What is it? I thought you’d be celebrating.”

I’d frowned. “Why?”

“Honey, you’ve been looking forward to moving since last summer. You’re free! You graduated, got a coveted spot at the championships, you have a club, and—which one did you choose? One more time for the people in the back row!”

“Syracuse,” I’d replied, wincing at Celine’s shrill squeal.

That was another thing. Central Club in Syracuse was a fantastic opportunity. My fees had been waived or paid for by the sponsorship that Boris had lined up for me and it was less than an hour’s drive to Smithton. There was a way to make us work, and yet…Gus had still let go.

Then again, I hadn’t told him about my decision to train in Syracuse.

“So amazing! So…” I’d mentally put Celine on mute and concentrated on the road, screeching back to reality when she asked, “Is this about Eli?”

“Eli? What about him?”

“You’ve got the suds. If you’re sad that he turned out to be a dick, don’t be. He wanted to steal your shine and your place on the roster, and he didn’t get either. In short, Eli wishes he was you.”

On a normal day, I’d laugh at the very idea, but Eli was someone I’d happily left behind. At least for now. I had no doubt we’d compete in the future, but I hadn’t been able to muster anything more than a vague, “Oh.”

“Okay, that’s not it,” she’d muttered. “Pull the car over.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Something is wrong, and we’re not continuing till you tell all,” she’d demanded.

Yes, I’d been the one behind the wheel. I didn’t have to listen to my pint-sized bossy bestie, but I did. I’d pulled off the interstate, into a McDonald’s parking lot…and promptly burst into tears.

If Celine had been surprised, she hid it well. She was a good friend. The best. She’d hugged me, let me blubber away, bought me french fries and a Diet Coke, and sat with me in the aftermath of what we’d forever refer to as the McD’s Meltdown where I spilled the beans and confessed that I had very strong feelings for my former roommate.

“You know, Rafe. I think he’s afraid.”

“So am I.”

“I know, but you’re used to adversity,” Celine replied. “You’ve been knocked out and forced to reinvent yourself more than once. Not everyone is as strong as you. Give him time. I bet you he’ll come around.”

I didn’t bother explaining that there had been a heartbreaking ring of finality to our good-bye. Gus needed a new start, and I wasn’t going to be part of it.

I spent a few days visiting my parents, who now lived on opposite ends of the city. Dad rented a small house a block from his shop, and Mom had an apartment in the arts district. I stored the boxes that represented all my earthly belongings in Mom’s spare room and Dad’s garage. For most of the summer, I’d be in nomad mode, living out of a suitcase.

There wasn’t time to get comfortable, and that was okay by me. The busier I stayed, the less I’d think about what I was missing…who I was missing. Theoretically, anyway.

I headed to Syracuse at the end of June with a duffel for clothes, a workout bag, and my skates. My dad had tuned up my car, so I wasn’t quite as nervous about the ominouska plunknoise that shook the old beater at random intervals. I just needed to check into my Airbnb and get to the rink to meet up with Boris so I could resume training in earnest.

Of course, I’d never stopped training, but I was in the home stretch now with just three weeks until the championships. I wasn’t clear what Boris’s connection was to Syracuse Central Club since he lived in Smithton and worked for the university,but I was grateful he’d pulled strings to get me into the program. And I was glad to see a familiar face…even a crabby one.

Yes, I could have stayed in Pittsburgh to train at my hometown rink with my old coaches as I’d originally planned. It was familiar and affordable, but Syracuse Central Club was elite. And as cantankerous as Boris could be, he was one of the best coaches on the East Coast.

“Again, Rafe. Again. Bend the knees,” he barked. “More.”

“Okay.”

I rubbed my gloved hands together, sucked in a gulp of refrigerated air, and nodded. He was being picky and I knew it. I’d kept my arms tight and fast to increase the speed of each rotation. I could spin like a top endlessly. I’d worked on my edges too and had perfected my landing. My routine was so ingrained in my mind that I found myself practicing arm movements as I walked through town.

But sure, I could bend my knees more.

I completed a double axel into a triple toe loop, caught my breath and glided away, then added a triple Lutz into a double toe loop. The jumps themselves weren’t the challenge…it was the speed and height and timing, and of course, the landing. It was the art of fine-tuning to the nth degree to shave away all excess motion. I was getting there, and it was gratifying.