Page 22 of Wonderstruck

In his hands was a box, battered and worn but still somewhat in tact. I set the photos beside me as I took it from him, curiosity biting at me as I pulled off the tape with a soft tug, the edges unfolding as dust poured from the sides.

Pink. That’s what I was met with. Poolsof pink fabric, neatly folded to thebrim of the box. Tiny pearls hemmed the edge of one, while tiny vinyl snowflakes were sporadically printed around another.

It clicked in my mind what they werethe second my finger ran over the fabric.

These were my skating costumes.

I pulled the top one from the box, tugging at the arms until the slinky thing was stretched out.I didn't know what it said aboutmethat my first thought was “My boobs would never fit in there now.”

Regardless, it made me giggle.

“Where did you find this?” I whispered, almost afraid to disturb the ghosts in the fabric.

"Tucked away with a few others." He said, leaning closer until he could see what I was seeing. "So you'vealwaysliked pink?"

His question pulled a small smile from me, but my eyes still stayed locked on the costumes. "Always."

I folded the first costume neatly to the side and kept digging. More costumesemerged—layers of tulle and satin in every shade of pink, with a few baby blues and soft sage greens mixed in. Most of them were too small, relics of routines I’d long forgotten. I was tugging out the last costume when something bright and white caught myeye.

My breath stalled.

I blinked once, then again, staring at them as though they might vanish if Ilooked away.

My skates.

They weremyskates.

The discovery should have made me smile, maybe even laugh softly at the thought of Dad scrubbing away scuffs to keep them pristine. But instead, the memory slammed into me, like a car at full speed.

I could see myself on the lake, just as clear as if it were happening now. I’dbeen finishing my Biellmann spin—the one I’d spent weeks perfecting after watching one of Mom’s skaters nail it—when Dad’s scream tore through the stillness.

I nearly toppled over as I stopped my spin, my blades scraping against the ice.

My heart had lurched into my throat, my legs trembling beneath me. Then he called my name, and I moved, skating hard towards the shore. My fingers fumbled with my laces as I hit the snow, tearing the skates off before bolting towards the house.

I’d left them on the porch steps that day. I never looked for them after that. Never wanted to see them. Now here they were, staring back at me, as unscathed as the girl who’d oncebelieved the world started and ended on that ice.

Only one thought surged through me as I dared to reach into the box, myfingertips grazing the smooth leather of the boot: I hadn’t realised just how much I missed it.

Despite everything, I missed the feeling of sliding on myskates. I missed stealing hours from my evenings just to challenge myself with spins I’d only ever seen Mom master. I missed the applause from the audience. I missed the hours spent picking the perfect music for my routines.

Somehow, I’d forgotten just how much space skating had taken up in my heart—how much of it still belonged there.

Finn shuffled beside me, reminding me that he was watching this reunion unfold. “Are those...”

"My skates," I said, breathless, almost in disbelief as the words escaped me.

“Did you…” Finn began, reaching a hand into the box, but stopping just before he grabbed the skates. His eyes flickered up to me, looking like he was processing something. “Did you used to skate?”

I turned my head over my shoulder to glance at him, feeling the weight of that part of me I’d buried for so long. “Figure skate. It was my life.”

"Really?" he asked, like he was sure every word that was leaving my life was a lie.

But I nodded, my eyes tracing the edges of the laces, still white enough to look brand new. "My Mom used to skate for Team USA, so I practically grew up around the ice. And I fell in love with it. Every part of it. Competing, the routines, everything. But…" I hesitated, too many memories clogging the back of my throat. "But not anymore."

He paused, his smile growing a little before fading, quickly shifting into something like curiosity, as if he were imagining it. But then, just as fast, his expression turned into something thoughtful as his eyes fell back to the skates. “I’m sorry, this makes no sense.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What doesn’t?”

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