Page 76 of Perfectly Faked

“She was about to quit the sport,” Mom says to Leo, dropping the bomb without hesitation. “After her partner got injured, and everyone declined working with her. Her father thought a hockey player would be better than nothing.”

Leo’s eyes cut to mine. “You were going to quit?”

I hadn’t told him that part. Not because I was ashamed, but because it hurt too much to admit how close I’d come to giving up.

I’d wanted one last chance to prove I still had what it takes to make it to the top. But without a partner, it felt impossible. And then Leo showed up and gave me hope again.

“I thought Leo would be tougher on you,” Mom says. “That it would be good for your ‘poor me’ attitude.”

She thinks I was feeling sorry for myself?After I’d stumbled through multiple competitions, lost my partner to an injury, and couldn’t find anyone willing to train with me? The humiliation wasn’t a pity party—it was completely demoralizing.

“Really,Mom?” I fire back because it’s the last straw. “Because I wasn’t in a good headspace, you thought I needed anattitude check? I thought it was because you wanted me to come crawling back to you and Dad, begging for help.”

Mom laughs. “Oh, honey, why would I do that? You’ve already made yourself quite unhappy with your life choices.”

“Excuse me?” I say, frowning. “What life choices,exactly? Because, for the record, I’m very happy with my life right now.”

She tilts her head and rests her chin on her folded hands, the picture of perfect calm. “Living in that wretched apartmentcomplex, for one. You know your father would pay for something much nicer.”

“I know he would,” I say. “But I want to do things my way.”

If I let them pay for my apartment, it wouldn’t just come with strings—it’d come with full-blown expectations too. Attending parties with their socialite friends, smiling at their charity galas, rubbing shoulders with—and let’s be honest—datingthe sons of their friends.

My life might seem small in comparison to what they want for me, but it’smine.

“Besides,” I add, “I’ve met so many great people since I moved out.”

I think of Leo, Jaz, and Sloan, of the hockey players who’ve become like family, of Delilah and her spoiled bird. All the people who’ve shown me kindness and friendship, even when I haven’t always deserved it. I can’t put a price on that. It’s worth more than living in a comfortable place and playing it safe.

“Right now, your way won’t get you to Nationals,” she says, matter of fact.

“Is this why you wanted to take me out for breakfast?” I ask. “So you could remind me how I’m not going to make it to Nationals?”

“Of course not,” Mom says, holding her coffee cup. “It’s because I’ve got news. And I thought it would be best to tell you in person.”

“News?” My stomach twists as Leo’s hand tightens on my knee. The waiter arrives with our food, but I suddenly don’t feel hungry anymore.

“Well,” Mom begins, “did you hear about the skater Peter Petrosky? His partner recently cut ties with him, and he’s looking for someone new. He heard about your situation and reached out to Eugene about a trial training period to see if you’re a good fit.” Her eyes light up. “Isn’t that great?”

A few years ago, I would’ve jumped at the chance to skate with Peter. He’s talented—there’s no denying that. With him as my partner, Nationals wouldn’t just be a dream, it’s a strong possibility.

But then there’s the other side of Peter’s reputation—how driven he is and his relentless work ethic. Until now, I would’ve said the same about myself. But now I’m starting to wonder—is it all worth it?The long hours, the time away from the people I love, the price of trying to make it to the top. I’m not the same skater I was a few months ago. I’m starting to have new ideas about what a life without skating looks like, things that excite me and scare me in the same breath.

Mom studies me. “You don’t look as elated about this as I thought you’d be.”

I shake my head. “It’s good news, but...”

“But?” She sets her fork down. “There should be nobut.He’s the best there is, and he’s willing to work with you. You should be extremelygrateful.”

Here we go again—I’m the problem now. How dare I not be falling at my mother’s feet thanking her for this rare opportunity?

“But what about my previous partner?” I ask, thinking of poor Ben, still in physical therapy.

“Your old partner will find someone new. He’s holding you back with that injury.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Peter is one of the best pairs skaters there is.”

I shift uncomfortably. “But how did this happen? I don’t understand. Did he approach my coach?”

“Oh, you know how these things go,” she says vaguely, taking a bite of her eggs.

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