Page 29 of Her Goal
“Yes, I’m warmed up.” Why the animosity? Oh, right. She hated me and loved my brother for reasons I cannot fathom. By the hardness in her gaze, now is not the time to bring it up.
All the same, she has me do three laps, forward and backward crossovers, and then tells me to swizzle.
“You want me to what?” I ask, wondering if this is a trending viral dance move on social media.
“Swizzle,” she says flatly.
“I don’t swizzle, whatever that is.”
“Sure you do. I’ve seen you swizzle.”
“You’ve seen no such thing.” My tone sounds defensive.
She glides away from me and I’m pretty sure amusement “swizzles” in her eyes. Bending slightly at the hips as if she’s going to sit down, she slides forward, separating her skates like she’s drawing an oval and then bringing them back together in one smooth motion.
“Swizzle,” she says, like ordering a dog to heel.
Not one to back down from a challenge, I copy her motions and my hips instantly feel the strain. Whereas she colors inside the lines, I veer off the edge of the paper. I mean, it’s not that bad, but Leah is graceful, whereas I operate like an oaf.
This point is driven home over the course of the next thirty minutes while Leah teaches me figure skating basics as if I’m a troublesome child.
We take a water break and I watch as her throat bobs on a swallow.
She looks sharply at me. “What?”
“Didn’t expect this, that’s all,” I mutter, not upset that I was caught admiring her, but that her animosity toward me hasn’t dulled with time.
I detect a distinct chill between us, even though I’m sweating from the training.
We’re both quiet a beat, but like the nearly invisible ribbons carved into the ice, the past ties us together. She’s familiar yet no longer the teenager in the apartment next door.
“It’s weird being back in Cobbiton. I didn’t think?—”
“You’d ever come back?” she finishes for me.
I nod rhythmically, then shake my head at the same pace. Truth be told, she’s the first person I’ve had this conversation with … and more beautiful than I remember. My water bottle hangs by my side.
“Everything seems the same, but I know that’s not entirely true.”
Something akin to curiosity appears on her features but disappears behind her closed-off mask when voices rise and fall from nearby.
She sets down the metal water bottle with a clang. “Sounds like we have company.”
“Not going to lie, I’m not keen on people knowing I’m taking figure skating lessons with you.” I realize how that sounds.
“Embarrassed by me?”
“I mean in general. This is not very manly.”
“Tell that to Olympians who?—”
“There she is!” an older woman calls, stopping by the boards.
A shorter and rounder version of Leah, whom I recall as her sister, says, “Mami, you saw her this morning when she came and mooched coffee as if there aren’t a dozen coffee shops between her apartment and the Fish Bowl.”
“Valentina, it’s obvious she misses her mother.” Mrs. Smith smiles warmly, cups her daughter’s face, and kisses each cheek.
Leah pulls away as if she’s allergic to affection.
