Page 64 of Her Goal
Then something else she said surfaces.Dig in.Not literally because the idea is to glide rather than remain stationary on the ice, but what she’s telling me is to go deep for the will, stamina, and persistence to keep going. Not to stop until I perfect my spin.
So I do. I spin and spin and spin with two feet, one, and then sitting style until I’m practically nauseous. Then the feeling goes away because I learn what to do and how to move. I keep my focus fixed and balanced. I have no idea what time it is when I hear a softclap,clap,clap.
She whispers, “You did it.”
Sweat coats my brow, but I’m in the zone and slowly surface when Leah’s hand lands in mine, leading me toward the boards.
Her touch is foreign yet achingly familiar—the kind of contact I haven’t had in a while. Not that women have kept their hands off me. More like this feels meaningful even though I know Leah would argue otherwise.
We sit down on the bench and she pulls out her phone as I catch my breath. On video, we watch the evolution of my spin from looking like a baby giraffe on skates to possibly qualifying as her skating partner with a bit more practice … if she still did that.
We watch it on repeat until I ask, “Are you uploading it to social media?”
“Maybe,” she says with a sly smile.
“I have to be up early for drylands, but do you want to get a doughnut?”
“At Old Dog Doughnuts? They won’t be open for a couple more hours.”
I suggest the diner by the highway. It’s open twenty-four hours and for some reason, I’m reluctant to say goodnight. “They have good pie.”
She laughs. “I have a salty tooth more than a sweet tooth.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me? I am thirsty. I could go for a Dr. Pepper.”
“Rather than a hydrating electrolyte sports drink?” she asks.
After we take off our skates, Leah leads me toward the building’s main concourse which has my nerves firing. Is this it? Are we saying goodnight or does she have part two of our midnight mission planned?
Glancing over my shoulder at the ice, I say, “The Zamboni driver is going to be ticked that we messed up his nice smooth surface.”
“Then we’ll fix it.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“We can’t?—”
She raises her eyebrows, her blonde hair glowing red under the exit sign.
“Do you know how to drive a Zamboni?” I ask, doubtful.
“How hard can it be?”
“Leah,” I groan, then I realize she was always going out on a limb with my brother. If he said they were going to go tightrope walking, she’d follow. If he dared her to jump off a bridge, as long as there was water below, she did. I never understood why she went along with his harebrained schemes.
Leah slides a dollar bill into a vending machine and it dispenses a cold bottle of Dr. Pepper. When she passes it to me, our fingers brush. Mine are warm inside but our skin is cold in the unique way that results from training in a sub-zero Celsius facility.
“Thanks,” I say, then take a long sip. “What can I get for you?”
She takes the bottle. Placing her lips where mine had just been, she draws a long sip and then makes an adorable little smacking sound of satisfaction. “Haven’t had one of those since our sixth-grade graduation pizza party.”
I try to tear my gaze from her mouth but fail until she catches me looking at her.
“What? I’m a little sister. We borrow each other’s things.” She uses air quotes around the wordborrow, knowing full well what she’s doing.
But not what she’s doing to me. A halting thought follows. Does she think of me as a brother?
Then she takes my hand, sending a zing whipping through me. “We have work to do.”
Leah enters the Zamboni garage, stares at a panel on the wall for a long moment, and then presses a button. “They’ve had atechnological upgrade since moving the team to Cobbiton, but I think we can handle this.”
