Page 33 of Puck Me Thrice
The anger that surged through me was familiar—the same fury I'd felt every time Sam dismissed my ideas, every time judges scored us based on his performance rather than our partnership, every time I was told to be smaller and quieter and less.
"You don't think figure skating is a sport?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm.
"I think it's very different from—"
"How about a race?" I interrupted. "You and me. If I win using only figure skating technique against your hockey speed, you implement every single one of my suggestions without question."
Adrian's eyes narrowed. "And if I win?"
"I'll stay out of strategic planning entirely."
"Mira—" Coach started, but I was already standing.
"Unless you're afraid to lose to figure skating nonsense?"
Adrian's face flushed. "Fine. Tomorrow morning. Rink."
The entire team showed up to watch the next morning. Word had spread somehow—Blake couldn't keep a secret to save his life, and even players from other sports were trickling in to see the spectacle.
Someone had set up a course, weaving through cones, tight turns around obstacles, a sprint straightaway, more cones. It looked simple, but it wasn't.
Adrian and I stood at the starting line. He was smirking, confident in his hockey-trained speed and power. I was reviewing every edge work technique I'd ever learned.
"You sure about this?" he asked, not unkindly. "Not too late to back out."
"I'm sure."
We both launched forward. Adrian immediately took the lead—he was faster in a straight line, his hockey stride powerful and efficient. But the course wasn't a straight line.
At the first turn, I used a mohawk transition that let me maintain speed while pivoting on a single blade. Adrian had to slow down, adjust his edges, lose momentum. I took the inside line.
Through the cones, my figure skating edge work meant I could take tighter angles, maintain control at higher speeds. Every element Sam had drilled into me—the precision, the control, the ability to change direction without losing power—became an advantage.
Adrian was good. He was fast and skilled and had years of hockey experience. But hockey skating is designed for power and straight-line speed. Figure skating is designed for control and precision.
At the final straightaway, we were neck and neck. But I had one more advantage: I knew how to sprint into a jump landing, how to channel every ounce of momentum into explosive acceleration.
I crossed the finish line two seconds ahead of him.
The rink erupted in cheers. Adrian stood at the finish line, bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. Then he straightened up and held out his hand.
"That was incredible," he said. "I'm sorry. You were right. I should have trusted your expertise."
I shook his hand, trying not to show how hard my own heart was pounding. "Figure skating nonsense is pretty effective."
"Noted." He grinned. "I'll implement every suggestion. With an apology to the team for doubting you."
As I skated off the ice, Logan grabbed me in a hug that lifted me off my feet. "That was the most badass thing I've ever seen."
"You destroyed him," Blake added, grinning widely.
"Very professional," Nolan said, but his eyes were proud.
That evening, I found Blake in the garage at 9 PM, watching YouTube videos on his phone, attempting to copy the movements he was seeing. Figure skating movements.
"What are you doing?" I asked from the doorway.
He jumped, nearly dropping his phone. "Research. For the team. Very important team research."
