Chapter 11: Chapter 11

I wake up before my alarm goes off. The clock displays 5:58 a.m. My first day of training on foreign ice, with a foreign coach, after a major injury. I can’t begin to describe the anxiety festering in me, I’m definitely on edge.

The house is quiet, and the morning light is peaking through my blinds. I stretch out in my cozy warm bed before getting up to shower. I chose to use warm water rather than hot, fearing my muscles will relax too much in the hot water. I know I’m going to be spaghetti legs today, and I refuse to worsen my condition.

Wrapped in a towel, I pad over to my closet to pick a skating dress I’m going to wear to the arena. I pick my favorite one made with black lace on the upper body, dropping down really low in the back. The skirt is also slightly longer in the back, it’s elegant. I cover the majority of the dress with my good luck hoody that I bring to all my competitions and practices. It’s my security blanket.

The keys to mom’s car are left for me on the front table, which tells me she isn’t coming to our first practice. Nice, I think sarcastically, this again. Just as I open the front door mom calls out, “Are you ready Honey? I’ll take you.”

Well, wonders never cease, mom comes clipping down the stairs fully clothed except for her Christian Grey slippers. The paraphernalia they sold after the release of the first movie was too much! “I’ve already got the keys,” I tell her.

She is following me out the door, “Mom, Your slippers!” I remind her. She looks down at her feet, “Oops! Thanks.” She walks over to the

closet and changes into her shoes shrugging on her fall jacket before continuing out of the house.

Mom takes the keys from me and we get into my dad’s beat-up, shit box, really embarrassing to be seen in, backfiring, fifteen-year-old Honda Civic. Great first impression to anyone who might be in the parking lot of the new arena we were going to, “Can’t we take the other car?”

“Sorry Honey, this one has gas in it. We don’t have time to take the other car.” I get into the passenger side while mom attempts to turn over the ignition.

Row row row row, nothing. Row row row row, nothing. Row - Hum. Mom grins, “See, Honda’s never let you down! Domestic cars spend more time getting fixed than they drive on the road. Remember that when you go buy your first car Honey!”

My first car is going to be a Mercedes. I fell in love with them ever since I rode in Michael’s. I don’t bother informing her though. Once she starts on one of her tangents, there’s no stopping her. We drive to the new arena in silence. It’s a good twenty-five minute from my house. When we arrive she says, “I’ll drop you off here.”

“You’re not coming in?” I ask.

“No, Scott’s mother offered for Scott to drive you to school after all the practices. She switches him to your school when I informed her of its high ratings against all the other schools in Lagos. We figure if the two of you are doing the same curriculum then you can study together at competitions. It’s all set up. See, you’re not the only one who’s going to have to learn to adapt to something new, he is too. See you later dear!”

I close the door and she’s already pulling away from the curb. With my bag flung over my shoulder, I walk into the unfamiliar doors of the arena with nervousness.

Once I pass the doors there is a vacant desk to my left and a well-lit lounge to my right overlooking a darkened empty curling rink. The lounge extends to the next area I approach which is the rink I will be skating in. The couches are occupied teaching while the parents sit and watch their children skate. I know I will rarely set my mind there. The ice resurfacing machine is already making its way on the ice, so I know I have to hurry if I don’t want to be late.

My eyes finally land on a sign pointing out the direction of the change rooms. I briskly walk down the stairs to find the senior woman’s locker room and quickly put on my skates. By the time I get back into the lounge, the skaters are taking to the ice.

I step into the arena and as quickly as the cold air hits my face, so does the realization that I miss being here, on the ice. My eyes well up with tears of relief that this part of my life isn’t over, my love for figure skating isn’t lost. The chilled air from the rink fills my lungs and I immediately feel ecstatic.

Scott stops in front of me with one foot spraying snow towards the low boards just as I’m about to step onto the ice. Like any girl my age, I am undeniably drawn to his rugged good looks. He has a presence on and off the ice. His six o’clock shadow is worn 24/7. He is wearing a black hoodie and matching workout pants normally seen in a gym. When his dark eyes lock onto the tear making its way down my cheek, his eyes darken transforming his expression into one of concern, “Are you okay?”

Embarrassed he noticed, I quickly swipe it away, “Ya, just happy to be back on the ice. It’s been six weeks, but it feels like a lifetime.”

“Don’t worry,” he reassures. “We both know it’s your first day back after an injury. Coach Tammy won’t expect you to do triple axels until tomorrow, maybe the day after. He’s going to take it easy with you,” he jokes. “Seriously though, you should start warming up, he’ll be out on the ice in a few minutes.”

Scott skates off to warm up. I watch him as a few of his long strides cover the entire ice. His strength and speed are beautiful to watch. I fear I wouldn’t be able to keep up with him. Cautiously, I place my foot on the ice, with the other one following. I slip them back and forth a few times limbering up my ankles. I start stroking around the ice, first slowly and then picking up speed.

Everyone on the ice is staring at me with curiosity because I’m new to them, Scott’s new partner, someone they will be skating with regularly. I know the same thing would have happened if he came to my arena.

My established comfort is slowly returning. After four forwards and two backward laps around the ice, Scott motions for me to join him at the edge, “Mr. Tammy, this is Isabella, Isabella, Coach Tammy.” I immediately recognize him from competitions after seeing his face. He is about half a foot shorter than Scott, an unmistakably gay, no gaydar needed. His students LOVE everything about him except for his temper for which his reputation precedes him.

“Pleased to meet you,” I greet.

“The pleasure’s mine,” he smiles. “Now I want to see how you look together on the ice. Scott stroke around with her, remember in the competition you are never to be further than six feet apart from each other, so get comfortable being in each other’s space. Scott make sure you take on her pace, not YOURS. When you’re out in the real world and I mean especially competitions, I want you guys holding hands and looking like a couple. You must sell yourselves if you want to be successful. You want all of Nigeria behind you and people like couples with chemistry! Got it?”

“Sure Mr. Tammy,” he pulls off his hoodie leaving only a tight Wife-beater T-shirt covering his chest.

I gasped with shock seeing him standing practically naked before me,

“That’s what you skate in?” I blurt.

He looks at me a surprised by my moxie, “Yes, I get hot,” he explains. Oh My God. He doesn’t have to tell me that. I think I’m beginning to get hot myself. I feel flush warm cheeks.

Coach Tammy jokes, “Can you blame me for being Gay Honey?” I have to chuckle at his comment. Now it’s Scott’s turn to get embarrassed, he turns away. The rest of the session is exactly the way Scott says it will be, easy. When we are getting off the ice and covering our blades with our guards Scott asks me, “I take it your mother told you I’m registering at your school?”

“Yes, she did.”

“So, then you know I’ll be driving you.” “I do if it works for you?”

“It works for me, just fine,” he answers.

When I get to the locker room and start unlacing my skates, I reflect on the practice session. I can tell that Coach Tammy and Scott are being careful at working me in slowly, not wanting to cause any re-injury, or any deconditioning, which is very comforting.

The Ice resurfacing machine takes to the ice forty-five minutes before we are expected to be in devotion. The issue is it takes approximately twenty-five minutes just to get to school from here, so everything is rushed. We meet at the parking lot almost simultaneously.

He opens the main doors and leads me to his black Mercedes sports car, “Wow,” I compliment.

“Mom won it in the divorce settlement,” he explains. “It doesn’t replace my dad or make him leaving okay.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” I empathize. “He cheated on her?”

“More than once, he blames mom for neglecting him because of my skating. Nothing is ever his fault.”

I buckle myself in and remain quiet most of the way to school.

We arrive to find the parking lot free from people because we are running so late, “Do you have your schedule yet?”

“No.”

“I’ll take you to the office, but I’ll have to leave you there or I’ll be late for devotion.”

“Sure, thanks.”

Instinctively, I grabbed his hand as we did on the ice, and I walk him up the cement stairs into the school, showing him where the office is and then I ditch him to make my way to devotion.