Chapter Text
‘Hey, you never told me Alysa was coming back to skating?’ Brooke says, by way of greeting.
Amber looks up at her from her kitchen island with a blank stare, unable to comprehend what she’s heard for a moment. She allows her face to relax.
‘Which side of TikTok are you even on?’ she asks with a laugh, though honestly, it’s more like a puff of warm air.
‘I don’t need TikTok when I can get it straight from the source.’ Brooke fires back, taking the insult in her stride. She holds up her phone, and Amber squints to make out the screen - she can just about make out a figure in black pulling off a mediocre triple salchow. Amber places the knife she was using to slice her usual lunchtime banana down as slowly as her suddenly-tense muscles allow and orbits the island, stretching out her hand for Brooke’s phone without a word. The metal is smooth on her hand - and yes, without a doubt, that is Alysa Liu gliding across the white ice that fills half the screen. Amber can feel Brooke’s eyes watching her watch her, and quickly senses the accusation that is soon to follow.
‘You didn’t know.’ Brooke says, and it’s not a question. Amber shakes her head slightly, eyes still glued to the Instagram post. The video has started to replay again, and Amber’s eyes drift away from the motion and down towards the caption, written in all lower case: more info soon. It’s in typical Alysa-fashion, Amber muses.
‘I’m thinking about retiring.’ Alysa had said, as she sat on the locker room bench unlacing her skates. Amber, who had been busy doing the same on the bench across from her, remembers snapping her head upwards, fingers frozen against the cords. Alysa did not stop - there was not even a tremor in her fingers as they tugged at the edges of her skates, prying herself free.
Amber struggles to remember how she had looked two years ago, the vision of that Alysa blurring with the woman dressed in all black in the video. She even has a fringe now, Amber thinks, absentmindedly.
‘Does she look good?’ Brooke presses, not giving Amber even a second to pull together a string of words that could somewhat resemble a reaction to the news. Amber tilts her head.
‘Impossible to tell. If she’s honest about the timestamps, she looks strong for someone who has just got back on to the ice.’
Amber knows Alysa is being honest. The jumps are raw, and unfiltered, and a little shaky. Despite the appropriately titled Drake song draped over the clip, there’s a vulnerability there, seeping over the edges. Alysa’s letting the world see what it is like for an ex-Olympian to touch the ice again after two, long, long years away. Amber tries to remember what her sessions were like two years ago, and draws a blank. Alysa may as well have broken both legs and uploaded a clip of her learning how to walk again. Yes, she’s honest, and Amber can’t tell if it is brave or foolish. She thinks she might be able to hear the Russian skaters laughing from half-way across the world.
A bubble builds up in Amber’s chest, a bubble of intrigue. When Alysa had called it quits, two years ago, in a similarly colloquial manner, she’d nearly blown the roof off US figure skating. Amber had quickly realized that the casual warning she’d been extended in the locker room that one time had been the only of its kind. At the time, it looked like Alysa had done the impossible. She’d walked away from the sport, not from injury or ban, but from choice, with her own sheer will power. And now she’d done the impossible twice. She’d chosen to return, and bare her mistakes and her wobbles for the world to see, before even daring to enter a competition.
‘I don’t know why she’s coming back.’ Amber says, eventually. She realizes that in the long silence Brooke had gone to take a bite of the banana strewn on the counter. Brooke shrugs,
‘Maybe she wants to win.’
Amber hums, low and steady, as she rises to her feet. She passes the phone back to Brooke, hip-checking her away from the counter so she can resume her snack prep.
‘Are you worried?’ Brooke continues, never one to let sleeping dogs lie. But there’s a gentleness to it, and Amber knows she’s not asking about “the competition”.
‘I just hope it’s the right thing for her,’ Amber mutters, not taking her eyes off the cutting board in front of her. She hears Alysa’s words from the locker room two years ago echo again in her mind. I’m thinking about retiring. It was clear to Amber, even then, that there was no “thinking” about it. Only certainty. Absolute certainty.
‘Well, you know, she’s a big girl now.’
Amber huffs in mild amusement, ‘Yes, she is.’
Brooke, thankfully, says nothing more, and Amber goes back to slice, slice, slicing her banana.
-
Amber’s triple lutz comes down hard and fast, sucking the breath out of her lungs and into a puff of smoke in the coolness of the rink. She blinks a few times as she pushes onward, shaking off the impact, and launches into a triple toe loop. This is smoother, and there’s a smattering of applause from the edge of the rink. Amber glides over to where Damon is stood, leaning over the barricade, papers stretched across the surface. She glances over them briefly, catches a glimpse of the words “Grand Prix”, and looks away.
‘Well adjusted.’ Damon compliments, and Amber notes with satisfaction that his pen lies long forgotten under the corner of one of the pale sheets. She nods her thanks, reaching for her electrolytes. They stand together in silence for a brief moment.
‘When did you know Alysa was coming back?’ Amber asks Damon, and instantly regrets it. Damon cocks one eyebrow, but doesn’t look up at her.
‘Yesterday, same as everybody else.’
‘Nothing from Phillip?’ The question seems to pique Damon’s interest much more than the last.
‘No. Did you hear from him?’
‘No.’ Amber replies, too hastily for her own liking.
‘Did you hear from her?’ Damon asks, and Amber’s stomach drops before he’s even finished speaking.
‘No.’ There’s a beat, and she scrambles to continue before Damon can open his mouth, but he is way ahead of her.
‘It’s unusual,’ admits Damon, ‘but she was - is - some talent.’
‘She is.’ Amber agrees, and the words sound weird in her mouth. Like Alysa had died, and somehow magically come back to life. It didn’t feel far from the truth.
‘Do you want me to reach out?’ Damon asks, and Amber’s nails scrape against the soft plastic of the boards.
‘Reach out.’ Her mouth feels dry and awkward.
‘Sure,’ Damon’s voice is even, ‘She can come train here, I can see Phillip, you can catch up, and then she can answer the million questions you were going to direct at me instead over the next few weeks.’
Amber can feel her cheeks heating up, and she scuffs the toe of her skates against the ice, digging a small hole.
‘It’s not the worst idea.’
‘Have you spoken to her since she quit?’
The million dollar question.
‘Nope,’ Amber says, fixing her gaze over her shoulder, focusing on the ice, ‘Well- of course I reached out when it happened. Just nothing since then. I got the feeling she wanted to leave it all behind.’ Damon shakes his head,
‘It’s as much of a mystery to me as it is to you.’
Nothing about Alysa had ever felt like a mystery. Her retirement had thrown Amber through the loop, but Alysa had laid it all out in plain terms, and Amber had found herself nodding along. There’s nothing left for me to accomplish. Olympics, World Championships, Nationals. Golds, silvers, bronzes. She’d said it all with a smile, contented smile. And so Amber had closed that door, thrown away the key, let it rust. There would be many more, she’d thought, on the US figure skating conveyor belt, some more talented, some less talented. All that was left of Alysa was her shrine on the wall of Oakland Ice Centre, her Wikipedia page and YouTube clips.
But Alysa had decided to open that box again, and Amber feels her mind flash toward the shifting shape on Brooke’s phone screen as she takes off on her next triple Salchow. She lands it perfectly, all smiles and straight edges, smoothing out the roughness left behind by Alysa’s blades.
She sees Damon out of the corner of her eye, still watching her like a hawk, but with his phone pressed against his ear. She can’t hear him over the roar of the music, but he’s animated, excited.
When she exits the rink, he tells her Alysa will be in Colorado next week.
-
Amber had always believed that the month of February was far superior to the month of March. The February of 2024 was a neat little bow, beginning on a Thursday, and ending on a Thursday. A nice, big, round circle that ticked relentlessly forward until it was over, four weeks later. Except this year had been a leap year, so it had really been four weeks and a day later. Everything had shifted, as if March and spring and everything that came with it were being held back ever so slightly. Amber’s February 29th had been a stutter, a void. On March 1st, Alysa had announced her return. And on March 18th, Amber still felt like she was running one day behind. Even worse, she thinks, rubbing the palm against the already warm spandex of her leggings, she’s running 18 minutes behind getting to practice.
Perhaps all of Colorado had realized that former Olympian Alysa Liu was in town, and had decided to converge on Colorado Springs to witness the historic event. The thought makes her smile a little, even as her molars grind down on nothing. She’s been trapped in the same spot for over ten minutes, which has meant an extended symphony of blaring horns and a distant siren. Amber checks her phone again, nails dragging over her most recent, unseen message to Damon.
Running late, traffic’s backed up down the ave.
Amber huffs, throwing a rare glance out the window, and begins seriously contemplating walking 7 blocks when finally, her Uber moves. They loop around a bumper-to-bumper road accident a couple of hundred yards down the street, and in no time at all, Amber is hurriedly thanking the driver, scrambling out of her seat into firstly the biting Colorado wind, then the duller chill of the rink. The locker room is empty, the benches bare. It only takes her a few moments to dump her stuff down, lace up her skates, and pull on a fresh zip up from her bag, before she’s shuffling down the corridor, wincing slightly at the sound of her blade protectors on the hard floors.
‘I’m sorry I’m late.’ she blurts, the second she lays eyes on Damon, and before she’s even fully rounded the corner.
Three, rather than one, turn to greet her. Damon looks relaxed, hands in his pockets, as if she’s not over twenty minutes late for a practice on a rink with very limited ice time. Phillip is next to him, equally comfortable, legs crossed as he rests his weight against the plexiglass. He reacts much faster than even Amber can, shuffling to his feet and reaching out with open arms and an open smile.
Alysa’s there too. Is that her? Amber asks herself, for just a moment. She can’t decide if she looks the same, or if she looks completely different, or somewhere in the middle. Her hair is longer, but then again, Amber’s is shorter. Amber’s eyes come to rest on her face halfway through Phillip’s crushing embrace, and things come in to focus a little. Alysa’s expression is neutral, but the flutter of her lashes gives away the nervousness that Amber currently feels in her throat. The left edge of her lip curls up first, on its way to a smile, then a grin, but it’s the first movement that allows Amber to catch a sparkling glimpse of metal.
Two years later and still stuck with braces, Amber thinks, ouch.
‘Thank you so much for extending the invite,’ Phillip is saying, and Amber can’t work out how much she’s missed, ‘Sessions with just the two or three of us was beginning to test Alysa’s patience.’
‘Good to see you, Phillip.’ Amber says, squeezing his arm - then he’s stepping past her to get a word in with Damon, and she has nowhere to go but forwards. Alysa, to her credit, doesn’t hesitate for a second, meeting her in the middle.
‘Hey.’ Alysa breathes, and Amber feels it on her shoulder.
‘Hey.’ Amber’s voice is surprisingly steady, ‘Welcome back.’
‘Thanks.’ Alysa withdraws, but keeps a hand firmly attached to Amber’s wrist, ‘It’s nice to hear someone say that.’
‘I can hardly be the first.’ Amber says wryly, reaching down to slide her blade protectors off.
‘The first to say it in person.’
Amber feels her eyebrow tick up before she can control it. Alysa seems to miss it, as she leans down in a perfect mirror image of Amber’s movements.
‘I’m the first person you’ve trained with?’
‘Unless you count the ten years old at my rink. They always show me a thing or two.’
Amber laughs, and she feels a couple of back muscles dislodge as she does. Damon and Phillip, still deep in conversation, seem wholly uninterested in beginning any kind of drill, but Amber can’t wait.
She pushes onto the ice, relaxing for the first time as she allows her full weight to rest on her skates, propelling herself forwards. Before she can glance over her shoulder, Alysa materializes by her side. They must look quite the pair, Amber knows, in their near-matching black spandex and skates whiter than the ice.
‘So,’ Alysa prompts, as they skate a lazy circle across the rink, ‘Ask me.’
Amber doesn’t even bother feigning her innocence, ‘Why’d you come back?’
‘Because I missed it.’ Alysa’s answer feels equally pre-loaded, ‘And everything else was starting to get boring.’ Amber feels her eyes narrow,
‘Is that what you told the Player’s Tribune?’
Alysa accelerates a little until she’s several paces ahead, before spinning around so they’re face to face. Amber watches her footwork - easy, tempered, precise.
‘It’s true. I went skiing a couple of months ago - somewhere near here, actually - and for some reason it made me want to throw myself around in circles in the air again. So I did.’
Amber’s attention moves up slowly from Alysa’s skates, and finds her eyes trained squarely on her face. Even as they approach the curve of the barriers, Alysa’s gaze doesn’t falter. She merely adjusts her feet, stays in line. There’s the smile again, and Amber feels her shoulders tighten.
‘You know, I thought you still had your braces in.’ Alysa blinks, thrown off guard for the first time.
‘Oh - yeah, I pierced my frenulum. Pretty cool, huh? I saw it on Pinterest when I was like, fifteen…’
Watching Alysa reach up to push her upper lip away and show off the metal bar hanging over her front teeth, Amber is struck by the overwhelmingly obvious fact that Alysa has become incredibly cool. She skates forward a little so she can grab hold of Alysa’s arm, holding her steady as she peers at the silver accessory with a mixture of reverence and fear.
‘That must’ve hurt?’
Alysa’s smile grows wider, ‘Not as much as my first double axel attempt last month.’
Everything feels easy after that. They skate in circles for forty-five minutes, going round and around until Amber’s nearly dizzy. She hears about UCLA, and Alysa’s totally normal roommate who took Sustainable Development and sold handmade seashell necklaces on Etsy. She sees the pictures of the Himalayas, the ramen from the hole-in-the-wall on the corner, and the CT scans from the time that Alysa had talked her TA into letting her into the lab after hours. Amber’s phone, full to the brim of clips of her jumps, landing, landing, falling, landing, wobbling, is tucked away in the front pocket of her backpack, all the way back in the locker room.
Eventually, Damon and Phillip call them over, and Amber feels her back straighten, her core engage.
‘Now that we’re all caught up,’ Damon says, clapping his hands together, ‘Let’s get to work. Phillip wants to see your double axel double toe-loop - both of you.’
Amber’s fingers tangle into each other as she slides her eyes slowly over to Alysa. There’s a faint smattering of pink on her cheeks, but her breath sounds even. Amber has to half-close her eyes to make it out over the hum of the refrigerators.
‘Ladies first.’ Alysa prompts, and Amber pushes away before the last syllable dies on her lips. The rink feels a lot larger when she turns to face it alone.
Amber stops thinking, and lets the mechanics take over. She feels her legs load up like a spring, feels the power push up from her ankles, to her calves, to her quads and hamstrings. For a moment, there’s nothing but the blur of white and black and the faint purple of the boards. There’s a pleasant clack as she reconnects with the ice, but there’s no moment for celebration. She pushes off again, feeling the strain a little more. There’s another coil, another spin, another clink, not unlike the sound of two champagne glasses coming together. Textbook.
If she had to guess, Amber thinks she’s probably landed tens of thousands of axels and toe loops. But there’s always that gnawing uncertainty that tickles the back of her mind, that gives way to a rush of adrenaline (or relief? It could be both). She hears Alysa’s appreciative whistle before her eyes can refocus on the group huddled on the side. Phillip dips his chin, pats Damon on the back in admiration. Damon just looks smug. It’s probably Amber’s favorite look of his.
‘You’re so smooth with it.’ Alysa compliments.
‘Well, I do have a two year head start.’ For a moment, Amber has the horrible feeling that she’s said the wrong thing. But Alysa laughs, even tilts her head back as she does it. Amber watches the hair cascade over her shoulders in mild bewilderment.
‘Go ahead, Alysa.’ Phillip urges, and Alysa dutifully floats away. Amber leans forward briefly, draping her forearms over the barrier and bearing her weight on her toes. She contemplates not turning around, letting Alysa have her little sanctuary of the coaches’ eyes and nothing else. But then she remembers that hundreds of thousands of people have seen Alysa - new Alysa - jump already. She turns just in time, twisting her shoulder at the same time Alysa takes flight. The axel has decent height, but even from a distance Amber notes the looseness of the elbows. Alysa underrotates, lands awkwardly, skates kicking up a cloud of icy shards, and soundlessly folds. Amber is about to push off, bottom lip trapped tightly underneath her front teeth, when Alysa brusquely clambers to her feet and brushes at the stripe of white down the sides of her leggings. She holds her hands up, and Amber finds herself pinned against the side of the rink.
‘Hey, all good. Let me try that again.’
Alysa tries and fails three more times, and Amber feels like her body is turning to stone. But every time, Alysa gets up immediately. By Amber’s side, Phillip is calm, relaxed. Amber feels like she’s carrying the weight of the ice rink.
On the fifth attempt, Alysa lands both jumps. The toe-loop is tremulous, but it's clean, and Amber exhales through her nose. Her chest, core, shoulders, back, legs feel bunched together, like she’s trapped on hour eleven of a particularly nasty long-haul flight in coach. Alysa skates over, and as she comes closer and closer, Amber’s brain renders the lightness of the shoulders and the gentle ease of the chest.
‘Not the worst start.’ Phillip acknowledges, patting her on the shoulder, ‘Let’s resume this afternoon. Damon and I have a lunch date.’
Amber hardly notices when they leave, only distantly registering the fading footsteps. Alysa notices, and tips her head to catch Amber’s eye.
Amber takes her in, again. Alysa’s hands have fallen to her hips, twisted in her jacket fabric to prevent them from slipping down her legs. The light pink on her cheeks has settled into something more permanent, like someone’s gone over it again with a fresh felt-tip pen. Her face is open, curious - she’s reading me, Amber realizes, with a jolt.
‘How are you so…’ Amber trails off, searching for a way to finish the sentence that doesn’t suggest to Alysa that she has something to worry about.
‘Relaxed?’ Alysa finishes. Amber searches her face again, waiting for something, anything to appear. There is nothing.
Alysa skates a loop around Amber, coming to rest by her side, and leans against the barrier, shuffling around until she finds a comfortable spot. Amber stares out at the ice, and feels the heat from Alysa’s shoulder, pressed tightly against hers.
‘I guess,’ Alysa continues, almost inaudibly, ‘I came back because skating is fun and it makes me happy.’ Amber swallows, and the movement causes a twitch in her jaw. On her left, she sees Alysa turn out of the corner of her eye, and feels the full force of her gaze. Her head feels heavy as she twists it. Alysa’s eyes are as bright as they are steady. ‘And the second it becomes something more than that, it’s not fun anymore.’
It’s all very bizarre, Amber thinks. She looks at Alysa and can still see the thirteen year old who needed to be hoisted up into prime position on the podium at Nationals. But now she can also see her sprawled out on the grass writing a paper, or in a dive bar that she got into with a friend’s sister’s outdated ID. All of the Alysas seem to be superimposing themselves onto the form in front of her, gluing together like pages of an old book. There’s only this Alysa, the one who has fallen four times trying an element that Amber can mostly do in her sleep, who is telling her that she’s returned to the cold, wet days and nights for the sake of “fun”. Amber’s stomach churns at the word.
‘Come on,’ Alysa presses on, and suddenly her palm is on Amber’s hip, thumb brushing over the smallest slice of bare skin between where her top ends and leggings begin, ‘You must know the best lunch places around here.’
She skates towards the exit. How can you even think about lunch right now? Amber wonders.
She thinks back to February 29th, the spare day that she didn’t know what to do with. A day that had thrown her perfect month out, and left her careening. She already regretted wasting it. Alysa, despite being adrift for days, weeks, months, seemed to be on a different schedule altogether. Maybe they don’t have the leap year in LA.
The joke lands flat, even in Amber’s head, and the thought fizzles out through her skull and into her spine, coming to settle in the small of her back. Amber doesn’t have to twist over her shoulder to look in order to know that it's burning into jealousy.