The Favorites: A Novel(12)

Nicole Bradford: I can understand why some judges might not have responded to their style. Skating to a Madonna song, the dress Kat wore—it was a little edgier than what the other teams were doing.

Jane Currer: Presentation is important, and that includes hair, makeup, costumes. The whole package.

Ellis Dean: I mean, yeah, that was the ugliest effing dress I’d ever seen. But she wore it for the original dance too, and they didn’t ding her then.

Katarina and Heath react to their artistic presentation scores. She looks like she wants to break something. He squeezes her hand. There are a few scattered boos from the crowd.

Jane Currer: I would call figure skating a conservative sport, and I don’t see why that’s a negative thing. The young athletes who win U.S. medals go out into the world as ambassadors of our great country. We have to be sure they’ll act appropriately. On and off the ice.

Ellis Dean: They looked at Kat Shaw and saw white trash, and they looked at Heath Rocha and saw a foreigner. Never mind that he was as American as any of those snobby-ass judges.

Jane Currer: As I said, I stand by my scores, and my decisions. At 2000 Nationals, and every competition thereafter.

Producer (Offscreen): What about your decision regarding th—

Jane Currer: Next question, please.





Chapter 9





The best skate of our lives so far, and we slid back to sixth place.

The Lins took silver, right behind the reigning national champs Elizabeth Parry and Brian Alcona. Reed and Branwell got the bronze, Hayworth and Dean the pewter.

Heath didn’t ask if I wanted to stay to watch the medal ceremony. It was just a matter of time before I lost control of the emotions I’d been holding in since our dismal artistic marks flashed across the screen, and we both wanted to be on the road home before that happened.

Home, where my brother might actually kill us for taking his truck without permission. I almost wished he would, because otherwise I somehow had to survive until my eighteenth birthday, stripped of the one thing I’d been living for this entire time.

With those scores, no one better than Nicole would want to coach us. No sponsors would look twice. No one would remember us at all.

The snow had started up again, so Heath offered to go get the truck while I waited in the lobby. My hip was shrieking in protest after everything I’d put it through, but that pain was nothing compared to the humiliation gnawing a hole in my chest. I slouched against the wall, burying my hands in my coat pockets, blinking fast to keep the tears at bay.

I wasn’t a champion. I wasn’t special. I was nothing.

Eventually, I looked up. And there she was again.

Sheila Lin.

For a second, I thought I was hallucinating. She was still all in white—a structured sheath dress this time—and the streetlights beyond the lobby windows made her glow like a goddess. She looked so beautiful, so flawless, I couldn’t help staring at her.

But then, inexplicably, she stared back at me.

I straightened out my slumped posture, ignoring the resulting muscle spasm. I must have looked ridiculous, all sweaty and disheveled, that stupid shredded skirt poking out under my puffy winter coat. And my mouth hanging open in shock, because now Sheila Lin was not only looking at me but also walking toward me.

She stopped, the click of her stilettos still echoing. “Ms. Shaw.”

I was so stunned Sheila Lin knew my name, I forgot how to form words.

“It is Ms. Shaw, isn’t it?”

I swallowed. “Yes. Hi. I’m—Katarina. Or Kat. Most people call me ‘Kat,’ but I don’t—”

She stuck out her hand. “I’m Sheila Lin.”

I almost laughed. The Sheila Lin, introducing herself, to me? As if everyone in the world didn’t know who she was. My hand trembled as I took hers, and I thought this is it, the peak of my career. I skated at Nationals, and I touched Sheila Lin’s hand. It’s all downhill from here.

“This is your first time competing at Nationals,” she said.

I started to nod—then stopped, because she hadn’t actually asked a question.

“I didn’t see your coach with you. Where do you train?”

“At the North Shore Ice Rink, outside Chicago. With Nicole Bradford.”

No point in explaining our strange coaching arrangement, or the money troubles that had led to it. Sheila wouldn’t be familiar with Nicole anyway. Heath and I were the first team from North Shore to ever make it to Nationals.

“Well done today,” she said. “It’s rare to see a young team with so much raw power.”

I sunk my front teeth into my lip, unsure how I should respond.

Sheila arched one expertly plucked eyebrow. “You don’t think you skated well?”

“I could have skated better.”

“You can always be better. But don’t let that stop you from carrying yourself like a champion. If you don’t believe you’re the best, no one else will either. You understand?”

“Yes,” I said—though I didn’t. Not yet.

Heath pulled up outside and hopped out of the truck. I was already imagining myself introducing him to Sheila. It wasn’t until he started to push through the revolving doors that I remembered the black eye. The bruise showed through his sweat-melted makeup; he looked like he’d been on the losing end of a bar fight.