Queen Of The Rink

• Anastasia O’regan, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2018

The Olympic crowd was one I would never forget. The people who came and watched my skates around the rink at home were nothing in comparison to the hundreds of roaring fans cheering from the stands. The ice gleamed and on it, a beautiful Russian skater had entranced the crowd with her series of elegant quads and spins. Her skates connected with the ice smoothly, confidently, she had one last jump to do before she would finish in the centre and it would be my turn.

“You ready?” The calm voice of my coach startled me. He slung an arm around my shoulder, eyes following the performing skater for a second before resting on my own. He gave me an encouraging smile.

“She’s good.” I blurted hopelessly. I was too nervous to say much else really but the retired silver-medalist seemed to get what I was going at: So much better than me.

“She is,” He agreed, shrugging, “but you’re better.” He flashed me a toothy grin and gave my tense shoulder a reassuring rub.

The skater had finished by now and was waiting patiently in the Kiss and Cry for her free-skate score, her rather strict looking coach beside her. Her long, pianist fingers gripped her Nike bottle tightly. The number 174 flashed on the screen and immediately both her and her coach erupted into huge smiles, embracing shortly before watching as her name moved up to first place on the leader board.

My coach clapped and I followed suit, though it made the nervous feeling in my stomach even more intense. In a matter of minutes that would be me, either receiving for the best news of my life or the worst. It wasn’t called the ‘Kiss and Cry’ for nothing.

After what seemed like hours squashed into the mere seconds it had been, an official-looking man approached me, “You’re up.”

I stuttered a thank-you before turning to my coach. He hugged me quickly before grabbing my shoulders and forcing my chin up. “Go on, Claire, show them!” There was a proud, confident glint in his eye that made all my nervousness dissipate. I drew in a deep breath before turning to the ice and striding forward. I would not disappoint him.

As soon as the blades of my skates touched the ice, I came alive. The deafening noise faded into a dull throbbing at the back and the ecstatic crowd seemed to disappear into a meaningless blur. It was only me and the ice.

“Next to skate, Claire Fuxton from Australia!” The cool feminine voice of the announcer signalled the end of my warm up. I reached centre ice and immediately struck my starting pose, feet angled into third position and my hand gently cupping my cheek. The music began, a moderately paced song of two helpless lovers.

At that moment I was as light as air.