And it really was beautiful, like a painting in a museum. But watching him, I wanted him to look up, to reach out and let me in. Not me personally, but the audience in general.

Or maybe me personally too.

The commentators loved to call me a “showman” and a “performer.” I got so much energy from the crowd when I skated, but audiences seemed to make Henry tighter. I could imagine he’d love to actually be completely alone so he could just skate and skate and try to be perfect for himself.

Meanwhile, as long as I was getting good scores from the judges who dug my personality and jumps, I was happy. I’d honestly never cared about trying to be perfect.

“You’re not even listening to your poor mother.”

Sighing, I tore my gaze from Henry. “Of course I am. Hey, did I tell you I’m getting a new short program costume? Can I get your opinion on the color? I’ll text you the options, hold on.”

I’d already decided with Manon and the designer, but nothing made my mother happier than telling me what to do. I sent her the pictures and watched Henry begin his free skate again even though I hadn’t seen him make a single mistake.

Chapter Five

Henry

It’s just love.

Manon’s voice rang in my ears, but my heart still thumped as I gave the Skate Canada audience a small smile, lifting my arms out as I glided across the ice to take my starting position.

I’d always felt crushing pressure skating in front of a home crowd, and Manon had worked to reinforce that the audience only wanted to support me.

Canadian fans were nothing if not loyal, and they cheered and stomped and whistled in greeting. Sam, Mom, Dad, Obaachan, and other family and friends were here too. Not so much my friends, since I’d always been far too focused on training for socializing.

I’d stumbled on my quad toe in the short, though I was still in second place. Behind him, of course. I didn’t want to disappoint, and if I didn’t skate perfectly… Ugh.

Performing was honestly my least favorite part of skating. I could happily train every day without needing an audience. But the audience was part of winning, and I definitely wanted to win.

I lowered my head for my starting position, one leg back with my toe pick in the ice, my hands resting lightly over my heart atop my long-sleeved shirt, which was a lightly shimmering silver on top, fading down into a rich navy blue under my chest that matched my pants. My newly trimmed hair made a perfect swoop over one side of my forehead.

Be perfect. Don’t fall. Don’t fail. Don’t let everybody down.

Stomach fluttering as the first piano note echoed through the arena, I pushed off, stroking to gather speed for my first quad, the dreaded Lutz. I tensed, rushing the takeoff. My timing was critically off, and I opened up too late, over-rotating it and barely staying on my feet.