You didn’t change the formula when you were winning, and I could bitterly confirm that Theodore Sullivan had been undefeated the past two seasons.

They shared another look, this one serious and sad. Bill blew out a long breath. For a terrible moment, his perpetually chapped lips quivered, and I thought he might cry. “This isn’t public knowledge yet, but Mr. Webber’s been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He needs to start aggressive treatment immediately.”

My heart sank. “Oh.”

Even though Bill was in his late forties, he still called his old coach “Mr. Webber” like he had as a pupil and as most everyone in the skating world did. Many coaches were known by their first names, but Mr. Webber was a legend. He was almost eighty now and had always seemed indestructible.

When I was younger, I’d dreamed of being coached by him, but when I had to leave Vancouver three years ago, Theodore Sullivan was Mr. Webber’s star pupil. I hadn’t even considered training with my archrival. Having to see him and his careless smile and natural jumping ability daily? No.

“You can imagine how upset Theo is.” Manon shook her head. “It’s a shock for everyone. Mr. Webber sounds in good spirits, though. He’s going to fight this.”

“You talked to him?”

Bill nodded. “He called us yesterday to ask personally if we’d take on Theo.”

My heart sank all the way down through the ugly shag rug. How could I say no?

Manon seemed to read my mind. “We realize we’re putting you in a tough spot. But we truly believe this is the extra training push you need.”

“I’m going to beat him.”

I’d imagined seeing my name in first place over Theodore Sullivan for years. Gold: Henry Sakaguchi, Canada. Silver: Theodore Sullivan, USA. Or sometimes he didn’t even make the podium. I imagined wiping that infuriating smirk off his perfectly symmetrical face.

Manon grinned. “That’s the confidence we love to see. Our job is to train you both to be your best, and then it’s up to the judges. It’s a win-win if you two can push each other to new heights.”

I wanted very badly to argue, but they were right. I’d been the top skater at the Ice Chalet the three years I’d trained here. I knew I couldn’t be childish about the idea of my coaches helping the competition. It was the norm in skating these days.

“What’s the verdict?” Bill asked. “Of course we understand if you want to sleep on it.”

It was selfish to deny Manon and Bill the prestige and potential income that would accompany coaching another world champion. Even if it plagued me that while we were tied at two titles apiece, he’d beaten me the last two years running. He had the momentum and was the favorite going into these Olympics.

It was selfish to deny them even if I hated Theodore Sullivan.

I thought of Mr. Webber being sick, and my skin prickled with a hot rush of guilt. Manon and Bill waited for me to respond, though Bill’s foot tapped on the rug, jiggling his knee.