I chuckled. Theodore’s head snapped up, looking at me excitedly. I glanced behind me, puzzled. Down a gray corridor, the edges of the press area were visible. “What?”

“Nothing!” He went back to his phone, but he looked unfathomably pleased with himself.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and my brother’s face filled the screen. I calculated the time difference to Vancouver. It was a strange time for him to be trying a video call. Uneasiness tugged in my gut as I swiped to answer. “What’s wrong?”

“Bro! Good morning to you too. Or afternoon? I have no idea. Why do you always think something’s wrong? Loosen your screws already.”

Relief flowed, and I exhaled. “That’s not a saying.”

“Sure it is! I just said it.”

Theodore laughed. Then he grabbed my wrist, his fingers wrapping around bare skin where my warm-up jacket rode up a few inches. He twisted my hand and said to the screen. “Hey, Sam! Seriously, have his screws always been this tight?”

“Dude, you have no idea. I hope Henry hasn’t been too frosty. He doesn’t like change.”

I tried to yank my hand back, but Theodore’s warm grip on my wrist was too strong. He said, “No, he’s been great! I’m impossible to resist.” With a laugh, he let go.

I shifted in the chair, ignoring my brother’s smirk when I looked at the screen again. “Yes?”

“Just wanted to say don’t break a leg.” It was an old family joke my parents and grandma had also made when we spoke earlier. Sam added, “Crush the competition. No offense, Theo!”

“None taken!” Theodore called back.

“I want to do my best,” I said.

In unison, Sam and Theodore groaned, my brother grumbling, “We’re not the media. Be real.” He looked away from the camera and said, “Be there in a sec.”

Judging by his dreamy expression, he was speaking to Etienne. I said goodbye and chewed over his words. Be real.

I was real. Yes, it was a stock statement from skaters and other athletes, but aside from obviously wanting to win, I truly did want to do my best. I couldn’t control the judges—I tamped down a swell of irritation at Theodore for his inflated artistic scores—but doing my best was wholly in my power. And if I did my best, obviously the odds of winning were greatly increased.

The pairs skaters were finishing, and my Canadian teammates passed by. At least Anton and Hannah weren’t at this event, though I’d see them soon enough at Nationals in January. I pushed that thought away, nodding to Rebecca and Brent, who were sweaty and grinning and seemed surprised to see me for some reason. I wasn’t sure why since the men’s short program was next after a dinner break and all the competitors had surely arrived.

“Way to go!” Theodore said, jumping up to hug them quickly. They’d clearly skated well, and I congratulated them too as Theodore bumped his fist with their coach as Rebecca and Brent continued on to do press. “Henry, you know Dev Avira, right?”