He’d been about to say something, but frowned. “No, it was good. You’ve been holding back, but that one was perfect. I know what it’s like when you have an injury. Anyway, I just… Hey, Ivan.”

Ivan stepped off the ice and put on his guards, giving Theodore a nod.

“Theo, let’s go!” Manon approached, frowning. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, totally!” Theodore said.

She nodded decisively. “Warm-up laps. Crack that walnut between your shoulder blades. Core on and get into your knees. Firm and stiff are two different things.”

He did as he was told for once, though his posture still needed work. I crouched to pick up his errant skate guard, placing it on the bench beside the other.

“What was he saying?” Ivan asked, dropping to the bench and pulling a banana from his bag.

I shrugged. “He was just talking.”

Ivan grunted and bit off half the banana. “Don’t let him get in your head.”

“I’m not.” I sipped from my water bottle, tearing my gaze from Theodore.

Ivan mumbled through another bite, “He’s a nice guy, sure, but don’t forget he’s the enemy.”

I wanted to argue. A few months ago, I would have agreed wholeheartedly. A few months ago, I’d hated Theodore. I watched him now begin jump drills, reeling off one of his exceptional quad Salchows.

I reached for the resentment that had once flowed like water. Theodore was laughing and saying something to Bill, and then he gathered speed for another perfect Salchow. It came so easily to him—the natural snap and quick spinning motion.

The memory of his hot tears on my neck as I held him on a rainy street invaded. The way he talked and talked to Esmeralda as if she understood him. Curled on my couch dozing. Following a recipe with earnest effort. The tightness in his jaw when he spoke of his mother’s abuse though he’d likely never use that word.

“Everyone thinks you’re going crazy.” Ivan laughed. “Be careful.”

On the drive to Dr. Shankar’s office in Markham, I tried not to imagine Theodore on the top of the podium in Calgary while I was a step below. But I could hear “The Star-Spangled Banner” in my mind instead of “O Canada” and see him with his hand over his heart, singing along.

A surge of petty jealousy took over, and I let it flourish. I encouraged it with more memories of losing, trying to fan the flames. I would beat Theodore at the Olympics. Once we left for Calgary, he would be my enemy. I could close the door on this strange…what? Friendship? I was still in control. Everything was fine.

At the appointment, Dr. Shankar asked, “How are you doing with your visualizations?”

“Well,” I lied.

Even if I did my very best, would it be enough to beat Theodore? The judges would put him in front if he landed all his quads. He had one more in his planned free skate than me, and it would be all the difference he needed no matter how shallow the edges on his footwork. His hip swiveling would be more than enough for his PCS even if Manon couldn’t improve his posture.