Blades

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

When it comes to the new year's training, Sandy and I have hit the ground at a full-on sprint. Part of it, I'm sure, is how hard I trained off-ice over the break as I've always been the physically weaker of the two of us. But the larger part is how certain we both feel of our situation. Physically it means that I've stopped questioning whether him touching me is, or should be, giving me electric shocks, or whether I'm allowed to add that flourish where I touch his face, or whether the way we're playing romance in our skating is anything like real life would be. Mentally we just know we're on the same page. We feel the same. We want the same. We have talked through or understood everything about this.

Of course, this situation doesn't come without its concerns. We've always got on so the change isn't dramatic but I've no doubt that it's noticeable, especially to the likes of Sherrie. I worry for the first few training sessions that she'll question the sudden and unexplained leap in our progress, but the only comment she passes is that she's impressed, combined with an inquisitive look. Sandy says something about the gala giving us confidence and she doesn't push it any further.

Frankly, the whole thing is making me question her golden rule. Being a couple outside of the rink has only improved our skating and relationship inside the rink; the boundaries are clear and we stick to them. My motivation and work-ethic when it comes to skating are both higher than they've ever been and we're training for 22 hours a week. What is it she's so afraid of happening?

This is our topic of conversation on the bus after school. At least, it's Charlie and my topic of conversation. Harry and Mark have been unusually glum all day.

"I told you so and I'm proud to say it," shrugs Charlie. He's smug as a cat that's not only got the cream but the cheese and tuna as well.

I laugh, "Aren't you the modest one?" He just wiggles his eyebrows at me and we fall into silence again. It's difficult to maintain a conversation when half of your party is staring out the window like they're in a movie and it's raining on the glass, even for Charlie and I. We exchange a look: Do you know what's going on? Nope.

"Isn't it desperately uncool to be hanging out with your little brother and his friends, Mark?" I ask. Teasing is almost always a sure-fire way to drag any of the Leaver siblings out of moping. Mark's head turns a little from where it's leant against the window, up to his chin wrapped in an old football scarf. I'm relieved to see a wry smile over the top of the wool.

"Are you daring to suggest I'm uncool, Fred?"

Glad the tactic's working I say, "And if I am?"

"Then you're asking for trouble." He still hasn't moved from his curled up position, and, said with only one eye on me, his blondish hair a mess and his voice slightly sleepy, it couldn't sound less threatening if he tried.

I laugh, "You like me too much to cause me any trouble. Isn't that the point of being friends since we were kids?"

"Oh, no," he says, finally shifting, the wicked Leaver grin right across his face, "the point of that is me knowing exactly where you're ticklish."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wanna bet?" Mark's smile is slow, easy and cheeky and his green eyes have got their sparkle back for the first time all day. It's a relief.

Then Charlie shoves his shoulder, not entirely playfully.

"Stop flirting. Freddie has a boyfriend, remember?"

"We weren't flirting, Charlie, c'mon. It's Mark!" But Mark just scowls and goes back to his place pressed against the window. I glare at Charlie. What did you do that for? He rolls his eyes.