Blades

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

In the two weeks since I agreed to skating with Sandy I have swung between hating and loving my decision like a veritable pendulum.

      Right now, I'm hating it.

      "I swear to God, Freddie Carter," Sherrie snaps at me, "if you don't skate closer to Sandy within the next five minutes, I will put an elastic band around both your waists so that you have no choice." This makes Sandy laugh, still warm and genuine at six thirty in the morning, because he thinks it's a joke. I know that it's not. I'm not about to forget the last time she did it to me. All I do is stare back at her in defiance, tight-lipped, making Sherrie sigh. "Again. From the top. With the music this time." She flaps her hands at us, made haphazard by her irritation. "Well, move then!"

      Sandy slips his hand into mine automatically, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, and my entire arm starts to tingle. This. Is. Ridiculous. It's not like you haven't touched a boy before, or even skated with one before! But I can't seem to help being acutely aware of Sandy whenever we're touching and it's driving me mad. I don't need Sherrie to tell me that, unless I get over my awkwardness, this partnership is destined to fail at the first hurdle.

      We skate to the corner of the ice and settle into the standard Killian hold that begins our dance. Deciding to obey Sherrie, I allow my back to press into Sandy's chest. It makes me feel like I might burst into flames.

      "You ok?" Sandy says, his breath softly tickling my ear; I'm taken by surprise.

      "Huh? Yeah. Yeah I'm fine...thanks for asking."

      He nods, just a little, "Let's really go for this one, yeah? Then she might finally let us off this dance." The way he says it makes me feel that he's smiling and so, because I'm learning that this boy can control my emotions with the flick of a finger, I find I'm smiling too.

      "Deal," I agree, just as the music starts.

      The pattern dance that Sherrie has chosen to inflict on us is the European Waltz. I have never liked it, even when I was eleven and found it challenging rather than just plain dull. The entire routine is a repeating sequence of three turns, swings and single steps that bores the hell out of me; and, because it's so easy, the flaws in how we skate as a pair are even more apparent. Which no doubt is why Sherrie chose it. Damn her.

      This time, though, I let myself trust Sandy completely because that's what I've been holding back. I concentrate – I'd be flat on my face if I didn't concentrate – but at the same time I allow the music to flood right through me again. You haven't skated with your heart this whole two weeks and, God, have you missed it! Now I can tell that I'm finally conceding to the story of the dance, my knee-bend rising and falling to the romantic lull of the melody, Sandy's hand spread warmly on my shoulder blade as he supports me. Without either of us speaking I know that we're listening to each other in a way I don't have words for, knowing with no way of possibly knowing how deep the next edge will be, how high the next swing. Sandy's brown eyes remain fixed on my own. In the past weeks I've found it hard to keep my head up and meet his gaze, every second wanting to check that our blades aren't about to collide, but now I have no fear. The chances should be high of knocking blades and tripping up at this stage, but somehow I feel that I don't need to glance down. We are limitless.

      If I was more aware of myself I might compare it to when we did the Foxtrot, but nothing about me is aware. I am not thinking, I am not second-guessing, I am not worried. I am lost in the moment.