Summer Girl, Winter Boy

Seven | Loser

Wim was late.

She sprinted down the rickety stairs and skidded into the courtyard when she saw the patch of ice formed from the sludge that had spilled off the little overhang protecting the kitchen door from the elements. She grabbed one of the columns to steady herself.

She skipped over carefully and only started running again after she was out the gate.

She had forgotten in her beanie and hairband and her unwashed hair swirled behind her, wild and in tangles.

There was a second patch of ice at the bottom of the road, bringing Wim to a complete halt so quickly the ball of rolled up socks flew off her hand onto the snow.

Her heart leapt taking her body with it when with the girliest of shrieks, Mister Ironic Figureskater pin-wheeled on the ice in his pink, rubber slippers.

Wim’s reflexes kicked in and she threw out her arms, one grazing Shou’s back but the other grabbing a handful of the jacket he was only halfway in.

His clothes bunched up to his armpits and Wimp gathered him to her by his warm stomach.

True to the spirit of figure skating he was all but insubstantial in her arms.

He had always looked small, made smaller and frail by his dazed expression and adorably, rumpled bed-head. Up close though, he was tall. Wim had the advantage of her heavy, jogging shoes and he was in batas so they stood nose to nose.

He blinked.

Twice. And then he grinned.

She let him go then, unconsciously pulling his t-shirt down over his rapidly pinking tummy.

Shou shrugged into his jacket properly, teetered in sleepy circles looking for his sports bag.

‘It’s over there,’ Wim volunteered when she realised he was still drunk with sleep. She jumped over the ice and went to get it herself.

‘Arigato ne!’ He grinned sheepishly and accepted the bag, swinging it over his thin shoulders smoothly uncanny coming from the same boy that had flailed like a flightless bird moments ago.

Wim swatted away his thanks. Her heart beat fast in both the adrenaline rush and the awkward that followed.

Should I walk away now? Or should I stay?

Should I walk with him?

She had heard Yoshikawa Coach inform the skaters colourfully the night before that they were in for some rough runs because they were fat sissies who’d embarrass him next season. Wim had been thrilled at the new cusses she had learnt.

She felt embarrassed and rather large in front of this sculpture of a boy so she let her legs propel her forward.