Kombucha and Pepsi (Chris Sturniolo)

Three

November 24th

I spend my Friday at an open skate, gliding in circles. I don't do anything fancier than skating backwards at the fear of running into the kids ripping around on their hockey skates playing tag. I've already seen the bulldoze through a group of teenage girls, I don't need to be their next victim. I stretch my arms over my head, huffing out a sigh as the cold atmosphere of the arena turns my cheeks pink.

My favourite thing about a free skate is that I don't have to be in a leotard, and I can skate in sweatpants and a hoodie with no shame. I've got my earmuffs on and thick socks on my toes, dark hair loose down my back. No coach screaming at me, no getting sent to the boards or falling on my ass. I personally would like a music change, but I'm sure someone in here likes Miley Cyrus, and I can't always get my way. Unfortunately.

Two kids rip past me, and I bend to get out of the way, inhaling sharply. I turn, gliding backwards, watching them dash in circles. They tear groups apart, and circle around little kids, and I would be annoyed by it like most of the adults here seem, but this is exactly what me and my friends would do when we were younger. We even used to keep tally's on how many people we could knock over. They're having fun and have helmets on, as long as no one gets their hands run over I don't see the issue. I watch a little girl fail to stop quick enough and she takes out one of her friends. I grin as they scurry to get up to run away from their friend who's ripping towards them. They bob and weave between people and I turn back to skating forwards just to go face first into something.

The arena tilts and I land on my ass, shutting my eyes on impact. There's a weight on my stomach, and a groan comes from somewhere around me. I pop my eyes open, finding a boy lying face down, chest pressed to my abdomen, hockey skates up in the air, arms outstretched, and his nose pressed to the ice. I lean against my elbows, cheeks no longer only pink from the cold air. He pulls his head up and turns to look at me, and I find myself face to face with a familiar pair of gorgeous blue eyes. They aren't icy and piercing, like some people have, instead they're welcoming and soft, like you're looking off a boat into the ocean deep into the night.

He blinks at me, eyebrows drawn together like he's trying to recognize me too. He looks different in the fluorescent lights of the arena then he did by the glow vending machine, but the jawline on this guy is hard to forget. It appears it's clicked for him too, because he's grinning at me sheepishly. I don't look as tired as I did the other night, and my hair isn't pulled up into a greasy bun, so I'll cut him some slack, I guess.

He pops up, holding out his hand, I take it and I'm pulled up off the ice. "Did you hit your head?" He asks.

"No, i'm okay." I smile at him lightly.

"Sorry," he smiles sheepishly.

I shrug, "s'okay."

He brushes snow off of my arms, "are you sure okay?"

I smile, "positive."

He gives me a lopsided smile, "are you skating alone?" He asks.

I nod, "yeah."

"Well, that's sad." He blurts.

I stare at him blankly, "gee thanks."

He waves his hands, "no no no, just confused. Why would you skate alone?"

"Because, I don't have to train today, so I'm just keeping myself familiar." I explain. "I also have nothing better to do."

"Train?" He asks.

"I'm a figure skater. I figure skate. I've got a competition on Sunday." I spell out.

He nods slowly, "hm. I used to play hockey in high school."

"I'm sure you were awesome," I say.

He shrugs, "I was." I dig my toe pick into the ice, and he clicks his tongue. "We should race."

I stare at him, "what?" I shake my head, "we aren't racing. The arena is full of people."

He folds his arms, "I thought you said you were a pro."

"What does that have to do with anything?" I plant my hands on my hips.

He leans forwards a little, "are you scared?"

I scoff, "no."

"No?" He confirms.

"No." I say firmly.

"Then let's race," he shrugs.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out, staring at the text from Coach. "I've got to go," I wave my phone at him for proof, skating backwards towards the opening in the boards.

"Bye," he calls after me and I flash him a smile over my shoulder.

Guys I got that one shirt Nick has, 'and there it goes my last flying fuck' oml love it sm

Anyways hope y'all liked this chapter

Take care of yourselves, eat some food drink some water

Love y'all 

-EVIEREENIE