In 1966 a deal was struck. A deal that allowed an American child to be brought by the Soviet Union.
Or in which Odessa O'Callahan is the Soviet Union's pet project and the world's youngest Olympic Figure Skating medalist.
(Disclaimer: I'm quite lite...
ओह! यह छवि हमारे सामग्री दिशानिर्देशों का पालन नहीं करती है। प्रकाशन जारी रखने के लिए, कृपया इसे हटा दें या कोई भिन्न छवि अपलोड करें।
The week, since I arrived back in Boston, was both relaxing and boring. I'm supposed to do morning workouts on and off the ice, but I've been putting off my ice workouts. Mother found out yesterday, which is why she dragged my ass to the local rink. I have free access to the cheap rink down the street because my dad's friend works there. Before Dad's death, we got discounts, but after that, he felt bad and let us skate for free. That's why I wasn't surprised to be greeted by the red-haired drunkard as soon as I entered the rink.
"How long are you here this time, Dessa?" Kieran Murphy, my father's high school best friend, asked. "Just a couple of weeks," I answered, "I'll be on a plane back to Moscow by the start of next week." He chuckled, turning the closed sign on the rink doors, "Always on the move, Odie," he said fondly, "What's the plan now?" I rolled my eyes as the crazy man ruffled my hair. "Just getting ready for the upcoming Olympics, my trainer expects me to pull out a win for the Soviets this time," I answered, ignoring the looks of disapproval from passersby. Being forced to skate for the USSR didn't make me very popular amongst Bostonians. If I wasn't a human peace offering, I would've been arrested ages ago for espionage or treason.
"I'm sure you'll make the union proud," he assured me, "you've always known how to give our skaters a run for their money." I bit my lip; he really ought to be more careful with his words; people have been beaten for less. "Come on, Russian Dancer, let's get you on the ice," He urged; all but pushing me onto the ice. I cringed at his horrid nickname for me but made my way onto the ice anyway. "How's the motherland been?!" he shouted as I forced myself through some turning drills. "Typical," I answered. "Skating, vodka, and praying to the commie lord?" he asked. "Oh, shut up, Kieran, you know that's not how communism works!" I scoffed. "Really?" he asked, "So you don't pray to Brezhnev every night?"
I rolled my eyes and worked on my triple axel. I have to have it in my Olympic routine this time; my trainers are insisting upon it. So with a new ambition and a heart of gold, I attempted the impossible trick and fell flat on my butt. "Это будет сложнее, чем я думал," (This will be more difficult than I thought) I groaned, lying flat on the ice in a weak attempt to regulate myself. "Take two," I grunted, prepping myself to try the trick again. I only ended up landing a double. Better than nothing. I tried it a third time, failing once more. What if I try off the ice?
I sped off the ice and took my skates off, attempting the spin on land. After a few good attempts, I finally laced my skates back up and attempted it on the ice again. "You can do this," I whispered to myself as I got on a good footing for the jump. Suddenly I was in the air. One..., two...., three..., I DID IT! "Oomph," I grunted as I landed on the floor again. "That still counts!" I shout to no one in particular. Now, if only I can do that and land on my feet. I was jolted out of my thoughts by the sound of clapping. Huh, he usually keeps the rink closed when I'm here. Unless....
