Dark Night

Results

Friday was the long program, and to my surprise, I saw Mr and Mrs Tang in the audience with Paul, who saw me and waved me over vigorously. I greeted the Tangs and sat down with them. My brother was up first in the last group and he seemed to have given up on the idea of artistic expression for this performance, resorting to his wheelhouse of power and executing his jumps, which were all clean, all quads were quads. The pressure was on John, who was third to skate because of the random draw for the skating order. But John popped his last quad into a single, stumbling on the landing although he didn't also fall. He ended up losing the gold by 0.06 points. I shook my head. After the stumble, he'd forgotten to express himself, and that took the crowd out of his performance some.

His parents were disappointed for him. "What do you think?" Paul asked, poking me.

I thought about it. "This is just going to reinforce my brother's attitude that if he can skate cleanly he can win no matter what the competition does. But I'm sure you saw that the judges responded to the small changes that John made during his short program; I think that was the best score he's gotten all season." Mrs Tang nodded. "So I think that if John ups his game with footwork and packs his programs next season with personality, he's going to have an advantage. There's always the risk of falling on a jump or popping it, that's just the way it goes. The footwork could easily make up for a 0.06 difference." Paul looked satisfied and I went back to finish my shift.

My brother got home with a handsome gold medal to show and the title of World Champion. "I told you, Delia, I can win if I land my jumps," he crowed.

"And it was a good program," I acknowledged. "But you won by six one-hundreths of a point. If John hadn't flutzed, hadn't stumbled, you'd be showing off a silver. You can't count on the other guy screwing up."

"Why can't you just be happy for me?" he asked, exasperated.

"Delia--" Mom started.

"Well, you weren't asking for praise, you were baiting me, for one. But you did a great job and won this year's championship. And now that's history. Last season. John is retiring next year and he's going to want to go out with a bang. You aren't going to beat him unless he messes up again, and you can't count on it. He's very consistent, just like you are," I said in a clipped tone. "You guys start learning next season's programs in just a couple weeks."

"Whatever," my brother said, flapping his hand at me, looking at the gleaming surface of his medal again and smoothing the silk ribbon. The parents relaxed, but Grandpa looked thoughtful.

I shrugged. Whatever, indeed. My brother was cocky. John wasn't. I didn't know him as well as my brother, but I knew him well enough to realize he'd be hopping mad at himself. And that did not spell good things for Starry Knight next season.

And he wouldn't be able to blame me for the defeats I felt pretty sure were in his future.

Sunday found the whole family over at Grandpa's, painting the walls various thrilling shades of white. Even my brother buckled down and paid attention to what he was doing. At around eleven, Grandpa took me and we went shopping for more kitchen stuff, yard stuff, and the furniture for the guest room. We both liked a mahogany-finished set with an Art Deco-ish double-sized sleigh bed, bedside table, and a low dresser with an oval mirror over it. It was really nice. I only had a twin bed at the condo. I consoled myself with the fact that I'd also have a twin bed in college, but after that I too could move into the world of wider mattresses. And until then, I could sleep over at Grandpa's occasionally. We returned with sandwiches, chips, and drinks, and then I helped Grandpa take all the kitchen stuff out of the boxes and put the pots, pans, and utensils into the dishwasher. Grandpa is a total gadget maniac. The small appliances stayed in their boxes; Grandpa was having a new countertop installed and there was no point to just having to move them around. You could stack boxes. We managed to finish the painting, and Dad prodded my brother into volunteering to help tame the yard. I kept the smirk off my face, but I felt it inside. It was a big smirk.

I was right. John was furious with himself. In response to a request by the principal, he'd brought his silver to school and worn it to an assembly to show the students. John was popular, partly because he wasn't arrogant about his success, and people were mostly thrilled for him. But he was sulky in earth sciences (we'd gotten out of pre-calc for the assembly). "I knew as soon as I took off that the jump wasn't going to work," he muttered. "I didn't know it was going to be such a disaster, though. Damn it. So close."

"You still got a silver medal," I felt compelled to point out. "That is nothing to sneeze at, even if it's not the color you wanted. It's an amazing accomplishment."

"Yeah, you're right," he said, still dejected. "And it will mean more once the disappointment's worn off some."

"My brother thinks that that result confirms his hypothesis that if he can just land his jumps he can win," I said casually.

John smiled slowly. "Yeah, he said that on the plane."

"I almost feel bad for him," I mentioned.

"He's not listening to the voice of reason," John pointed out mildly. "I am."

"I think that the little showcase you guys are going to do will be very interesting."

"They'll still be works in progress," he said off-handedly. "Lots of time to improve."

I had to fight to suppress my laughter. The skater was in for a big surprise. There was no way that John would be showing his hand at the public unveiling of his new programs, but I would bet cash money that what my brother saw was going to induce a bit of panic.

It was going to be interesting to watch.