A Twist Of Fate

Chapter 1

As Jayne moved around the rink with her partner, her body ached so much she thought she was going to pass out. With her first ever ice-dance competition on the near horizon, her coach had upped the ante in her training schedule, and she was beginning to wonder whether she was cut out for all of this, after all.

"Come on Jayne, let's get this right," her partner mumbled out of the corner of his mouth as they made a turn and lifted their legs in a synchronised manner before changing position and moving into a lift.

"No, no, no, no, NO!" a voice blared from across the rink. It was her coach, Miss. Tokker, and she did not look happy. Jayne released herself from her partner's hold, and slumped her arms to her sides.

"It's all wrong!" said her coach, near fury on her face.
"What is, Miss. Tokker?"

"Everything," said the stout little lady, staring at Jayne through her horn-rimmed spectacles. She flicked her fingers through her frighteningly tight perm and looked to the ceiling as if in some drama, sighing, "You've got to give me more passion than that, more feeling. This is a love song you're skating to, and it looks like you're brother and sister. There's no chemistry!" Her face reddened with increasing frustration.

Jayne looked over at her dark-haired partner, who, too, was showing signs of annoyance.

"Coach," said Jayne, "We've done this hundreds of times already and my body is aching. I don't know how I'm supposed to put feeling into it when all I want to do is go to bed."

"Stop whining, Jayne," her partner said, patronisingly and through clenched teeth, "If you want to win you have to make some sacrifices."

"Gregory is right, Jayne," the middle-aged woman agreed, moving closer and still glaring through those spectacles of hers. "Honestly," she continued, "I don't know why I bother."

Jayne felt caught in the middle; her passive personality had always seemed to dispose her to being a keen target for people ganging up against her, and she could barely take it any longer. Her eyes reddened and began to fill with tears.

"I'm doing my best," she said, her voice quivering. She hated it when she cried infront of people, and it seemed to happen all too often.

"Oh don't be sorry for yourself," Miss. Tokker said sternly, and there was an awkward silence as the three of them stared at one-another coldly. They were all stressed.

As Jayne wiped away her tears and sniffed self-consciously, her coach had a sudden change of heart. Or perhaps she'd just grown weary of this particular training session.

"Okay, let's call it a day," she said as if in reluctant surrender, "Come back tomorrow and I expect you to be well-rested and ready to skate with everything you've got. Honestly, Jayne, if you don't want this then you may as well quit now. Skaters don't reach the top by crying, you know."

"I know, coach, and I do want this."

"Well, you'll just have to prove that to me won't you."

And with that, the pompous little woman turned around and left the rink, grumbling to one of the other coaches, no doubt complaining about her terrible student.

Jayne looked toward her partner for at least a hint of comfort or encouragement, but none came. He merely glared, and began to skate off as well.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow then!" Jayne called on after him, but there came no reply, just a terrible tension in the air.

Miss. Tokker's words echoed in her head as she stood there in the middle of the rink, other skaters circling around her with a heady clamour.

"I don't know why I bother," she said to herself, her shoulders slumped in an air of dejection. It had always been a dream of hers, to learn to skate with grace and elegance, to find a handsome partner, and make her mark on the national scene. She thought of Gregory. With his dark, smooth hair and his deep, dark eyes, he was certainly handsome, that's for sure. But he'd never been very warm towards her; it was as if he'd always felt above her, like he was the better looking, more street-wise and savvy half of the partnership, and off the ice he never wanted to be seen with her, for "fear of embarrassment", he'd once told her. They had been partnered together not through any choice of their own but because they were merely of a compatible height and of vaguely the same ability, although Gregory would always be the first to point out any of Jayne's faults.

Jayne looked up and spoke to God. She didn't really know whether she believed in a god, but in moments of desperation such as these she often found herself talking to him, whoever he was.

"God, why is it so difficult for things to fall into place for me?"

She thought about other members of her skating club, who had been assigned wonderful partners, and Jayne wondered why she couldn't have been given somebody else to skate with. But she'd pondered on the matter often, and there were just no other suitable, available male partners for her. They were all either too tall or too short or their in-steps didn't match. There was something wrong with all of them, and Gregory seemed to be the best fit.

'If only he didn't have to be so arrogant and nasty,' she thought to herself, clenching a fist as she found her frustration toward her absent partner rising.

She looked up, and suddenly he came into view. An intriguing young skater who moved shyly around the rink with his partner, his bright blond hair almost as white as the ice itself. She'd seen him at the rink a few times but had never spoken to him; he'd always looked too shy and withdrawn to be at all approachable. His partner seemed quite the opposite; dark hair and a tanned complexion, she had an air of confidence that seemed comparative to that of Gregory's, and it often looked as though she was leading the partnership.

Jayne stood and watched them as they danced past, practising steps in dire repetition as their coach looked on with eagerness. She found him captivating to watch, and she couldn't take her eyes off of him.

"Watch out!" a voice hailed as a young couple came swooping in towards her, looks of panic on their faces. Jayne leapt backwards as they veered sharply to the side, and she found herself off balance and falling. She tried to move her feet beneath her, but caught a blade at the wrong angle and as it dug sharply into the ice, she fell through the air and landed heavily on her back.

As she lay there, embarrassed and slightly concussed, the faces of the young couple who had just careened into her appeared in her line of vision, somewhat blurred and hazy.

"Are you okay?" said the girl, reaching forth her hand, which Jayne took a wavering hold of, and stood slowly to her feet, her legs feeling like jelly beneath her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, rubbing her lower back before reaching for her forehead, and still feeling the weight of embarrassment as skaters around the rink had slowed to stare at her.

"We didn't see you there," the guy said, worry etched across his face.

"Sorry," Jayne apologised, "I wasn't concentrating; I should have been standing out the way."

"As long as you're not hurt?" the girl reached up and laid a hand on Jayne's elbow.

"No, I'm fine," said Jayne, "It was my fault."

The couple smiled softly and went to continue with their practice. Jayne looked up and saw her blond object of fascination continuing to skate around the rink with his partner, and as they turned a corner and his face became visible, she saw him glance toward her as if out of curiosity, before focusing back on his footwork. Great. As if the embarrassment wasn't bad enough, now this blond fellow thought she was weird, too.

"I don't know why I bother," she said to herself again as she picked a moment to zigzag through the crowd to the barrier at the side, and made her way off the rink.