"Steel Blades" by Eva C

A plush teddy bear flew above her head, its dreams of flying finally fulfilled. It landed on the ground in front of her, barely missing the ice. The roar was deafening, the cheers were echoing; sound waves bounced off the walls of the Iceberg Skating Palace, onto the glass panels of the rink.

            “Skylar, you’re next. You ready?” her coach’s familiar voice asked. Her coach had been the only one who had never given up on her, even when she couldn’t pass the Freestyle 4 level test after two times, even when all she had wanted was to give up on herself.

            “Ready as I’ll ever be, Coach.” she replied. One foot at a time, Skylar carefully removed her skate guards, and placed them on the railing. She smoothed down her sparkly burgundy leotard, and stepped onto the ice. The chill of the frozen rink immediately greeted her, and she lost sense of the whereabouts of the tip of her nose.

            “Skylar Arendelle, representing the United States of America.” The crowd applauded, although of course, their cheers were about a decibel less than they had been for the previous contestant, who had been on home turf. She suppressed a giggle as she thought of her friend’s “rushing Russians” pun. Gliding to the middle, she felt her nerves slowly evaporating (or rather, freezing) as she reveled in the delicate feeling of balancing on two steel blades: dangerous, yet comforting at the same time. Daring herself to finally face the audience and the judges’ piercing eyes, she looked up as she fixed herself into her starting position, her arms gracefully at her sides. She was no longer shy, plain Skylar. She was Olympic frontrunner Skylar.

            The music blared through the house speakers, the rhythm synchronizing with the beat of her heart. She had done this routine so many times; she could do it in her sleep. Her first difficult move came up, a combination triple loop double axel, which she aced perfectly, landing with no hesitation. The crowd cheered, and as she passed by the judges’ booth on her inside spiral, she noticed that they seemed to look pleased. She continued, every move crisp and controlled, every transition well-timed and clean. Eventually, she knew she had only 20 seconds left of her routine, but she suddenly became nervous again, as she knew that a triple lutz was coming soon. This had always been one of her weaknesses, and flashbacks of her falling on this jump during her Freestyle 4 test, seven years ago, infiltrated her mind like demons. She inhaled, went into her long glide, and jumped. In the split second in the air though, she knew something was wrong. Her free leg wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Her center of mass was off.

            As she fell onto the ice, her alarm clock fell off her dresser. Opening her eyes, she thought to herself, “If only I hadn’t given up seven years ago.”

She later tripped going down the stairs.