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For some reason, the skating rink seemed less intimidating. Brenda stood in the middle of it in a daze, still holding Scott's hand. Her body felt hot, and her blood raced through her veins, pulling what felt like electricity along with it. She felt sweat cooling her forehead, and then she smiled as she tried to slow her breathing. Their performance was over.
Brenda couldn't believe it. It was like she was in a dream and just woke up wondering what had happened. The performance wasn't perfect. She had trouble seeing Scott at two points where she had eased too far into his skate lane. A tiny misstep caused her to stumble over herself slightly, but she managed to maintain the rhythm and hoped the judges didn't notice.
The crowd went crazy. They'd anticipated her return almost as much as she had. Brenda looked toward the skater's corral and noticed the little girl who'd called to her before they'd started their routine jumping up and down. Her long pigtails flopped up and down with her. Waving to her, Brenda realized she didn't even care about the score.
Scott stepped to the side and let the crowd applaud Brenda alone. She took a bow and, just as she thought the noise couldn't have gotten any louder, the auditorium erupted. People were on their feet, clapping wildly for her. They wanted her to succeed. How many of them had been in the audience that horrible day when Brenda finished her routine flat on her back in the middle of the rink?
Fortunately, this was a better ending. Brenda waved and started skating back to the corral with Scott. The judges' score flashed across the scoreboard: 9.2. It was low but not completely terrible.
"We aren't out yet," Scott said, wrapping a towel around Brenda's shoulders. She picked up a bottle of water from her bag and handed it to him.
"Brenda! Scott!" Pamela wove through the half dozen other skaters and coaches giving last-minute instructions or pep talks. "You guys did great!" she gushed! Brenda could tell by Pamela's eyes that she was nervous. She and Scott weren't guaranteed a spot in the Sectionals, but, like Scott said, they weren't out yet.
The hubbub continued around Brenda, but she felt strangely removed. It wasn't a bad or scary feeling. It was a tranquil, calm feeling. Her eyes seemed more focused like she could see more details. She could hear the sounds of the skater's blades across the ice and remembered how much she'd loved hearing that. Especially the silence when there was a high jump before the blades landed, cutting into the ice again. She could smell the popcorn and feel the cold radiating from the ice against her cheeks and the tips of her fingers, which she usually didn't even notice until she'd warmed up again.
Wrapped up at the moment, Brenda didn't hear anyone talking to her. She was too busy enjoying being back in the world of ice skating that she loved so much. If this had been her one and only performance, she'd take Pamela up on her offer and speak to the younger skaters about safety, diet, and anything else that might help. There would never be a day that she'd be away from the rink, even if this were the end of her skating career. Even if she never competed again, she had proven to those doctors, Pamela, and herself that only she could decide what was possible and what was impossible. She closed her eyes and said the most heartfelt prayer of thanks to God she'd ever offered up. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
"Brenda, did you hear what I said? Where are you? Did you hear what I said about your next routine?" Pamela almost shouted, placing her hand on Brenda's shoulder.
"What? Next routine for what?"
She hadn't even realized that the score she and Scott made was enough to get them to the Sectionals competition. Finally, they were one step closer to making it to the Olympics. Smiling, Brenda nodded at Pamela.
"The second routine we practiced has that step, step kick, turn, jump, step, jump," said Pamela excitedly. "That's going to be what launches you guys into that lunge, and you're going to have to go deep. We've got four days to work on it. But tonight," she took Brenda's chin in her hand, "you can celebrate. Just tonight, and not late."
Brenda watched Pamela give Scott a peck on the cheek, turn and walk over to some of the other coaches milling around.
"Did I hit my head again?" Brenda asked. "Am I dreaming all this, Scott? Did we really do it? I feel like I've been in a bubble of uncertainty with all the noise and commotion. Didn't I just step onto the ice a second ago? Shouldn't we still be doing our routine? How can it all be over, and I barely remember any of it?" She was grinning, her eyes wide in astonishment.
"No, Brenda. You aren't dreaming." Scott stood in front of her. He put his hands on her shoulders and ran them gently down her arms. "We made it. We just squeaked by, you and me."
Finally, it registered on Brenda's face. Tears filled her eyes, and she jumped into Scott's arms, grabbing him with all her might. He held her tightly and laughed.
"Thank you," she whispered into his ear. "Thank you for not quitting."
"Thank you, Brenda, for the same." He held her close, but before he could say another word to her, they found themselves being hugged some more.
"Brenda! Scott! You did it! Sectionals, here we come!" Mrs. Wagner cried, her eyes red and streaming with tears of joy.
"I made a couple mistakes," Brenda said apologetically.
"You obviously did well enough to beat the others. Scott, you, too. You both were wonderful."
Peter wasn't crying but elbowed his sister playfully. "You did okay," he teased and extended his hand to Scott.
"Just okay?" Brenda asked, bumping him with her hip.
Taking a seat on one of the empty benches, Brenda began to take off her skates. Then she realized something was missing. "Where's Dad?"
Mrs. Wagner sat down next to her daughter and shook her head. "Your father watched the whole routine holding his breath. He was so worried that lightning would strike for the third time that I thought he would give himself a stroke." Mrs. Wagner rolled her eyes. "He was so happy you made it that he had to leave the auditorium for a few minutes to pull himself together. I swear I don't know what to do with that man."
Scott slipped away and left Mrs. Wagner alone with her daughter. They hugged and cried, and Brenda snubbed the reporters hanging over the railing who tried to get her attention, yelling inane questions. Then Brenda and her mother headed down the long hallway toward the locker rooms while Peter promised to wait for them where he was. He was smiling and introducing himself to the female skaters.
"You really did wonderfully, Bren," said her mother, leaning close. "So many people came up to us. They came up wishing us good luck and asking how you were feeling, and oh, it was just remarkable. There are so many good people in the world. So many."
Mrs. Wagner continued to talk a mile a minute as she usually did when she was excited. Then, Brenda noticed her father's tall, familiar form ahead of them. He was talking to the other familiar figure that Brenda knew so well. Scott stood facing him, his head slightly lowered. The two men shook hands, and Brenda assumed her father had calmed down and congratulated Scott on a job well done.
Brenda went up to her dad and, on tippy toes, kissed his cheek. She didn't have to say anything, and neither did he as he smiled down at her, his eyes still a little red.
"Well, Pamela gave us the next couple of hours off until practice tomorrow morning. So what are we doing?" Brenda asked.
"That's totally up to you, honey. Where's your brother?" asked Mr. Wagner, looking around.
"He's flirting. Don't worry about him. Scott, what do you have planned now that we have a free evening?" Brenda asked.
"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Wagner," said Scott, glancing first at Cindy and then at Lawrence, "if you guys don't mind, I was wondering if you, Brenda, would like to come to dinner at my house tonight. Say around six o'clock?"
Blinking her eyes again as if she wasn't quite sure what had happened, Brenda looked at her mother, who smiled at her father.
"Do you guys mind if I—"
"No, go ahead. Have a good time. We're pooped. Probably just sit in front of the television anyways," Mr. Wagner said flatly.
"I've got a few details to add to your costumes for the next round, and I better get to them, or, Scott, you may be showing more skin than you're used to."
Scott pulled his arms behind his back, making his chest expand as he leaned into Brenda and cocked his head to the right. "So, how about it? Or do you have a better offer waiting for you?"
Brenda squinted her eyes at Scott and pouted her lips. "I think I can pencil you in. You did skate with me today, after all. The least I can do is let you feed me."
Nodding his head, Scott straightened up, shook Mr. Wagner's hand, and hugged Mrs. Wagner. "I'll see you at six," he said to Brenda, then turned and headed toward the men's locker room. There was a definite strut in his step.
Brenda changed into her sweat pants and gym shoes for the ride home. As she talked and laughed and relived the day's excitement with her parents and brother, she couldn't help thinking that dinner with Scott was a perfect ending. In the back of her mind, she imagined how cute he'd been, asking her to dinner in front of her parents and how her father looked at him with approval. It made her laugh and feel all jittery inside. She wasn't sure what was more nerve-wracking, the ice-skating competition or dinner alone with Scott.
"Why am I so nervous?" Scott asked himself in the mirror as he combed his hair, then messed it up and combed it again. He pulled at the front of his shirt and realized he'd buttoned it wrong; it was off by one hole. "This is ridiculous. It isn't like you've never had Brenda over to your apartment before. She's been here lots of times." He shook his head a little, remembering how, five years ago, he saw Brenda every couple of days. He didn't realize how much he'd miss that if something happened between them. "I don't think she ever saw it this clean before. That's saying something." He pulled the shower curtain closed, slipped his toothbrush into the holder stuck to the tile over the sink, and put a fresh roll of toilet paper on the roller. Taking one last look in the mirror, he smiled like a maniac, pulling back his lips to see his gums. No spinach or pepper or weird foodstuffs stuck there.
When he stepped into his front room, the smell of dinner filled his nose and made his stomach grumble. He turned on the lights of the little artificial Christmas tree he'd placed in one corner.
"I should have told her five o'clock, not six because I'm starving," he said. Scott often spoke aloud when he was alone. Then, stepping into the little cubby in his kitchen, he stood over the stove, inhaling the smell from the big pot that was bubbling away to a rhythm all its own. Inside the pot was a whole chicken, carrots, celery, potatoes, and a delicious golden broth. It was his specialty. It was one of the few things he knew how to cook well, and, if he remembered right, it was one of Brenda's favorites.
Finally, with the minute hand on the one and the hour hand on the six, Scott heard a knock on the door.
