Hunter and I walk around the center of the city. It’s cold and snowy and dark even though it’s afternoon, but I don’t care and I don’t think Hunter does either. We go in and out of shops, and in one of the famous Viennese cafés, we share a Sacher torte, which is basically a really dense chocolate cake. We talk about our families and our friends and where we grew up and not once do we mention figure skating or the Olympics. We don’t see any press, which means we can relax and have fun and talk without worrying. It’s like I’m suddenly in a movie and this is the part where the girl and the guy get to know each other and you see flashes of them laughing and walking around some beautiful city and sharing a dessert, after which they realize they are in love.

Though, I’ve never been in love and I’m not now. At least not yet.

And here is the other thing: We are both on our way to the Olympics.

We need to focus on things like our routines and landing quads.

The Winter Games is priority number one.

“Hunter?” I whisper.

We’ve just walked inside an enormous Gothic cathedral. It’s in the center of Vienna and it’s the kind of church we don’t have in the United States. It’s gloomy and quiet but in the coolest way, and, like everything else here, jaw-droppingly beautiful.

“Espi?” he whispers back, smiling.

We sit down in one of the pews toward the back. The ceilings soar high above. There are stained glass windows two stories tall along the walls. I feel tiny and insignificant, but not in a bad way. Tourists are in groups here and there, talking about the history and the artwork, so it doesn’t seem like a bad place for a conversation.

“You haven’t said anything about the quad sal I nailed at practice before we left for Vienna,” I say.

His face is blank. “I haven’t? Well, it was great. Incredibly impressive.”

“Thanks,” I say, but his ambivalence has me uneasy. Shouldn’t he be really happy for me? Shouldn’t he be more excited and encouraging?

“So you’re going to go for it at the Games?” he asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “It might be too big a risk. I still haven’t mastered it yet.”

Hunter is looking everywhere but at me, his blue eyes an ocean of avoidance. “No?”

“Is something the matter?” I say.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you won’t look directly at me.”

“It’s a nice church.”

“You’re being evasive.”

“Why would I be evasive?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Hunter sighs. “Maybe you should just forget about the quad sal.”

“I can’t just forget about it. It could win me gold! Don’t you want me to land my quad?”

“Of course,” he says, running a hand through his wavy dark hair.

But he doesn’t sound convincing. “Then why aren’t you helping me anymore?”

“I gave you all the advice I have already.” He finally looks me in the eye with all the arrogance I’ve read about in the past on the gossip blogs, before Coach Chen forbade me from going on them.

“You told Stacie, didn’t you?” I say, anger growing in my voice.

“I told Stacie what?”

“You know what? Don’t even answer, because I already know what you’re going to say.” I stand up. “You might be the Quad King, Hunter, but as a friend, you couldn’t even qualify for the top ten.” Tourists are starting to turn around. I shake my head and make my way out of the pew. “I need to go. I’m supposed to be somewhere else.”

“Esperanza, wait!” Hunter yells after me. “Don’t go! I didn’t mean to upset you!”

But I’m already walking away.

The hockey safehouse isn’t at all like the figure skating one. It’s sleek and modern and boxy, on the outskirts of the old part of town. There are guys congregating out front, talking and laughing. I remember one of them from processing earlier today. All at once they look at me.

No, they ogle me.

And I want to yell, “Hey, cradle robbers, mind your own business!”

Inside, the house looks like what I imagine a frat house would look like, with guys lounging around everywhere. Joya and Libby would love this, especially Libby, since she adores hockey players. There are soda cans and sandwich wrappers on every surface, and the staff looks frazzled as they try to figure out which things they can throw away to maintain some semblance of order.

“Oooh, a high school girl,” says a meaty guy who stops to check me out. “How can I help you?” he asks in a tone he must think is seductive.

My cheeks are red. “I’m looking for Danny Morrison. And his dad.”

“Lucky him. I’ll go see if they’re here.”

He disappears up to the second floor while I stand there awkwardly, aware that there aren’t any other girls or women in the vicinity, including among the staff. After five painful minutes, I see Danny make his way down the stairs. He’s wearing jeans, black boots, and a black leather jacket.

Okay, so he’s really attractive.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” he says when he reaches the place where I’ve been standing in the corner, waiting for him. Well, hiding, really.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I say. “I got caught up in something and didn’t realize the time.” I take out the guest passes I shoved in my bag earlier in the day. “Here are the passes I promised your dad. Where is he anyway?”

Danny takes them. “Thanks. But my father crashed already. He doesn’t do well with jet lag.”

“Oh.” A wave of disappointment floods through me. While I was spending time with a person who doesn’t necessarily have my back and brings with him a whole host of drama, I don’t bother to show up for someone who actually wants to be supportive. “That’s such a bummer. Maybe I’ll see him when we get to the Games?”

He shrugs. “Sure. Maybe. I’ll ask him.”

“Please tell him I’m sorry.”

One of the other hockey guys walks into the foyer. “She’s cute, Morrison,” he says casually before heading away again.

“Oh, to be young and in love,” another one calls out from the other room, and the rest of them laugh.

Danny rolls his eyes. “Shut up, D’Amato,” he shouts back. Then he looks at me. “Let’s go outside.”

“They’re out there too.”

“We’ll take a walk, then.”

“Okay. You’re not tired?”

“No.” He opens the door. “After you.”

The whistles of the other hockey players follow us as we leave and don’t stop until the door shuts and cuts off the sound.

Danny puts his hands in his jacket pockets. “They may be college graduates, but they act like small children.”

“They’re definitely different from the figure skaters.”

He looks over at me as we walk. “What are figure skaters like, then?”

I try to think of how to describe so many types of people. “Well, even though technically we’re all figure skaters, there are four different sports we compete in — pairs is really different than ladies’ and men’s, for example, which are different from ice dancing. And I think each category attracts a certain type.”

“And what type are you?” he asks.

I think about Meredith and Stacie and even Jennifer Madison. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I can say that I’m a typical ladies’ figure skater, to be honest.”

Danny and I turn the corner and head toward the old part of town. “I don’t always feel like I fit the typical hockey player image either.”

I laugh. “You definitely don’t.”

“Oh?”

I’ve sparked his curiosity — and potentially revealed that I’ve given this some thought. “Look at all those pastries in the window,” I say, trying to distract him.

He doesn’t take the bait. “You’re not getting out of answering. So quit stalling.”

I adjust my scarf tighter around me so that it comes up higher, almost to my mouth. “You know the kind of hockey player I mean,” I say finally. “The big meathead arrogant guy with thick legs, a chest as wide as a truck, and an even thicker neck topped off by a crew cut. Kind of like the other guys in the safehouse.”

Danny bursts out laughing. “That’s quite an image. I’m relieved I don’t fit it.”

“Me too,” I say, trying to hide the giant smile on my face.

For another hour we wander the streets, talking and getting lost, since the roads go round and round in circles that twist and turn. The cold and snow doesn’t seem to dissuade the Austrians or the tourists from being out, and the evening is crowded with people headed to dinner and packed in cafés and shopping in the glitzy stores everywhere in this part of town. Vienna is full of life, and I am swept up in the excitement of being in Europe on my way to the Olympics, and getting to do all of this with a guy from home, who turns out to be really nice once I get to know him a little.

Much to my chagrin, the evening goes by fast and soon I have to get back, so we turn around.

“Are you with that Hunter Wills guy?” Danny asks when we reach the figure skating safehouse and we’re about to say good night. “Romantically, I mean.”

I’m standing on the first step, so I’m just about the same height as Danny. Maybe still even a little bit shorter. I shake my head. “No. I’m not.”

“Interesting” is all he says, and turns to go.

“Interesting good or interesting bad or interesting neutral?” I call after him.

“Definitely not interesting neutral,” he says cryptically. “See you at the Olympics, Esperanza,” he adds, and then walks off into the snowy Vienna evening.

When I enter the room, my cheeks are flushed from the cold and my heart is racing. I pull off my scarf and coat and heap them onto a chair before I realize I’m not alone.

“Hi, Meredith,” I say.

She’s sitting on her bed, facing the window. Her shoulders are hunched over and shuddering.

I move closer. “Meredith, are you crying?”

“Why would you care if I was?”

“I care.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” she says with a sniffle. “It’s not like I’ve ever been nice to you. And now this is karma, isn’t it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Me having to room with someone I’ve been mean to. Me not being the alternate for the Team Event. Me falling behind on everything. I was once America’s Hope for Gold, you know. I just never came through.”

“Meredith,” I say. “Don’t talk like that. You’re going to the Olympics! You could still win,” I add, even though a part of me is thinking, Wait a minute, Esperanza! You want gold too! But the thing is, I’m not that girl who plays mind games with the competition and does whatever it takes to win — not if it includes kicking someone when they’re down. I don’t want to become that girl either.

Meredith turns a little, enough that I can see her profile. “You shouldn’t say things like that. You’re supposed to enjoy this moment, because it’s going to help you beat me.”

I get a little bit closer but stop short of sitting down next to Meredith. I’m not sure I’m really the company she wants right now.

Then she wails for me not to come any closer and starts crying again. Harder. So I have my answer.

“Do you want me to get Stacie?” I ask gently.

“Noooo,” she howls. “Her seeing me like this is even worse than you.”

I take a step back. “I can go. I won’t tell Stacie a thing.”

Meredith turns again. Even with her face blotchy from crying, she’s still really pretty. All that cascading red curly hair. “You won’t?”

I laugh a little. “No way. It’s not like Stacie and I are besties or something.”

Meredith laughs, but it comes out more like a snort from all the crying. “Definitely not.”

“Can I get you something? Water? Food? Schnitzel? The famous Austrian chocolate cake?”

She laughs some more and turns around on the bed to face me. She crosses her legs and leans forward, looking at me with an openness I’ve never seen before. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? I could go find whatever you want,” I offer, as though she is Joya or Libby, because the thing is, I would do it for them, since that’s what girlfriends do for each other, and maybe Meredith and I have a chance at something like friendship. You never know.

Meredith gives me a weak smile. “You’re not so bad, Esperanza.”

“I like to think that I’m not overly horrible.”

Her smile gets bigger. “Maybe sometimes you are. Like when you beat me out for stuff.”

“Yeah, well. Same to you,” I say, then do something I’m not expecting. “Can I ask you something?” When she nods, I go on. “I’ve always wanted to braid your hair. It’s kind of amazing.”

“My hair?” She seems startled by the request. “My hair is a frizzed-out mess.”

“No, it’s not. Have you ever looked in the mirror? I’d die for your hair.”

“It’s so hard to take care of. I’d rather have your sleek long locks.”

This makes me laugh. “Sleek long locks are boring.”

“Sleek long locks are pretty and people who have them shouldn’t complain.”

“Yeah, well, people with long curly red hair shouldn’t either.”

She pats the bed. “Come try and braid it and you’ll see exactly how difficult it is to have on your head.”

“Okay,” I say, and join her. She turns around so I can start. We chat about nothing much while I work on her hair, but still, we chat. About her brothers and my mother. About leaving for the Olympics tomorrow morning and what it will be like when we get there. About how weird it is that the competition for figure skating starts the day before the Opening Ceremonies this year.

I don’t talk about Hunter or Danny or landing my quad.

Meredith doesn’t talk about Stacie or her coach or whatever else she refrains from telling me.

And it isn’t quite like when I’m with Libby and Joya, but it’s definitely a start.

“Is it true that you’re cracking under pressure? That the Olympics is too much for you to handle?” a reporter asks Meredith the next day at our pre-Games figure skating press conference.

My mouth widens in shock at the audacity. Meredith blinks quickly, and I wonder if she’s holding back tears. If I was sitting next to her, I would nudge her or squeeze her arm in solidarity. But I’m not.

Hunter is to my right, which means I lean to my left, which unfortunately is occupied by none other than Stacie Grant. She is as perky as ever on our last morning in Vienna, her blond hair blown out and sprayed to perfection, her makeup professional and perfect, highlighting her big blue eyes.

“I’m as focused as I’ve always been,” Meredith responds, but her voice cracks.

The press corps murmurs and I worry they’re going to ask a follow-up, but they move on to a question for Tawny.

“Is there romance in the air for you and your partner this time around?”

Tawny laughs good-naturedly. “I’ve learned my lesson from last time, so no,” she says authoritatively, ever so poised and articulate and somehow friendly too. “My partner and I are close, but just as friends.”

“Stacie?” a woman from one of the television networks pipes up.

“Yes?” she says in her sweetest voice, the one she only reserves for press conferences like these, since I’ve never heard her use it outside this sort of situation.

“It’s rumored that your teammate, Esperanza Flores, is going for a quad,” the reporter says, then pauses as though she wants what she’s just revealed to sink in with everyone around her.

I gasp.

Stacie’s face pales.

Meredith’s jaw drops.

It’s one thing for the figure skating team to discuss what’s possibly going into my program, and it’s a whole other thing for the rest of the world to be gossiping about it. What if Mai Ling decides to go for one too now? What if I decide to leave it out because it’s too risky? Then everyone will know I’ve failed. That I’m Esperanza Pollo!

The reporter gets a little triumphant smile on her face. She was obviously eager to unnerve all of us and now she has. Her eyes are still trained on Stacie. “Are you worried that she’s going to beat you out for the gold because of it?”

Stacie shifts in her seat. “No,” she finally answers. “Of course I’m not worried.” She straightens up, shoulders back, chin up. “No ladies’ figure skater has ever landed a quad at the Olympics, and it’s simply not going to happen this year either. I’m sure my teammate Esperanza knows better than to risk a fall in front of the world during the most important moment of her skating career. Right, Espi?” she adds, turning to me, batting her eyelashes and smiling sweetly as ever.

“Um,” I say, because I don’t know how to respond.

But I’m saved from answering. Sort of. Stacie’s acknowledgment seems to have opened the way for the reporters to fire their questions at me.

“Esperanza, is it true that one of the US senators from Rhode Island is getting your mother a visa so she can come see you skate?”

I blink, surprised. “I don’t know,” I say immediately, looking around for Coach Chen, who looks as shocked as I am. “Is she? I mean, that would be wonderful!” I add, excitement puffing me up like a balloon.

A lot of the reporters laugh, but one man looks at me hard. “Esperanza, is it true that you and Hunter are on the outs? Rumors are flying that you’ve broken up.”

My eyes go wide. “Um. Um,” I stutter. “We aren’t —”

“No, those rumors are false,” Hunter answers before I can get any more words out, putting his hand over mine on the long table where we sit. “We’ve made up and we’re going strong,” he adds, and gives me that megawatt smile from his photos in People and Us Weekly.

I am too stunned to speak right away.

“That’s not —” I start once I find my tongue.

But I’m too late. The reporters are clamoring for one of the pairs to answer questions about their rumored romance, and soon after, the press conference comes to a close.

Coach’s hands cover her face. When she finally meets my eyes across the room, she’s shaking her head. The one thing she wanted me to do was to stay away from the drama, and I just got pulled back in. What’s more, Hunter gets up quickly without even looking in my direction and stalks off like I don’t exist. So why in the world would he say that we’re together?

Then I think of something else that makes my heart sink like a stone.

Danny.

I wonder if he’ll see what just happened on television.

He’s going to think I lied to him about Hunter.

Dios mío, I think to myself as Coach and I drive in silence to the airport to catch our flight to the Games.