20

Wren and the Angry Ice

Exhausted from standing, Wren lowered her body to the ice.

She reached for the slippery surface with tented fingers, an attempt to ease the transition and distribute her weight. To keep the ice happy.

The ice was not happy. Its cracks splintered and grew.

But it held. For now.

Wren wasn’t wearing a watch and didn’t have a phone. Based on the stiffness in her fingers and the numbness of her toes, she’d probably been stuck for at least an hour. Her mom might wake up soon. Maybe she’d call Wren’s name and realize she wasn’t home.

Or maybe not.

And that was only half the problem.

The other half was that no one knew where she was.

Wren tried to scream. “Help!” But her tired voice refused to cooperate.

She could see houses through the tree branches, but they were faraway. Their windows shut. Their doors closed. Keeping out the cold.

“Help!”

Wren wiggled her toes in her skates. Slowly she brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms tight.

She didn’t dare move anything else.

Wren thought about the shiny, dense ice of the Dartmouth College rink. Sitting next to Charlie on the hard bench of his Zamboni machine. Back then, she’d been so certain that one day she’d stand on a podium. And everyone would be so proud.

But now, stuck on this fragile ice in the dark, Wren thought about something else that happened at the rink that year. Nancy had tried to start a synchronized skating team. She’d gathered her students and shown them a video of a team from Connecticut that did back crossovers with their arms linked and deep lunges in between one another’s outstretched arms. Nancy had lined them up by height to try to repeat what the Connecticut girls had done.

And Wren had hated it. She didn’t want to count in unison as she did back crossovers or be responsible for steadying someone else’s balance in a spiral.

The other girls’ hands pressing on her shoulders just slowed her down.

Wren wanted space to build her crossovers. To launch into her jumps. To twist into her layback spins.

Unlike the rest of her life, when Wren was skating, no one could drag her down. There was no Hannah to worry about. To talk about. To plan around. No Nora to offend. No Izzy to scare away.

When Wren was on the ice, she could accomplish amazing things all by herself.

And now look what she’d done.

All by herself.

The shore wasn’t far, but she didn’t have the courage to move toward it. What if the ice cracked completely and she fell through? Would the cold water instantly stop her heart?

The thought made her chest tight. Her breath short.

Wren could only sit and wait.

And wonder if she was going to die.

Then she heard a rustling through the trees. A familiar voice. “Wren! Wren! Are you there?”

It was Izzy. She was running to the edge of the ice, waving her arms.

Yes, thought Wren. I’m here. But when she opened her mouth to speak, the words scratched against her throat and faded to nothing.

“Hold on,” said Izzy. “I’m coming to get you.”

Izzy tested the ice with her foot. She frowned, walked a few steps away, and tested another spot.

“I don’t know,” yelled Izzy. “Maybe I should go get our moms. They’re home. I told them I’d be right back.”

“No!” It took every bit of strength for Wren to yell the word. Izzy couldn’t leave her. Please don’t go.

“Okay,” said Izzy. “Okay, I’ll stay. But can you try to come in? Do you think you can do it?”

Izzy crouched at the edge of the ice and stretched her arms toward Wren. She wasn’t close to reaching, but she was there. Izzy had found her. Wren had to try.

Wren shifted onto all fours. She pressed her palms flat on the ice, her fingers spread wide, covering the cracks like Band-Aids.

Band-Aids that Wren wasn’t sure would stick.

“You can do it,” said Izzy. “Go slow.”

Go slow. The words echoed in Wren’s mind as she began to move.

Right hand, left hand. Right knee, left knee. Wren was careful to keep her toe picks clear of the ice. To slide, not thump.

“You’re doing it,” said Izzy. “Keep going.”

The splintered surface with its cracks and grooves was terrifying. But Izzy kept her going.

“You’re almost there,” said Izzy. “Come on, Wren. You’ve got this.”

Right hand, left hand. Slide.

Wren was close. But as she shifted forward, the ice underneath her hands gave way.

Frigid water seeped over her knuckles. Her wrists.

Wren gasped.

Her palms hit the hard-packed mud bottom of the pond.

The water was cold and sharp as it rushed up to her elbows. Wren’s body clenched tight.

But when she looked up, Izzy was on her hands and knees. Coming to get her.