Maggie picked at her fingernails as she watched Beatrice skate. The popcorn smell from the concession stands made her nervous stomach grumble. She hadn’t been able to finish her breakfast after all.
The competition was the last one until regionals, which would determine who’d go to state. Maggie had little hope for her own performance and told herself she didn’t care anyway.
Beatrice skated hard, turned, and planted her toe pic. She leapt in the air. Instead of the single axel she usually did, she doubled it.
Maggie couldn’t believe it. Beatrice had just learned that move the day before! Up in the stands, their parents stood and cheered. Maggie folded her arms across her chest and frowned.
Maggie and Beatrice were completely identical, all the way down to the mirrored freckles on their noses. The girls’ heartbeats had even beaten in sync before they were born. But as identical as they were on the outside, the girls couldn’t have been more different on the inside. Beatrice loved everything their mother loved: romantic movies, classical music, and reading quietly. Maggie liked scary movies, rock-n-roll, and wild dancing in her room. Sometimes she wondered if she had been born into the right family.
Beatrice went into her spin combination. Her arms curved above her head in the way their ballet teacher had taught. The music swelled in the air. Beatrice caught her foot in front of her and spun faster, the silver blades of her skates flashing.
Maggie didn’t know why she even tried to compete against her sister — Beatrice was so graceful. The back of Maggie’s neck felt hot all of a sudden. She was always nervous right before she went on the ice.
The crowd cheered as Beatrice finished her final sit spin. She rose and bowed to them as if she was their queen and they were her royal subjects. She looked so composed and sure of herself that Maggie felt another sharp prickle of jealousy.
Maggie looked around for Coach Bennett, who was usually there to give last minute words of advice. Strangely, she realized she hadn’t seen her coach at all that day. Maggie didn’t have time to worry, though.
It was her turn.
“You see my double axel?” Beatrice asked, her breath coming out in smoky little puffs from the exertion of her long program. Her eyes gazed with hope at Maggie. Maggie detected smugness.
“Oh, I wasn’t really paying attention, Bea,” Maggie lied. “Sorry.” She didn’t know why she didn’t want to congratulate her sister. She just couldn’t stand how Beatrice thought she was the greatest skater out there.
Beatrice’s face fell at Maggie’s words.
Maggie shoved down all of her angry feelings and took off her blade protectors. She ruffled her blue hair with one hand and tried to put her sister out of her mind.
The two of them used to do everything together. But then Beatrice had become obsessed with being the best at the same time that Maggie’s passion for skating began to dwindle. More and more, they avoided each other at school and at the rink. They seemed to barely tolerate each other during family meals.
The lights burned brightly as Maggie skated out onto the frozen stage. She felt her mother’s eyes boring into her, sending icy daggers into the blue hair atop Maggie’s head. She wished a portal would just open up. She would jump in and disappear.
Maggie crossed her skates and raised her arms above her head for the starting position. She felt like a tiny puppet that had its strings crossed. It seemed as if she was watching herself from high above the stands. She saw her pink frilly dress and her white skates clash with her blue hair like some mismatched doll.
It wasn’t as if Maggie hated everything about skating. She loved the way her muscles bunched and pulled under her skin when she leapt high into the air. She loved spinning so fast that she felt like she was melting right down into the ground like butter. She loved figuring out new ways to do the same old jumps and turns. She frustrated her coach daily because she always wanted to do her own thing instead of practicing a carefully choreographed routine.
When the gentle melody of her song started to play, Maggie had to stifle a groan. It was just so slow. The delicate violin music made her want to take a nap, not figure skate. She looked down at her dress. She wished she was wearing something bright and loud, and she wanted rock music blaring in the background.
Maggie had watched the famous U.S. skater Ashley Wagner skate to Pink Floyd’s “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” a million times. But whenever she brought up changing her music, her mother always said, “No, Magnolia. If you want to figure skate, you’ll do it the proper way.”
Maggie’s arms and legs began to move, but she felt stiff and mechanical. She felt like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz as she went into her first spin combination. Her skates slid beneath her awkwardly. She tipped over, her hand grazing the ice for a moment. Her cheeks flushed bright red with embarrassment.
She was able to stumble through her footwork okay, technically, but she did it without any fire. She knew that everyone watching could see that she really didn’t want to be out there.
Jumps were up next.
Maggie skated backward, circling around to get into the right position. She approached the spot where she would do her axel-toe loop combination. She’d been struggling with that move for weeks.
She knew she was going too slowly, and she knew that her mark was going to be off. At the last second she tried to pick up the pace, but it was too late. She went into the air for her axel knowing that she wasn’t anywhere near as balanced as she needed to be.
She revolved around like an unwilling rag doll. She landed wrong. Her skate slid, and she fell hard onto the ice. Pain shot through her hip and went into her back.
Maggie didn’t have time to think.
She pushed herself up from the cold surface. She wanted to salvage the rest of her routine but skated the next minute in a haze.
The music died down. Maggie tried to re-create the ending position, but her left leg was throbbing from her fall. It slipped from underneath her, and she went down, again, onto the ice on one knee.
At last, the violins finally stopped their horrible tune.
Maggie got up and limped off the ice to a smattering of applause. When she dared a quick peek up into the stands, she saw her mother standing there with her arms stiff by her sides. The scowl fixed on her face cut deep grooves in her cheeks.
Maggie ducked her head in shame and plowed onward, almost running right into Beatrice, who was blocking her way.
“That was an interesting program,” Beatrice said, her face pinched and mean.
Bright red blotches formed on Maggie’s cheeks, and she shoved past her sister. She wanted nothing more than to curl up and hide forever.