In the week since Coach Bennett quit, Maggie and Beatrice hadn’t been allowed back to the skating rink. Beatrice had begun to act even more miserable and moody than normal, sulking around the house and snapping when spoken to. Their mother had been trying to get the local skating association to match Coach Bennett’s new salary. But she wasn’t having any luck. Coach Bennett was happy with the change and wasn’t interested in coming back.
Maggie was busy decorating her bedroom ceiling with glow-in-the-dark stars. One of her dad’s favorite Rolling Stones songs blasted out from the speakers in her room. Maggie placed another sticker above her head and then jumped around on her mattress, playing air guitar like a rock star.
Just then, her door swung open with a bang and there stood Beatrice, looking like she could spit fire. “What did you do, Magnolia?” Beatrice shouted over the music. She brandished her bright red headphones in the air like an angry flag.
“Nothing?” said Maggie, sitting down on her bed and picking at the threads of her comforter nervously. She had lost her own headphones the week before. While borrowing Beatrice’s, she’d accidentally spilled a glass of water on them. She’d been hoping her sister wouldn’t notice.
“You never take care of your stuff, Magnolia,” said Beatrice.
She picked up Maggie’s torn and bedazzled sweatshirt that was lying on a chair. “If you don’t lose something, you wreck it by cutting it up into pieces.”
Maggie shrugged.
“And now you’re ruining all of my stuff too,” said Beatrice, her voice slowly approaching the sound only dogs could hear. “And, by the way, you look completely and utterly crazy with your messed-up hair.”
“You’re just mad about Coach Bennett,” said Maggie.
Beatrice threw her headphones down, and they bounced on the floor. She glared at Maggie. “Don’t . . . touch . . . my . . . stuff.”
With that, she stomped out of the room, slamming Maggie’s door behind her. Beatrice’s elephant-like feet pound down the hallway, followed by a shrill call of, “MO-OM!”
Maggie cringed.
Being in even more trouble was just what she needed. She flopped down onto her bed, closed her eyes, and tried to let the music take her to a different place. She pretended that she was doing a perfect Biellman spin, her leg stretched out behind her. She could feel the arch in her back and the ice beneath her skate as she whirled in a perfectly spun circle. Her parents were going crazy in the stands.
Maggie smiled to herself.
The first couple of days without skating had been pure bliss for Maggie. She’d slept in and been able to come home right after school. She’d even gotten all of her homework done with time left over to read for fun.
Slowly, though, it had begun to feel like bugs were crawling underneath her skin. Having all the extra time had ultimately become boring. She’d started to actually miss skating. She missed the cold air at the rink, no matter the temperature outside. She missed making patterns on the ice with newly sharpened blades.
The spinning, though — she missed the spinning most of all.
Maggie missed twirling so fast that no one could see her face. She became someone different when she spun. Not Magnolia, Beatrice’s twin sister. Not her mother’s daughter, who always had to be perfect. She became simply Maggie.
* * *
Maggie’s dad walked in the door from work. He sat down at the dinner table and started to pile pot roast onto his plate, smiling away at his family.
“How’s life for my three sunshines?” he said.
He started to whistle. He was almost always in a good mood. It was as if her parents had been allotted only one person’s happiness, and her dad was the one who got it. He was a bit oblivious to any drama in the house, but Maggie loved that.
Maggie’s mother set her fork next to her plate. She looked up and had dark circles under her eyes “Well, girls,” she said all of a sudden, “your father and I have made a decision.” She gave her husband a squint-eyed look. He stopped his whistling and straightened up, sensing that he needed to look serious.
Maggie’s fork, filled with mashed potatoes, paused mid-flight. She looked over at her dad. He gave her a thumbs-up. She felt like there were bees buzzing around in her stomach.
“Do we get to skate again?” Beatrice asked, her face lighting up like the belly of a lightning bug.
“Well, we are going to talk with . . . Coach Stone,” their mother said. She choked out his name as if it tasted bad in her mouth. “Tonight, actually. He’s coming over.” She paused and stared right at Maggie. “So we’ll need you two to go do your homework right after dinner.”
“But we already did it,” Beatrice said.
Maggie kicked her hard under the table.
“Ow!” said Beatrice.
“We have that other project . . . in science, remember, Bea?” Maggie said. She smiled big and then widened her eyes at Beatrice. “We have loads to do.”
Beatrice frowned at Maggie but didn’t say another word. Maggie sure wished that they had that creepy twin telepathy sometimes. After dinner the girls went to their rooms like their mother had asked.
They’d only been in their rooms for a short period of time when Maggie heard the doorbell. She tiptoed out of her room and tapped on Beatrice’s door and beckoned her out into the hallway. Despite being clueless at dinner, Beatrice seemed to catch on.
The two girls found a spot at the top of the stairs where they could stay invisible but see and hear what was happening.
It felt like one of those late nights when they were little and had snuck out to take in one of their parents’ parties.
They had to squeeze together in the tight spot, their legs piling up on top of each other. Maggie thought that it felt good to be on the same team as Beatrice for once. The thought made her so happy that a giggle bubbled up inside of her, and she snorted.
Beatrice elbowed her. “Shhh,” she said. “He’s talking now.”
Coach Stone had worn a suit and tie — no tattoos in sight. Maggie gave him a high-five for effort in her mind. It sounded like he was talking about his education and all of the places he’d worked before.
And then Coach Stone finished his last sentence with the words, “and then for the past two years, I’ve been working at the Olympic Training Center.”
The breath whooshed out of Maggie at once. She looked over at Beatrice, whose eyes bulged in shock. Maggie felt like she had a marching band drumming through her veins. Coach Stone had worked at the United States Olympic Training Center.
Surely their mother would have to approve of him now.