Children Born of Ice
Chapter 1
Alfred gears himself up for his fifth attempt at the jump with the determination of someone who had fallen on their ass the previous four times. He ignores the cold biting at his cheeks in favour of paying greater attention to the edges of his blades digging into the ice as he picks up speed. He loves his afternoon practices with his coach, and he loves competitions, but his favourite time to skate is during these early hours where there is nothing but him and the ice and his own brilliance. And technically his father, but he's usually asleep before Alfred even hits the ice. Not that he can blame Arthur, because it takes a special kind of person to want to wake up at three o'clock in the morning to skate.
He pushes all of his thoughts aside as he pulls himself around the corner, pushing faster and faster until he digs in his toe pick and flies into the air. The quad lutz goes flawlessly: tight, clean, perfect. The scorpion turn landing that he's been trying to convince his coaches to put in his routine, however, is just shy of disaster. He does manage to stick the landing this time, saving him from a painful fall, but his ankle wobbles twice and the turn lacks finesse. He lets himself spin out and then starts to prep for a sixth attempt when he is interrupted by a shout from the side of the rink.
"Alfred!"
He represses a groan. His Papa's voice can only mean one thing: his ice time is up, and it's time for Mattie's ice hockey practice. With an exaggerated air of resignation, he slows and skates over to the boards where Francis is standing.
"How was practice today, mon puce?" Francis asks.
Alfred glares. "You know I hate when you call me that."
Papa pretends to look affronted. "I cannot imagine why not. Would you prefer something else?"
"Perhaps something that doesn't mean some form of vermin?"
"Is Arthur asleep again?" he asks, already suspecting the answer. Sure enough, there on the bleachers is a mop of highly untidy blonde hair dozing in a nest of insulated clothing. Arthur never could handle the chill of the rink, and the sight makes both of them smile. Alfred sits and starts unlacing his skates, rubbing the arches of his feet, and Francis presses a mug of coffee into his hands. He nods his thanks, lets the bitter liquid run over his tongue. His Papa always did make the best coffee, rich and strong. Mattie must have already headed to the locker room, he notes with regret. He'd been hoping to see his brother today and wish him luck on his game.
He finishes tying his boots and starts up the bleachers to shake his Dad awake so he can catch an hour or two of sleep before school starts. Unfortunately, this plan is interrupted by several loud shouts from the new occupants of the ice. He curses under his breath, and it takes all of his self control not to turn around and look at them. Once he makes eye contact with them, all his self control flies out the window, and that's not something he can afford now. Not with the Olympic trials less than two months away. Not now.
"Look, it's the little skating fairy!"
"Ready to join Disney on ice, Alfairy?"
"Are you as queer as your uniform?"
The logical part of his brain is telling him They're not worth it and How many Olympics have they qualified for and These insults aren't even clever! But it was so hard to ignore the fact that dim-witted or not, they were still jeering at him. Steeling himself, he shook his dad's shoulder.
"C'mon, Dad, wake up."
"Mmm."
"Dad, let's go."
"Hmm."
"Arthur!"
"Alfred? What, what is it? And how many times have I told you not to use our first names?"
"Of course it's my bad manners that wake you up," Alfred muttered. "Dad, my practice time's up. Mattie and Papa are here."
"Oh. Do you want to go to the car, maybe catch a bit of sleep before school?"
"Please."
His dad starts to gather his coat around him, checking that Alfred still has his skate bag, mumbling questions like Do you have your skates? and What about your legwarmers? and Did Francis bring you coffee again? I keep telling him not to, the caffeine will dehydrate you, completely oblivious to the hostility of the players on the ice, skating in lazy circles as the puck sails from one of them to the other.
Alfred takes the bleachers two at a time on the way down, bounding down them in an effort to get out of there as quickly as possible. He is delayed, however, by his father's considerably slower steps and brief, murmured conversation with Papa. He bounces from foot to foot, jittery in his desperation to get to the car faster. Arthur notices his little dance of anticipation, and, grumbling, at last starts in the direction of the rink doors. The hockey players, however, cannot resist one final jab before they leave.
"Hey, Alfred, are you as gay as your fathers?"
Alfred snaps. He charges straight at them, ready to vault over the boards and beat them to a bloody pulp; he doesn't care if they're wearing padding, he is strong, you don't win four Junior Olympic gold medals and an invitation to the real deal if you're weak, he's going to destroy them. He can feel something-no, someone, probably his dad-dragging at his clothes, but it is not enough, not nearly enough to hold him back. He can hear someone yelling Francis! and a second pair of hands join the first, desperate to keep him from reaching the ice and getting himself disqualified from his dream. He is only stopped when a pair of hands meet his shoulders, pressing back with a force almost equal to his own, and he finds himself face to face with Mattie, who looks less than impressed.
"What the hell is going on?"
The other players don't even have the decency to look sheepish, and Mattie shakes his head.
"Laps. All of you. Go. Now."
One of them opens his mouth like he's about to protest, but quickly shuts it when Mattie points to the 'C' on his jersey. Mattie may not be god, but he is team captain, and when it comes to the starting lineup for today's game they might as well be the same thing. The two players that stand to either side of him hesitate a little longer and Matthew spins around in annoyance.
"What did I-oh. It's you two. You're fine, go shoot some warmup shots."
The two, a small blonde kid with a sweet smile who hasn't even finished putting on his helmet and gloves yet and a looming figure whose face is completely obscured by his mask skate off towards the goal.
"How come they get off easy?" Alfred demands of his brother.
"Because they were in the locker room with me when you started your suicide act. Do you want to get suspended? Go to jail for assault? Get disqualified from the Olympics?"
"They insulted Dad and Papa."
Matthew's mouth sets in a grim line.
"Leave them to me, eh? I promise we'll get that sorted out."
Alfred is extraordinarily glad he is not on the hockey team right now. Mattie in a bad mood is scary.
"Anyway, in case I don't see you again, good luck at your game, bro."
"Don't let them rile you up so much next time. They're just idiots."
"Idiots with big fat mouths," Alfred grumbles, but he nods anyway. Mattie claps him on the shoulder again and skates off to join the team as he glumly joins his fathers. Arthur gives him a pat on the shoulder and Francis ruffles his hair affectionately. Still, as he curled up in the backseat, all he could hear was the team jeering at his sport, tossing and turning in the backseat.
As a result of his fitful sleep, he dozes off during first period math class. His teachers are usually pretty lenient about his exhaustion early in the morning-they know his skating schedule is grueling-but they won't tolerate outright sleeping, and so he gets a lunchtime detention. The last thing he remembers is Felix rabbiting on and on about the slope of a function, and suddenly Kiku is shaking him awake.
"Alfred, I am terribly sorry to disturb you, but-"
"Mr. Williams-Jones. I expected better of you. I understand that your skating schedule is a most demanding one, but you should be able to succeed both academically and athletically."
"Mhm. Sorry, Mr. Wang."
"You're the spitting image of your father when you were his age. I vaguely recall his being unable to respect any authority figure as well."
"Listen, I get that I was sleeping in class. Whatever. But leave your weird personal issues with my dad out of it, please."
"Lunchtime detention. 12:15. And count yourself lucky it wasn't after school, which would cut into your training time."
Alfred knows he should cut his losses and bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from screaming some other choice insults at Wang Yao, math teacher and evil demon. Instead, he gathers his belongings and stalks out of the room with whatever dignity he can still muster when the bell rings. Kiku hurries after him.
"Alfred! Alfred, please wait up!"
He obediently slows. He might hate his dad, and Dad might hate Mr. Wang, but he could never hate Kiku. He's been too good of a friend these past few years.
"Dude, I'm sorry, I just-"
"I understand. My father, he can be...difficult to deal with."
"I just-I wouldn't care so much if he told me off for not paying attention or whatever. Like, I know I deserved that, it's just that with him it always has to be personal. He always has to drag my dad into it somehow, and I'm sick and tired of people dragging my dad into things."
"Something occurred at the rink this morning?"
"Just the hockey team."
"Ah."
"They...they made a comment about my dads. I don't care what they say about my skating or whatever, I just want them to leave my family out of it."
"Sometimes people are just narrow-minded, Alfred."
"Yeah, but I'd appreciate if they could be narrow-minded somewhere else."
Kiku gives him a long look.
"I mean, if they wouldn't be narrow minded at all," he hastily amends.
"That's not what you meant."
"No, no it's not," Alfred sighs. "It's just-for once, I want them to understand what asshats they're being because they understand, not because Mattie makes them skate extra laps or whatever."
"If you are motivated by vengeance, it will surely consume you."
"I don't want that either! I just-forget it, Kiku. You're right."
Kiku stares at him again, but mercifully drops the subject. They fall into step beside Felix and Toris, and take their places at the cluster of desks where Michelle is already sitting, adjusting one of her hair ribbons. As soon as she catches sight of them, she excitedly waves and offers them a lollipop from her "Sack of Snacks."
"I swear you have some kind of infinite ammo code on this thing," Alfred mutters as he takes a Snickers bar.
Michelle laughs and Kiku nods in agreement. Felix and Toris are too immersed in their debate between the merits of bubblegum and bubblegum flavoured lollipops. Toris is firmly on the side of bubblegum, to which Alfred heartily agrees, whereas Michelle and Felix are stalwart defendants of lollipops. Their conversation is cut off, however, by the flustered arrival of their teacher, the ever-polished Mr. Edelstein.
"Everyone sit down, please."
This request was absolutely unnecessary; from the moment the bell rang, all of them have been glued to their chairs. One simply does not mess around in Mr. Edelstein's literature class. It is a Thing That Is Not Done. Without even bothering to take roll call, he writes Themes on one side of the board and Symbolism on the other. Alfred normally isn't a fan of English class, but he's been enjoying Mr. Edelstein's course so far. It's easily one of the most challenging he's taken, but they're studying Oscar Wilde right now, and Alfred actually finds himself liking the book. It's funny sometimes, and unlike Shakespeare, doesn't require endless hours painstakingly trying to figure out what this word or that word meant.
"Dorian Grey. What do you think he symbolises?" Mr. Edelstein postulates.
"Beauty," Michelle says straight off the bat. Mr. Edelstein nods, writing it on the board while motioning with his free hand for the class to keep going.
"Youth," suggests Belle, and her brother is quick to chime in with "A fickle nature."
"Good! Keep going!"
"Um-redemption?" Alfred winces at the voice of one of the hockey team members. Mathias, he thinks, or maybe Lukas. He isn't sure. And for some reason, he finds himself opening his mouth and jumping in with:
"Forbidden."
At this, Mr. Edelstein turns around. "Forbidden. Interesting. Why do you say that, Mr. Williams-Jones?"
"Well, I-" he falters, losing his resolve. He's never been the brightest kid in the class. Usually, he jumps in anyway, but from the look in Mr. Edelstein's eyes he's just said something terribly wrong, and he's not a teacher to cross. But Kiku gives him an encouraging smile, and so he soldiers on.
"I thought it was pretty obvious that Basil and Grey loved one another. But they couldn't love one another because of where-or when-they lived, and so they decide not to do anything about it. And when Grey sees the ruined painting of it, he doesn't see his own wrongdoing, he sees Basil telling him that he's not worthy of his love. So he kills him, and it's that moment of jealousy and betrayal that he atones for at the end, not any of his other sins."
"How perceptive of you, Mr. Williams-Jones. You have looked at this piece with a strong level of sensitivity and precision. I encourage you to write about it for your paper, and to continue exploring this theme throughout the other books we will read. Well done."
His friends are all smiling now, looking as proud of him as if they'd said it themselves. He's about to relax and smile with them when the voice that makes his blood run cold comes from the back of the classroom.
"Well, Alfred would know much about gay love, da?"