Emma's Skating Contest

POV- Emma Jane Hawthorne

I wake up. It's a drizzly Sunday morning. I just finished a book, an I can't go to the library. It closes on Sundays. Then I brighten. I can skate!

I grab a quick breakfast of oatmeal and hurry to catch the bus to the rink. I sling my skates into my duffle bag along with a water bottle. My mother's reading, my father's writing, and my brother Darcy's still asleep. I wave goodbye to Mom & Dad and catch the old, creaky bus.

I settle in a seat in the back. Suddenly, at the next stop, a perky looking blonde woman boarded. I've never seen her in my life. She made a beeline for me. Behind her is a man with a camera that reads ,"CHANNEL 26 NEWS." I'm baffled.

She sits next to me and sticks a microphone in my face. "Tell me, Ms. Hawthorne," she asks crisply. "How does it feel to be a fourteen year old figure skating protigee?"

I stare at her. Skating protigee? I can barely skate backwards! I shrug. I've never been more wierded out in my life. Then it dawns on me. It must be a prank. Cassidy, one of my best friends, has always been a huge prankster. Or maybe it's my other friend, Zach Norton. I don't like like him, but this seems sort of the thing he would do. I play it cool. "I dunno." I shrug again. "I'm not that good."

"Ah, so modest," the lady remarks with a flip of her perfect blonde hair. "How do you feel right now, heading for the rink? Excited? Scared? Nervous?"

Wait a minute. How does she know I'm going to the rink? I check my duffel bag. The tag on it reads skating bag. Wow. Real smooth, Emma. I tuck my wild brown hair behind my ears. "I feel glad to go to the rink. After all, I've got nothing else to do."

She chuckles as if I'm making a joke. Which I'm not. She glances out the window. "Oh! Pedro, our stop is here!" she ushers the cameraman out the door. "See you soon, Emma Hawthorne," she calls as she leaves. "Best of luck at the rink!"

Why would she see me soon? And why does she wish me good luck? After all, I'm just going for practice.

The next stop is Concord Skating Rink. I hop off and immediatly feel apprehension as I read the big banner across the front entrance. "FIGURE SKATING CONTEST TODAY!" is screams. "THE BEST SKATERS OF NEW ENGLAND WILL BE COMPETING!" The place is mobbed.

I turn to leave, but a man with grey hair and a purple shirt that says STAFF on it pushes me forward. "Where are you going, Missy?" he demanded. "Time to skate!"

I run forward out of his reach. I end up in the locker room. I put on my outfit (black leggings with a sequined black camisole). I notice girls my age begin to trickle in. A tall girl with curly red hair bumps into me as I leave. "Ooh, sorry, Tubs," she sneers. "But can you blame me? There's so much of you to bump into." Her posse snickers. "Way to go, Delia!" one girl hoots.

I burn red and try to run out of the locker room, but Delia grabs the back of my camisole. I stop abruptly and gasp for air. She yanks and I go to her.

"Are you here for the figure skating contest?" she snarls.

I franticly shake my head no, but Delia narrows her eyes and growls," Listen, Porky. I know you are and you can't deny it. You are not going to beat me. I didn't come all the way from Maine to fail to some loser."

I try to run again, but one of her cronies shoves me back. I glare at all of them, hatred burning in my chest, white-hot. I can tell they are about to do something to me, like lock me in the janitor's closet or 'accedentaly' injure me, but Mrs. Bergson's motherly voice echoes through the tiled hall. "Everything all right in here, ladies?"

Delia lets me go, and I run to Mrs. Bergson. As we leave the room, I tell her everything that happened.

"And then she thought I was competing!" I finish with a flourish. "Stupid... huh?"

Mrs. Bergson leads me to a quiet corner. I'm confused... until she begins talking. "Listen, Em," she urgently whispers. "You are signed up for the skater's competition. I don't know how," she said after I opened my mouth," but you were. It's too late to back out."

Cold terror coarses through my veins. "What do I do?"

"Play it by ear," Eva instructs simply. "Skate around the entire rink, eat up the three minutes you have to spend on the ice. Try a spin here or there. Stop abruptly, then keep skating. You'd be amazed at what a few moves can make."

And on that note, she leaves me in search of another student.

A few simple moves, I tell myself. Just a few moves.

Skating's like writing, I think. You get a few choices... words... moves... and you have to make it into something magical.

I quickly sling my skates into my bag and go to the bleachers to wait with everyone else competing. I now undertstand the reporter.

"Delia Cassale,'' calls the announcer.

I watched as Delia walked to the ice and put on her skates. She thought I could beat her? I thought bitterly. No way. I hate whoever put me in this position.

Delia was amazing, of course. Exactly 23 people passed between the time ,'' Delia Cassale,'' is called, and ''Emma Hawthorne'' is called. The reporter from the bus is watching and she winks. I lace up my skates and hesitate, wondering how long I can just stand here, doing nothing. Then I exhale because I'll look like more of a fool if I stay still.

I feel fury stregnthing me. Whoever put me in clearly meant it as a joke, and it hurt. I can't let them have the satisfaction of gettting to me.

I begin to skate, slowly and steadily. I can't afford to fall. I finish going around the perimeter and try a little bunny hop. It works well. Encouraged, I do the exact same thing, wondering how much time I have left. I glance at the scoreboard. Thirty seconds left. I grasp the siding and push of, doing a little spin.

Ten seconds left.

I try something daring. I do another hop, and follow it with a jumping twrl.

Five seconds left.

I fall flat on my behind, and my tailbone hurts. The buzzer honks, and I lie on my back. Then a voice cuts through the silence.

"I KNEW she couldn't skate!"

It's Delia. I glare at her bright yellow figure in a gauzy dress, which stands up and slowly begins to chant along with her posse," Get off the ice! Get off the ice! Get off the ice!"

I shut my eyes and will myself to stand, never more humiliated in my life.

****AFTER THE CONTEST****

I'm cleaning up the stands with Mrs. Bergson. I'm raving about what a rat Delia is. All Mrs. Bergson said was ," Just let bygones be bygones, my dear. You'll never see her again."

I guess it's true, but still, I'm angry. "And I did terrible on the rink,' I say miserably. I sit in the stands. "It's all my fault I fell down. I stink on ice at skating. Pun unintended."

Mrs. Bergson doesn't laugh. She sits next to me. "Now, Emma," she says soothingly, "You mustn't blame yourself for what happened out there. You just weren't ready for competition."

An idea dawns on me. "You're right," I say slowly. "Whoever signed me up, it's their fault! What a sucker! Who would do that? It was probably Delia. Or someone like her. I HATE whoever did that!"

Mrs. Bergson goes pale. "No, Emma," she tries to say. "Listen."

But I still talk. "Why would anyone do that?"

"Emma!" she attempts to stop me. Then she sighs. "It was me."

The air rushes out of my lungs. "You?" I gape. "But why?"

"I wanted to test your limits," she answers simply. "You can only get to be that good if you watch others perform."

I stomp on the bleachers and the dull thud echoes around the arena. "But I don't WANT to be that good! Skating's a hobby for me, not a dream. I want to be a writer."

She sets her hand on top of mine. "Em, I'm so sorry."

I wrench it away. "Sorry for what? That you made me fail in front of half the region!?"

She takes a deep breath. "Emma, let me tell you something."

I fall silent.

"When I was a young girl, I was like you. Free spirited, determined, and a goal was on my horizen. I wanted to skate for the rest of my life.

I never knew how to get better. So one day I signed up for a pro contest. That made my dream come true. And Emma, I didn't know you only viewed skating as a hobby. I wanted you to be like me."

I glare at her and run out of the arena.

****LATER****

I'm in my room. We just ate supper, and I'm lying there, thinking about the contest. Maybe Mrs. Bergson was right; maybe all she wanted was for me to be happy like her. I grab my cell phone and punch in her number. I listen to the rings with a sense of guilt, and finally a familiar voice says, "Hello?"

"Mrs. Bergson!" I say. "Listen, I'm so, so sorry for being so rude at the rink. I know you were just trying to make me a better skater, and that it was all for my own good. I hope you can forgive me."

There's a small pause, then Mrs. Bergson chuckles soflty. "Oh, Emma. I hope you can forgive me. I was being a controller, rather than an encourager. And I know that it was wrong."

"No," I say. "Sometimes teachers have to be controllers. For the good of the students. Thank you."

"No, Emma. Thank you. For bringing me to my senses and telling me I was right." She sniffs, and I can tell she's tearing up. "Thank you."

Hey! It's Cassie! Please review if you liked my first one-shot. I'm going to do other ones-

Jess- In order to be closer to Cassidy, she tries out for the baseball team and fails miserably.

Becca- At her first babysitting job, the kids are monsters and she can't control them.

Megan- She is failing Algebra and if she can't pass, her parents will ban designing!

Cassidy- She visits Courtney in LA and meets a new friend.

If you want me to do others, give me a shout out in the reviews!

Check ya later,

Cassie