Anna's slippers shuffled carelessly across the creaking wooden floorboards of the straight old staircase that was rarely in use. Its incline was preposterous, made all the more treacherous by the fact that the girl attempting to conquer it was balancing a textbook in one hand, a bowl of instant noodles in the other, and a pair of heavy, sharp-bladed skates across her shoulder.
Crrreak, complained the staircase. It was not used to the weight of a lively young girl on its back.
The upstairs of their little house was tiny, comprised only of their late father's study and Elsa's long, narrow room with its majestic Gothic window at its end. Neither girl could bring herself to use the desk and papers of a dead man, so the room stayed cold and silent. Elsa had no visitors and left her abode only as often as she needed to physically present herself in school to stay enrolled, or to skate. Anna was not even sure how her sister ate. Sometimes she wasn't sure she had a sister at all, or whether Elsa's ghostly presence was a product of an overactive imagination spiked with loneliness. As a result, the upstairs was ghostly and coated in a fine layer of dust; it looked like a house abandoned, or a cranny of some dreary old country house where a murder mystery might take place.
Anna paused outside her sister's door. It was crafted of dark and heavy wood, and reminded the girl of a castle's impregnable drawbridge closed tight against invaders. Which would make Anna herself an invader, armed only with Cup Noodles and an introductory chemistry text. She grinned at the thought of an army laying siege to a fortress, brandishing a million iterations of her choice of weaponry.
Out from under the door floated faint mumblings, electronically distorted voices speaking such that Anna could not understand what they said.
She sighed. "Sis!" cried the younger girl, rapping on the door. There was no response, not that she'd expected any. Anna made an effort to "Granny Gerda said homework before K-drama!"
"I'm doing homework," came Elsa's voice, quiet but brimming with irritation.
"Elsa, I can hear your stupid show."
There was no response, but the noise of the video continued, if anything becoming louder.
Anna was exasperated. The only reason her elder sister got away with such erratic behavior was her stellar grades. Their grandparents viewed Elsa's abysmal attendance as a sign of a girl in the prime of youth spending her days carefree and unburdened. Whenever they came to check in on the girls, Elsa magically presented herself as the picture of a rosy-cheeked and reasonably well-adjusted, if quiet, teenager, with nothing more astray in her life than a slight obsession with books. Anna used to look forward to seeing her sister come out of her shell around their grandparents, but as she had gotten older she had begun to realize that Elsa was just putting on a show, that her stage persona dropped the moment their grandmother left the room.
Then Anna was back to living with a ghost.
"I brought you noodles," she said softly to the door, almost tenderly, teeth worrying the skin of her lower lip. Silence. If not for the quiet hum of the drama playing in the background, Anna might have begun to think that she was all alone in the house, talking to a door and slowly going insane. "Spicy chicken," she continued, more to hear her own voice than to elicit a response. "Your favorite."
The silence stretched on until Anna's knees and calves grew tired, despite their skating-sculpted fortitude. She turn her back to the door and slid down it until her bottom hit the floor with a hollow thud, and began with lifeless fingers opening the top of the noodle carton. There she sat, half-heartedly slurping noodle after noodle. Sometimes when Anna tried to make contact with her sister, the inevitable rebuff simply seemed a part of the difficulty of meshing in a complicated family, and Anna just went on her way. Sometimes she felt desolately alone and broke down, crying, outside Elsa's impregnable door or cocooned for safety in her own bed.
Tonight she felt nothing. Rather, not nothing, because to feel nothing would be to feel neutral, to feel in balance between happiness and sadness. But tonight Anna was not in balance between positive and negative emotion, but completely bereft of emotion at all. On her heart settled a tangible nothingness, an entity of black space, a vacuum which sucked away her energy and made her chemistry textbook seem an insurmountable challenge. The paragraphs blurred beneath her dry eyes; the words piled on top of each other and shifted around until Anna could not be sure that she was still awake. And then she wasn't.
"Winter Games in only three weeks now!" chirped Anna, bouncing with every step she took even under the combined and considerable weight of both her schoolbag and her skating bag. "We have a lot of work to do!"
"We can handle it," said Hans, wrapping one arm affectionately around his petite partner as they entered the rink. Her cheeks went even pinker, already flushed as she was with excitement.
"Of course we can!" Anna agreed. They high-fived, the resulting smack resounding around the high-ceilinged building. A few of the hockey boys, finishing their own practice, rolled their eyes at the eternally-peppy pair's entrance, some attempting to be covert about their disgust and others pointedly not.
"Losers," commented Anna. Hans made a noncommittal noise. She continued, under her breath, "Why can't they just get off our ice? They're supposed to leave at four."
Hans said diplomatically, "Maybe they have a big game coming up or something." But both knew he was itching to put his skates on and get out onto the ice. He had made progress in private lessons with Anders, but there was no substitute for the seamless coordination that came of practicing together.
They stood looking on, noses pressed against the outside of the Plexiglas barrier as the hockey players darted about the ice, shifting the puck from stick to stick so cleanly that it seemed as if the puck was magnetized. Once a particularly burly-looking player (though it was hard to tell what was muscle and what was padding, what with the bulk of their gear) shot the puck with so much force that it shot at the barrier like a cannonball and made contact with a loud bang, not unlike a gunshot, only a few inches of translucent plastic away from Anna's body.
She flinched, clapping her hands to her face.
"It's okay, Anna," said Hans, smirking at her. "It's not going to break the wall." All the same, it took a long few minutes for her shoulders to drift away from her ears again.
"He did that on purpose," she alleged. "I'm gonna find him when he gets off the ice."
"And do what?"
Anna just glared up at her still-grinning partner, face red and fists clenched.
"He probably weighs as much as three of you," Hans counselled. "If you fight him I'll have to bring your body home to Elsa. And she'd probably eat me if I did that."
But his words reached deaf ears as Anna stalked off to the rink exit to find her assaulter. Her eyes scanned the faces of every gruff, hyped-up teenaged boy that passed her; some ignored her, while others gave her questioning and condescending glances.
She grabbed the shoulder of one of the scrawnier of the flock and, shaking him, demanded, "Where's Blondi?" The boy's eyes went wide and he darted away, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the rink, where the Zamboni was inching, sluglike, onto the scratched surface. Anna blinked for a moment, confused, before her gaze alighted upon the driver of the Zamboni, clad in a thick woolen scarf and matching cap. She felt her heart soften momentarily at the thought that his gear looked like his mother had made it for him. Then she remembered the fact that she should have been on the ice an hour ago, and the puck flying at her face, and threw caution to the wind, thundering out onto the ice to face the looming machine.
"It is not nice –" Anna bellowed, before her feet flew out from under her. The figure skater had forgotten to remove the plastic guards which protected her blades and, unfortunately, made it impossible to move across the slick surface. Her head made bodily and resounding contact with the ice, and she felt the cold begin to seep through her cheek. Her vision flickered but did not go dark, though in her embarrassment she wished it had. For a moment, all was cold and shock; then the heat and throbbing pain shot through her limbs in one sudden burst.
To her great shame and indignation, the hand dragger her up to her feet belonged to Blondi, aka Hockey Bozo, aka Zamboni Driver Extraordinaire. It lingered on her arm to steady her, and Anna threw off the helpful touch with great drama, before stumbling and clutching again for the support.
"Kristoff," said the boy.
"Fuck off," said Anna, shaking his hand from her shoulder again.
"Ok, then," Kristoff said. "Note taken: don't help people."
"That's right, you'd better run!" cried Anna at the boy, who was ambling away as if he were going for a new world record of slowest ten-foot walk.
"Feisty, feisty," reprimanded her skating partner, gliding easily up to stand beside her. He placed a hand on the small of her back to ensure she would not lose her balance again, and Anna found herself leaning into the touch like an attention-starved alleycat. "Why are you so ready to start a fight, little Anna?"
Anna looked up into his face and felt the aggression melt away from her like an ice cube on a hot summer's day. She found her scowl sliding off her face so completely that she could not remember why she had been upset. "Oh, Hans," she sighed, grabbing one of his gloved hands in both of hers. "I just had a really awful night. Couldn't get Elsa to open the door."
"That's – normal, though," said Hans, unsure.
"Yeah, but…just because something's normal," Anna explained. "Doesn't mean it ever stops hurting."
Hans didn't know what to say to that. So he just kept Anna's hand in his smooth leather glove, and led her to the center of the ice. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he spun her around faster and faster, ducking as her braids whipped into the air. Once she was dizzy and giggling, he brought her to a halt and let her collapse onto his chest, arms twisted like a vice around him to keep herself upright.
Once she could stand upright, Anna pulled away, no trace of upset in her bright blue-green eyes. "Okay, practice!" she announced. "Hey – Hans? How's the jumping with Anders going?"
"Good," said Hans. That could mean anything. Anna bit her lip – the last thing she wanted at this stage was Hans to start doubting his ability or scare their new coach off with his tirades. Her partner was very confident, sometimes to the point of aggression, but Anna knew that underneath his self-assuredness lay a profound sensitivity to criticism. It was one of the reasons they, as a pair, stagnated. Hans was too nice to give Anna corrections, she too intimidated to do the same.
Anders seemed like he could take some Hans-drama. But he was so young…
"Are they really?" Anna demanded. "Good, I mean? You're good with him? You work well together? No drama, no shouting? I mean, not that I'm saying you're a drama queen but - "
"Yes, Anna," he responded wearily, glancing around the nearly-empty rink as if to indicate it was about time to stop chit-chatting and start skating. "It's fine."
Anna sighed and accepted that was all she was going to get; maybe she would find a way to observe their lessons. But he wouldn't act naturally with her around. She could send a spy. Whom could she send? Maybe Elsa would do it. Who was she kidding, Elsa wouldn't even talk to her anymore, much less spy for her. What about one of the girls at school? But which…
"Earth to Anna," said a voice. A white-leathered hand noiselessly snapped its fingers in Anna's face.
Anna blinked. "Wha?"
"I was just saying," said Hans. "We should get ice cream sometime."
"It's the middle of winter," said Anna.
"I mean." Hans looked down at her, a smirk flirting with the corner of his mouth. Anna wished she had something to hold on to that wasn't him. "It doesn't have to be ice cream."
"Yeah," Anna agreed, absentmindedly. "Ice cream…"
"Anna," Hans sighed, rubbing his temple with two elegant fingers. "I'm asking you out. As in, on a date."
Her face went redder than Moscow in '17. "Oh!" she exclaimed, hands twisting and turning frantically in the pockets of her jacket. "I – that – yes! Not ice cream, maybe. I – Friday?"
Hans agreed, "Friday," looking as proud as a cat with a half-disassembled bird in its mouth.
Elsa usually showed up to the rink around six, to skate aimlessly for an hour or just sit watching children chasing each other around the ice, before driving Anna home. Except when she didn't. Which, Anna thought but could never verify, was happening more and more often. Lately it seemed like her older sister left her room only to eat and use the restroom – though apparently she did so when Anna was not around.
As she had told Hans, it never got easier. There was some steadfast, stubborn part of her that refused to accept that this was just how things had to be. Maybe it was foolhardy heroism, but Anna could not let go of the prickle of hope that maybe they could fix things, that inside that barricaded room survived some element of the sweet, serene older sister she had known as a child.
If only Elsa would tell her what needed fixing.
Elsa didn't show up to drive her home.
So Anna begged Hans to give her a ride, a regular occurrence that was all the more awkward after a practice made skin-crawlingly self-conscious by the arrangement made for Friday. Anna had been hyperaware of Hans's fingers digging into her hip as he lifted her into the air; she tried frantically to remember if pairs skating had always been this intimate, if he always held her so close. Hans, for his part, was careful beyond even his ordinary consideration, not daring to outpace her or lift her too high.
Anders probably would have yelled at them for being distracted and tentative. Maybe dating her partner wasn't such a dandy idea.
We're not dating, Anna reminded herself as Hans backed out of his parking space. She sat as close to the window as possible, thinking about the fact that she could hear herself breathing and wondering if Hans also could her breathing, which made her almost stop breathing all-together. We're going on a date. One. For now.
So we're – going on a date. Seeing each other? No, that sounds way too grown-up. Thirty-year-olds who work in law firms "see each other". Fooling around. No, no, no, that's not it. Definitely not it.
"Are you okay?" Hans asked, managing to sound caring and dashingly nonchalant at the same time. Anna pressed her chilly hands to her cheeks to try to mitigate the pink splashed across them. "Kinda quiet, considering you're you."
"Am I okay? Am I okay?" she blustered, gesturing dramatically. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," said Hans, grinning as if to himself; he did not look at Anna, but she knew he was as aware of her as she was of him. His teeth were very, very white. The leather interior of his car felt small and silent, and Anna fervently wished her house was closer.
Anna burst through the front door with her skates swinging wildly from one ungloved hand; one neon-green blade guard had been hastily applied and came loose, becoming a dangerous projectile and flying free, making impact with the wall forcefully enough to leave a noticeable scratch. Anna inspected it and shrugged, still grinning like an idiot, dropping her skates onto the sofa and continuing to twirl about. She dashed into the kitchen and began piling dollops of cocoa-hazelnut spread and peanut butter onto slices of bread, slamming the sandwich together and flipping it onto a plate.
"Finally!" She cried aloud, though no one was around to listen. "I actually have a chance! With a boy!"
The walls echoed her words faintly back to her.
Satiated and still cheerful, Anna cracked open a textbook and tried to make her overstimulated eyes focus on the ink. But the margins were so narrow, and the text so finely-printed! The margins were sort of like sideburns. Hans had sideburns, really voluminous, lion-like sideburns, which was unusual for a guy her age. Well, he was older. Well, he was only two years older. Was that bad? Was it okay? What was the rule for acceptable ages to date – divide by seven and add two? No, that couldn't be right. But they weren't dating anyway. But did she want them to be? Was she overthinking it? Yes, almost definitely. Was it too much drama for a skating pair –
The phone rang. Anna's head snapped around, one braid whacking her across the nose. She scrambled to pick up the receiver, accidentally slamming her heavy textbook closed on her hand at the exact same time the apparatus reached her ear: the result was a high-pitched yelp transferred into the phone.
"Oh my God, sorry!" said Anna, shaking her hand with a grimace. "I just slammed my hand in the algebra II textbook. It's a real honker." Immediately after the words left her mouth, she grimaced at the stupidity of her confession. Whoever was on the end of the line did not want to know about the algebra II textbook.
"-Center for Academic Success at Arendelle High School-" came the cool and calm voice of a woman who was very practiced in the art of making telephone calls.
"Oh my God, am I getting a scholarship?" Anna exclaimed, once again wringing her hand but this time with excitement. The voice droned on. Dummy. It's an automated call.
"-has received one or more failing grades in midterm evaluations this semester-"
"No!" said Anna in one fast breath, in spite of the fact that no one was on the other end. "It was sticky for a moment with the titration equations and everything but I swear to God I passed that chem test!"
"Would the parents or guardians of Elsa Christiensen please call CAS at…" Her sister's name stood out from the rest of the recording because it was pronounced – in fact, astoundingly mispronounced – by a computerized phonetics system rather than a real person.
"Ha," said Anna, still on the line. "Eeelsa. I'm going to start calling her that."
The call ended and she sat for a moment, still cradling the receiver, numbed by the happy buzz of chocolate and being asked out and not failing chem. Quietly, she fluttered her feet against the couch, rejoicing in the quiet of the house, which for a moment felt peaceful rather than desolate. Then the information she had just received sunk in, and Anna's face soured.
"She is so grounded," said Anna, throwing her textbook to the ground for emphasis. It bounced on its corner and struck her big toe, sending her screeching and hopping across the floor to retrieve a bag of frozen peas from the freezer.