"Ooph," Clarke muttered as she crashed into the ice yet again. Her triple loop, which had been so consistent for the last six months, had suddenly decided to die on her. No matter how hard she visualized or hit the weight room, it showed no signs of coming back.
Ivan stared at her from across the rink, a disheartening blank expression on his face. She growled, and pushed herself back up, barely keeping her frustration from boiling over as she skated over to him. Her t-stop was more violent than it needed to be, spraying ice onto his black skates.
"Clarke." He began, then paused, sighing. "Clarke, this is in your head."
No shit. Of course it was in her head. Every since she ran into Bellamy Blake and his bucket of water and insolence, her mind had been fuzzy and her triple loop had left the building. She'd been around skating enough years to know that this too would pass, but with only a month before regionals she wasn't interested in fighting this particular battle. She wanted Bellamy gone and her damn jump back.
Ivan crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. She tired not to squirm. "You will work this out before the end of the week." It wasn't a request. "Short program run through, leave out the triple loop for now."
Annoyance sizzling across her skin, she nodded and stroked to her starting place. Trust Ivan to make her feel like a petulant child. Clarke took a deep breath as she settle into her opening pose. Time to forget about Ivan, her damn triple loop and whatever mind game Bellamy Blake was playing. Time to just skate.
Two and a half minutes later her breathing was ragged and her muscles straining, but Clarke finally felt normal. Yes, she'd only done a double loop, but the rest of the program had simply fallen into place, each movement feeling more natural than the last. Ever since the new choreography for the season, she'd been struggling to hit all the accents and generally failing at emoting at the proper moments. Now though, she'd hit each note perfectly, the elegant poses flowing together into an eloquent story of love and loss.
Clarke would be the first to admit that Swan Lake wasn't exactly an original piece of music. When Ivan had presented it to her, she'd rolled her eyes and made a snide comment about Russian prima ballerinas that hadn't exactly been in good taste. Ivan was used to her though, and he'd implored her to give the music a shot. He'd pointed out that Swan Lake was more than just an old stuffy ballet. It was a story of mistaken identity and betrayal. As Prince Siegfried discovers he has mistaken Odile for Odette, his world comes crashing down around him and he has no choice but to choose love over life. It was way too Romeo and Juliet for Clarke's taste, but something about playing dark emotions that lead to their desperate suicide had been appealing. So here she was, flying across the ice, channeling Odette's destructive love.
For months it had felt like she was going through the motions of Odette's suffering, never fully buying in. But now, now she could feel the burn in her heart and the desperation under her skin. Still breathing heavily, she turned to face Ivan, unsure of his reaction.
He stood silently at the boards, his eyes narrowed and his lips quirked upward. He motioned for her to come closer, speaking only when the spray of her skates graced the ice in front of him. "I'll trade your triple loop for that performance any day. Why so different?"
Clarke opened her mouth then abruptly closed it. She couldn't exactly say that the new janitor was driving her up the wall and that she'd decided to vent her emotions during the program. Instead, she shrugged, pushing loose tendrils of blonde hair out of her face. "It just felt right today."
"Let's find a way to keep it feeling right." He nodded, more to himself than Clarke before continuing. "Give me five laps and three double axels."
She nodded and pushed off, for once feeling like she had the energy. Usually the program drained her completely, despite its short length, but today she felt light, free. The double axels came as easily as waltz jumps and the jumping passes were over before she even realized they'd begun. Ivan waved in dismissal from across the rink as her last landing flowed across the ice.
"So that looks better than usual," Wells spoke from the boards next to the Kleenex box as she skated over. The unfortunate side effect of cold ice rinks and lots of spinning led to the absolute necessity of tissues. She wiped a tissue across her red nose and eyed Wells. Clarke had no idea what he was up to. She knew he'd sensed her frustration with Bellamy Blake, but he hadn't said anything yet and she really didn't want to have that conversation.
"It clicked today." She rolled her eyes, flicking the tissue into the trashcan. "It's like I finally got how damn insane Seigfried and Odette had to be to commit suicide for each other after only knowing each other 24 hours."
Wells shook his head. "Not just that. You seem less perturbed than usual." Clarke gave him a look, hoping he'd back off. No such luck. "Come on, Clarke, I know Blake's got you in a sour mood. I have no idea what happened, but every time you see him, it's like you're trying to fry him with your laser vision."
She stared down at her black gloves, picking at the loose threads. Damn Wells for being so perceptive. "We didn't exactly have the best introduction. I don't understand why Kane and Miller needed to hire him. There are plenty of other guys who can mop a floor."
Wells stared at her silently, as if trying to determine if she was serious. "There aren't many guys who lost their mother less than a month ago and are trying to raise their little sister all on their own."
"What?"
She felt like he'd slapped her as heat rose on her cheeks. Of course she had to go and be an asshole. No wonder Bellamy had looked at her like he wanted to squish her beneath his boots.
"His mom died about three weeks ago, Clarke. Don't you ever read the paper? It's not like Arkadia is that big a place. My dad and I even went to the funeral."
Clarke had no idea what to say. Wells was right, she must have been really out of it to miss the news. She didn't even know that Bellamy Blake had a sister to raise. She swallowed, a bitter taste trickling down her throat. "Oh, god. I'm such a horrible person, Wells."
Wells snaked an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. She hardly noticed the boards digging in to her ribs as she collapsed against him, all the fight draining out of her. "You haven't been a horrible person… you've just been really focused."
"So focused that I forgot to remember other people are human?" She replied with a snort.
"Well, no. You just want Nationals so badly this year that ever since Ivan choreographed your programs, you've been a wreaking ball. It's not a bad attitude to have, Clarke…" he trailed off, clearly finding it difficult to fully justify her actions.
She sighed, pulling away to dab another tissue at her now watering eyes. "You can stop, Wells, there really isn't any excuse for me treating anyone that badly. I was just in the middle of one of my off ice run-throughs and he splashed half a bucket of water on me." Clarke groaned, burying her face in her gloved hands. "I've really fucked up this time, haven't I?"
Wells didn't say anything, which was all she needed to confirm that Clarke Griffin, idiot extraordinaire, had messed up royally. She nodded firmly to herself, "I'm going to apologize."
"Good luck with that."
She narrowed her eyes at Wells, searching his face. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Blake has a long and vivid memory. He doesn't talk to any of the guys from the old team, even after a decade. I just don't think that he's the forget and forgive type."
"Fine. I don't care, I'm going to get him to listen to me," Clarke insisted.
Wells held his hands up in mock surrender. "Just don't blame me."
The clock caught Clarke's attention. Fifteen minutes left in her session. Never mind that her parents owned the rink with Wells' father, she still had to adhere to the session rules and Ivan was going to kill her next lesson if he didn't see at least another run-through in the next fifteen minutes.
Wiggling her toes in her skates, she tried to restore circulation as she stroked around the rinks, relishing the cold air rushing past her. Time to remember what it felt to be Odette again, but this time she felt empty, as if the energy that had fueled her previous program had run flat. She pushed harder, digging her blades deeper into the ice. She could do this. She had to do this.
Clarke didn't see Bellamy Blake for the next week. She wasn't sure if he was avoiding her or if she was subconsciously avoiding him. Either way, the upcoming apology was gnawing a hole in her, making her jumpy at even the sight of a mop. While Wells clearly knew what was on her mind, he'd been kind enough to let the issue lay fallow for the time being.
She knew he was stressed enough with the practices for the high school varsity team finally starting. Arkadia wasn't known for much, but their hockey team had won the state 3A division five years in the running and Coach Pike wasn't about to let the boys let a sixth title slip away. She'd heard them drilling at all hours the past weekend and wasn't surprised when Wells could barely keep his eyes open during their tutoring session the next Monday.
Clarke supposed she could be grateful that Wells' father had agreed to let him home school with Clarke. Thelonius was a stickler for tradition, but when Coach Pike had agreed to let Wells play for the team even if he home schooled, the deal had been done. It was a lot better than the previous three years where it had only been Clarke and Mrs. Kane droning on for hours about everything from the best chicken soup stock to the American Revolution. She loved Mrs. Kane, but the woman could put an agitated lion to sleep. Now, at least, she had Wells to whisper snide comments to while Mrs. Kane extolled the virtues of her new knitting needles.
She hadn't been to public school since 5th grade, when her parents had asked her if she was serious about figure skating. Then she'd still had visions of the Olympic rings dancing in her head, so they'd pulled her out of school, entered into a partnership with the Jahas at the rink and paid Ivan an obscene amount of money to uproot his New Jersey skating school and move it to the Hudson Valley. After that life had been nothing but skating with the occasional social experience with Wells, Raven, or her parents thrown in. It wasn't exactly easy to make friends when your sole occupation was freezing on top of a giant ice cube. So here she was, technically a senior in high school, with only Wells to keep her company.
Clarke stripped off her guards, placing them on the top of the boards, as she stroked onto the 3:15 session. Her blades dug deeply into the ice, ripping as she bent her knee deeply, beginning her power pull warm-up sequence. Her parents hadn't bought into an ice rink and paid Mrs. Kane for seven years to have a might have been. Time to get serious; she could worry about Bellamy Blake's disappearing act later.
Ten minutes and six triples later, Clarke spotted his mess of dark curls emerging from the Zamboni room. She nearly skated straight to him before she remembered how unwelcome she would likely be. Taking a deep breath, she felt a small portion of the pressure lift from her shoulders. At least she knew he was here today and after the session she could make good on her apology.
"Earth to Clarke…"
She blinked, realizing she'd come to a dead stop in front of the Zamboni doors. The voice behind her was familiar and definitely unwelcome.
"Finn. I thought you'd moved to Newburgh."
He shrugged, pushing back the light brown fringe falling into his eyes. "I tried, but let's be honest, Ivan's the best and I couldn't stand to be without you guys."
By you guys, he meant Clarke and Raven, the girls club hockey team captain. During their freshman year of high school, or at least Raven and Finn's freshman year since Clarke had been stuck with Mrs. Kane by then, there had been a dating fiasco of epic proportions between the three of them. Finn had made an ill-fated attempt to date both Raven and Clarke. The matter had been settled by a hockey puck to the jaw that had resulted in several surgeries and an eventual tempering of hostilities. Now Clarke was on friendly terms with both Finn and Raven, but had to endure Finn more often since they shared the ice more frequently. Not that she really disliked him. Often he was actually quite good company and in those horribly cold mornings in the depths of winter it was always nice to see a friendly face through the fog of her own breath.
"So you're coming back to Ivan?" Finn wasn't as serious as Clarke about his skating and had tested up to Senior, the highest competitive level, the year before. Clarke was still at Junior, hoping to still have a competitive shot at nationals and maybe a few smaller international competitions. More and more often she thought Finn was the lucky one, skating only for fun now.
He nodded, leaning back against the boards, arms crossing over his black Underarmor turtleneck. "I'm pretty sure Peter and Monica wanted to turn me into a pairs skater, or maybe an ice dancer. They couldn't believe that I really didn't care if I didn't make it to sectionals, let alone nationals this year. Peter kept telling me I was wasting my talents. It got old really quickly."
"Sorry," Clarke murmured. She couldn't help but agree with the Newburg coaches. Finn was too good to quit now, but if he wanted to do something other than skating, she wasn't going to stop him.
"No worries. So how's the Swan Queen doing?"
Clarke's teeth worried her lip. She wasn't actually sure how well the Swan Lake short was going. She'd had that amazing skate the day she'd been super mad at Bellamy Blake, but after that it was like the wind had fallen out of her sails. She couldn't bring herself to put enough emotion into the program and although the triple loop was back to normal, she could see the disappointment on Ivan's face every time she ran the program. Hell, she was disappointed with herself. Her ability to perform depending on her emotional state was too tenuous to work and she had no idea how to channel the emotional depth she'd experienced that day anyway.
"That bad?"
She'd forgotten Finn was still there, waiting. "Uh, it's been rough. Something about being a doomed lover that doesn't quite work for me."
A wry grin spread over his face. "You don't say." She tried not to blush. Their relationship, as brief as it had been, was the most experience she had. If awkward gropes under skate jackets counted as experience. After Finn, she'd sworn off relationships and despite a brief make out session with another Junior lady at sectionals last year that had been fueled by the emotional high of her perfect freeskate, Clarke had kept true to that declaration. A competitive figure skater really didn't have time for real relationships anyway. She couldn't even imagine Ivan's face if she told him she was in a relationship because it was absolutely never going to happen.
"Shut up, Finn." Clarke's eyes rolled skyward. "The short's a mess, but I love my long. It's set to Torn from High Strung. I didn't expect much from the movie and then I heard the piece they wrote for the ballet-violin mashup and I was in love."
"At least one program isn't driving you insane," Finn agreed. "I should let you practice before Ivan has both of us doing kill drills."
Clarke nodded and Finn disappeared into the blur of black pants and shining blades. She glanced back toward the Zamboni room, but Bellamy Blake was long gone and she had regionals to train for. Three weeks. Clarke took a deep breath and pushed Bellamy to the back of her mind. Two clean run-throughs and then maybe she could afford to check the lobby for his dark curls.