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“Don’t … Rhett! Fine, but only because it would drive me crazy if you kept something like this from me. First promise you won’t do anything about it.”
I laugh. “No.”
“I hate you.” He sniffles and the sobs pour out. “It’s so dumb, like, ice dancer shit you probably won’t understand, dumb. Scott told me today that he doesn’t want to do the Phantom routine we’ve been practicing all summer. He’s right. It’s overdone and the routine was too elementary. I just kinda feel like an idiot while also being disappointed that we’re tossing it.”
My teeth grind. It’s true that I don’t know the ice dancing world—I’m gonna after this—but I do know what he sounds like when he’s heartbroken.
“Are you being hard on yourself?”
“No. I promise he’s right, and even our coaches agree. I’m just being a child. That’s why I wasn’t even going to bring it up. I … I wanted to have something flawless. I wanted to have something to wow everyone with. But it’s true, I went to this school to work with people like Scott in the first place. I should be learning from him.”
Probably Scott’s words, but there won’t be any talking him out of this. I’ll have to go a different route. “Fuck Scott. I guess the routine will remain ours.”
We practiced the Phantom routine together when I was his ice cushion. I got kinda good at it—good enough to catch him at least. I’ve kept up the practice because Lo might need me again next summer when Scott hopefully gets eaten by a grizzly bear.
He laughs and it’s the music I needed to hear. “I think you just made everything better, gorilla. I like the thought of it being ours.”
“You’ll feel even better when you read Scott’s obituary in the paper.”
More beautiful hard-won laughter.
No, I won’t really kill Scott, but I have other ways of making his life miserable.
I tell Logan about Coach and my dad. I tell him to post a few things social media crowds will love.
“Please don’t be mad at Scott,” he says before I let him go.
“Do I sound mad? I’m the opposite of mad.” My body’s so tense, I might pull a ligament just sitting here and the icy chill in my voice is inimitable.
Jack laughs at me from across the room, shaking his head. Even he can tell I’m furious. Logan’s a Rhett bloodhound and there’s no way I’ve fooled him.
“You sound dangerous. C’mon, save it for me, baby. Phone sex later?”
I huff. He’s also the Rhett whisperer, apparently. “Fine, but this is the last chance he gets before I take action and that’s all I can promise.”
“Fair.”
Jack tosses a pair of shorts and a T-shirt at me, as I’m pressing to end the call, still pent-up with rage. “Here, big fella. Come down to the gym and punch the shit out of me.”
“Are you crazy?”
“I mean with the boxing gloves I saw down there. I have so many damn bruises from practice, it won’t matter. Need to get back into taking hits anyway. Besides, I might get a few hits on you, too, and Merc’ll love to hear that.”
* * *
Stepping onto Columbia University’s campus with its bright fall foliage and bustling student life makes me wish for one nostalgic second that I had gone to post-secondary school, if just for the experience. But then a band of campus rats scurry over my white Gucci sneakers. Nope, not for me. One of them stands on its hind legs, investigating my scent.
“Can you point me in the direction of Logan?” I ask it. The little creature squeaks, moving on, and a thin guy sitting on the steps pops a headphone off his ear, thinking I’m talking to him.
“Sorry, what was tha—whoa, hey! Aren’t you Rhett Elking?—”
“Shhh.Yes. Keep it between us and I’ll sign whatever you want. Some directions to Baker Athletic Complex would be helpful as well.”
I head down something he called a college walk that I call too many red bricks that need replacing, and after some twists and turns I pass a large statue of a lion on my way to the field. Their brand-new ice arena is impressive. Two rinks and stadium seating.
Logan didn’t know that I was coming. I wanted to surprise him, and I also wanted to watch him with Scott, candidly, and then I’ll know in about five seconds if changing the routine is all that’s going on.
I pull down my ballcap and keep my head down, attempting to blend in as I head toward the stands. But I blend in like an ape in a room full of cats. People stare and whisper. Thankfully, they don’t mob me.
