Page 70 of All Our Almosts

21

“I did ice skating as a kid, you know.”

Andy’s mouth actually gapes open. “You did?”

“Yup,” I say smugly as I tie up my laces. “Not much else to do in rural Minnesota in the winter. That and cross-country skiing, which I hated.”

“So you’re saying you actually did a sport?”

I shove his shoulder harder than usual. “What are you implying? That I’m not athletic?”

“That’s exactly what I’m implying,” he replies with two dimples.

“Well then why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”

“What money where what mouth is?” Andy asks, standing and testing out his skates.

I stand too, rolling my shoulders as an intimidation tactic. “I bet you I can do… three skating moves you can’t do.”

Andy opens the gate to the rink and lets me step out first. “Well that hardly seems fair. Will you give me a lesson at least?”

“I will, and I’ll even let you decide what you get if you win.” I glide out onto the rink, arcing around to face him with my hands lazily on my hips. (I may be showing off the tiniest bit.)

He follows, stepping onto the ice with caution and sticking to the sideboards.

“Hmm, okay…” he muses. “If I can do at least two out of three, you have to text Nolan and tell him you wrote an original poem that you want his constructive feedback on. And you have to actually send a poem.”

This has me doubling over in a full belly laugh. “Oh my god, you are deranged. Poor Nolan is going to take it so seriously.”

“What if you win? What do you get?”

“Okay, you’ve inspired me.” I start skating backwards as we chat (still showing off). “If you can’t do at least two out of three of the moves, you have to text Lia a list of your top 10 favorite things about me. No context, just ‘hey I wanted you to know my top 10 favorite things about Sophie.’”

“Easy.”

I stop against the side board next to him, looking down at our skates as I dare to ask, “Did you tell them about this, by the way? That we’re on a date?”

He shakes his head. “Did you?”

I shake my head, too.

Then we both start talking at once. “I just didn’t want to put pressure—” “They always overreact—”

Andy laughs, but it sounds nervous. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Come on,” I say, taking his hand. “It’s time for your lesson.”

“The score is now tied, Walsh.” I drift in taunting circles around him. “I admit your backwards skating was passable, but you horribly failed at the toe loop.”

“Way to protect my ego there, Soph.”

“It’s now time for your final test.” I make a little trumpet sound through my cupped hands and Andy rolls his eyes, but the twitch of his lips says he loves it. “Based on your undeniable mediocrity, we’re going to take it down a notch. This trick is called the bunny hop.”

Andy rolls his neck and shoulders, then rubs his hands together. “Bunny hop. Let’s do this.”

I take my time explaining the trick to Andy: start by skating forward, then push off with your left foot and lift the right to make an “h” shape with your legs. Land on the toe pick of the right and continue forward on the left. I demonstrate a few times too, as slowly as I can. Andy watches me with a deep crease between his brows, nodding along. He’s so serious that it almost makes me laugh.

Finally, he tells me he’s ready. He moves back about 10 feet, takes a deep breath, and goes for it. And he’s got gumption, if not technique. He’s right next to me when he jumps, but instead of landing on the toe pick, his right foot lands flat on the blade. Before he can stop his momentum, his foot slides out from under him and catapults his body backwards. His arms flail, grabbing desperately for support and catching the edge of my jacket before he backflops onto the cold, hard ice. I come barreling down too—shrieking as we hit the ground with a splat, Andy taking the worst of the blow. My body is cushioned by his, our limbs a mad tangle.