Page 78 of Thin Ice

The lake had frozen hard after Christmas — four inches at the cove, more toward the center. The surface was rough in places, glassy in others, and the sky was low and white, and the cold tasted like metal.

I had two pairs of skates. Mine and my dad's old ones. Alex fit into my dad's weirdly enough.

Noah didn't have skates. Noah had boots and a red North Face puffer he'd owned since high school, and confidence, which turned out to be one too many things, because he stepped onto the ice and his feet went immediately sideways and he grabbed for Priya and she moved away.

"Priya!"

"I'm not going down with you."

"I'm your boyfriend."

"You're a risk factor." She skated away from him — smooth, low, arms behind her back, a wine-colored beanie pulled over her ears and Noah's scarf wrapped twice around her neck. She took the turn at the edge of the cove and came back around and Noah was still standing in the same spot, gripping his knees.

Noah regained his footing and called to her, "Where did you learn to do that?"

She didn't answer. Just kept skating.

"She's not going to tell you," I said.

"She's never going to tell me. She has these pockets of competence that she just deploys without warning."

"And that bothers you?"

"No." He watched her carve a figure-eight. "No, it really doesn't. She's amazing."

Remy was already gone. Black hoodie under a denim jacket that was too thin for the weather and he didn't seem to care. He'd laced up and hit the ice and within thirty seconds he was moving fast, cutting the surface in tight arcs, testing the edges the way he tested everything — pushing it until he found the limit, then backing off one degree. Low center of gravity. No hesitation.

He took a corner too hard and almost went down and caught himself with one hand on the ice and pushed back up without stopping. One full lap of the cove, fast, carving, and then he slowed and circled back to the bank where Ethan was sitting on a rock with his blue peacoat buttoned-up to his chin.

"Come on," Remy said.

"I'm fine here."

"You're not here to watch."

"I'm here to support. Emotionally. From land."

Remy skated to the edge and held out his hand. Ethan looked at it.

"I'm going to fall," Ethan said.

"You're going to fall. And then you're going to get up. Come on."

Ethan took his hand. Stepped onto the ice. His feet went immediately wrong — too wide, ankles buckling — and Remy caught him by the elbow before he went down.

"Bend your knees."

"My knees are bent."

"More. Lower. You're standing like you're waiting for a bus," Remy positioned himself beside Ethan, one hand on his arm, skating backward so he could face him. A completely different person than the one who'd just torn across the cove. "Small steps. Don't push off, just glide. Feel the edge."

"I don't know what that means."

"The inside of the blade. Lean into it. Barely. Like you're leaning into a wall that might not be there."

Ethan tried. Wobbled. Remy's hand tightened on his arm.

"That's it. Keep going."