Page 4 of 10 Things I Skate About You

Without looking back at me, he says gruffly, “You can stay if you keep out of my way, Red. Just try not to get too distracted.”

I open my mouth to respond, but he’s already turning to skate backward, facing me now, that insufferable half smile doing exactly what he intends it to do.

“I work better with an audience.” He winks.

How dare he. I do not pay attention to him because I like watching him, I study him for anthropological reasons. I am not and will never be his audience.

I stayed, and I skated my best program in months out of spite. But it had nothing to do with him. I mean, the spite had everything to do with him, but I didn’t stay because of him. I stayed because I came to skate and I wasn’t going to let Ms. Percy’s lack of email reply or Foley’s insolence stop me.

“That was some fine skating you did today, Red,” he says as he exits the men’s locker room. He’s shouldering his hockey bag, the strap cutting across his chest, and carrying his stick. Even weighted down by all that gear, he has a spring in his step after the excessive and totally unnecessary face-off footwork he practiced. “Guessyouwork better with an audience too.”

For once, I don’t even dignify him with a response. I’m on my way to the front office to have a word with Ms. Percy. “Why are you following me?” I ask, hearing him behind me.

“Well, I’m about to have a word with our friend Ms. Percy—same as you, I imagine.”

“First of all,” I say, speeding up as he catches up with me, “Ms. Percy and I have a professional relationship because I schedule movement-coaching classes with clients here. Secondly, just stop talking to me.”

“Top-tier banter, Red. Always a pleasure.”

The lights are on in the administration office, and Ms. Percy is behind the counter, typing at her personal laptop.

Ms. Percy has been running this office since I was in grade school, and she’s always writing something in a secret document on her laptop. She usually closes the laptop whenever people are around, but forgot a few times when I was in here. I spied words likethrustingandpulsatingandcorona. I asked her about it once when I ran into her at The Cosmic Cup, and she justgrinned and said she has an exhilarating hobby that brings in extra money to fund her home renovations.

She’s my hero.

Except when she doesn’t reply to my emails.

Entering and trying to shut the door in Foley’s face, I greet her with, “Good morning, Ms. Percy. I just wanted to ask if there’s a specific time that I should email you by on a weekday to ensure that I’ll get a response about next-day early-morning scheduling.”

She holds up her finger without looking up and then continues typing for a few seconds. “What’s another word forpebbled?”

Oh God.“Umm…”

“Cobbled,” Foley offers confidently.

“Hard,” I say. “Just go with the basics.”

“What?!” he spits out. “That makes no sense.”

She glances up at me, over her wire-rimmed glasses, and smirks approvingly. I get a thumbs-up for that. She types a few more words and then shuts the laptop. “Right. You’re here to complain because you showed up at six a.m. even though that slot was booked by someone else. And you”—she eyes Foley and says—“are here to complain because that’s what you do.”

That cracks me up.

“I’m here to ask what’s the point of booking a timeslot if other people are going to show up to ruin my solo rink time?”

“And yet I saw the two of you on the rink together, happily doing your own things. So it seems to me you agreed to let Miss Pogue stay. Which is what both of you have done every time the six-a.m. slot has been accidentally double booked or when there’s been confusion about the booking over the past decade.” Ms. Percy opens her laptop again and motions for us to leave her alone. “I have to get another five hundred words in before the peewee parents show up. Now, scoot!”

And that is how she’s ended every interaction she’s had with the two of us since I was sixteen.

“I’m gonna get this on the agenda for the next city council meeting,” Captain Frownypants mutters. “The Kincaids are rich—why can’t they upgrade the scheduling system?”

“Oh my God.” I roll my eyes as I very kindly hold the door open for him.

“You literally just complained about the same thing.”

“I didn’t complain. Did you hear me complain? I asked a very polite, straightforward?—”

“Passive-aggressive.”