Blades

Chapter 9

'Better Than Love' is attached for this chapter - it took me a long time to find the right music for them. On my channel there's also a new trailer and playlist for this story, so check them out if you'd be interested.

Chapter 9

Sandy and I step from ice to matting without slowing down and stride to the benches. My legs wobble a little beneath me after several hours of attempting to do combination spins and twizzles. Our own laughter echoes off the walls around us.

"No, I swear," Sandy's saying as we take off our skates, "she was a vicious wee thing. No higher than my waist -" do NOT look at his waist, Freddie Carter "- but she'd aim to take your eye out every time she did a jump. I'm telling you, us Scots are competitive." I both love and hate how animated he becomes when talking about his old rink. Love, because it makes his eyes even more sparkly and his hands flap about in the most adorable way.

Hate, for obvious reasons. I never have been good at fending off the green eyed monster.

He waits for me to pack all of my things before standing up himself and then we sort of hang there, an unusual amount of distance between us. A pause. Then I take the initiative to actually open my mouth instead of just staring at the way he fiddles with his bag strap.

"So," I say, trying to fathom how we went from relaxed conversation to awkward in three seconds flat, "I'll be at your house in about an hour?" He looks relieved that I've spoken.

"Perfect. You got my address ok?" I wave my phone at him to signify that his text is safely stored. He nods, another one of his gestures that seems more for himself than anyone else. "See you in an hour, then." He turns with a small smile and practically bolts out the door.

I'd say that Sandy McConnell was a very confusing person if I didn't think that applied to everyone.

Mum is trying to contain the fact that she's more excited about tonight than I am on the journey home, but it's barely working. Like a lot of teenage girls and their mothers, we don't necessarily talk all that much and an argument is far from unheard of but, as in most cases, I can't deny that she's important to me. My Mum danced when she was younger, and lived through music, so between her and Charlie I've had the upbringing that I needed to feel the pull to move whenever I hear a melody. She knew nothing about skating when I asked to take it up, but she leapt at it because it was a chance to drag me out of the mud and football games. Even then, when it was so important to her, she managed to avoid being one of those really pushy mums at the rink, while always being supportive of what I wanted. I don't think I could do that. And although she's never actually said it, I can tell that she was almost offended when I slacked off a couple of years ago. I may have been the one who skated, but it was her who had got up at five most mornings just to drive me to the rink, her who had paid for all the lessons, her who had made make-shift bandages out of witch hazel pads and Clingfilm every time I fell over. When I suddenly started skating less, it must have felt like I'd turned my back on all of that work. After her initial concerns were proved unnecessary, she's been thriving on my renewed interest with the enthusiasm of Goldie as a puppy. She hasn't even whipped out her old favourite of "school before skating" once. As such, I allow her it.

As I sit on my bed post-shower and stare at my wardrobe (and stare, and stare) I consider that this is one of the few times that having a girl best friend might be more useful than Charlie. Not that I'd ever really replace him, but I can't exactly ask him about what I should wear.

It shouldn't matter anyway, it's not like it's a date or anything. I shouldn't care what I wear.

Except I do. I wonder at what point you're going to start admitting why?