Breaking the Ice

1| On Thin Ice

Andrea

The rhythmic beat of K-pop pulses softly in my ears as I sit at one of the back tables in the study hall, my AirPods nestled comfortably. The world around me fades into the background as I focus on the lines of my sketchbook, drawing out the delicate details of my next skating outfit. It's not just any outfit—it's the one for the Snowpoint Winter Classic, my favorite event of the year. The Snowpoint Ice Arena will soon be filled with local skaters and hopefuls, all fighting for a chance to advance to the Vermont Skating Championships. Winning that could be the stepping stone to something bigger, something national. But for now, all I can think about is how each stitch and seam of this costume must align with the elegance of my routine.

I press the tip of my pencil lightly on the paper, outlining the floral embroidery I plan to sew into the bodice. Sewing my outfits has always been a part of my preparation, something that connects me to each performance on a deeper level. When I skate, the clothes are just as much a part of the art as the jumps and spins.

I glance at the clock. It's still 8th period—my one free period in the day—and I'm using it to focus on skating. I could be figuring out the physics of a new jump or refining my routine, but today, I'm focused on this. A part of me already knows what I'll do once this outfit is complete. I want to incorporate subtle Filipino designs into my attire—something I've never seen any of the other skaters do. It's a way of blending both parts of myself into one: the figure skater who's fighting to reach the top and the girl who doesn't quite feel like she fits in here.

The bell rings, jarring me from my thoughts. I stuff my sketchbook and pencil into my backpack and sling it over my shoulder. As I make my way to the door, I see Kelsey and Arizona waiting for me outside, their faces lighting up as they spot me. My heart warms at the sight of my two best friends.

Outside the school, Snowpoint Academy's prestigious uniform clings snugly to my form—a crisp white button-down under a black blazer adorned with gold buttons, a dark gray bow at the collar, and a fitted vest underneath. My plaid skirt swishes with each step, and the cool autumn breeze makes me tug at the hem. My black loafers click softly against the pavement as we walk toward the student parking lot.

Kelsey beams at me as she swings her bag over her shoulder. "Drea! Please tell me you're coming with us tomorrow to pick out dresses for homecoming?"

Her cinnamon-colored hair catches the light of the setting sun, and her chocolate eyes hold that hopeful gleam I'm all too familiar with. Kelsey's always on top of things—organized and determined. She already picked out her dress, and I can see she was just waiting for me to say yes. But I can't.

"I wish I could, Kels," I say with a small smile, fiddling with the delicate necklace hanging around my neck. The small Olympic charm dangles from the chain, a gift from my mother. "I've got practice for the Snowpoint Winter Classic. Coach is already on me about perfecting the Biellmann spin, and I haven't nailed it yet."

Arizona, ever the optimist, chimes in, her vibrant red hair cascading in waves over her shoulders. "It's the weekend tomorrow! Surely you can spare a few hours to find a dress, right?"

I laugh softly, but the weight of skating presses down on me. "Trust me, I'll find time to get a dress. Just... not tomorrow. Practice comes first."

Kelsey sighs dramatically, shaking her head. "I know you're an Olympic hopeful, Drea, but seriously, you've got to live a little. You only get one senior year."

I don't respond right away, but the words echo in my mind. One senior year. It's true, and sometimes it feels like it's slipping through my fingers. My friends can spend their weekends shopping, planning for homecoming, and doing all the things typical high school seniors do. But me? I've always felt different. And not just because of skating.