axel

::fourteen::

Point of View: north 

[Lace up your shoes

Ayo ayo

Here's how we do

Run baby run

Don't ever look back] {Check Yes Juliet; We The Kings} 

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 I've been pacing around my room for thirty minutes with a glass of chocolate milk in my hands. Do I go or stay? I have thirty more minutes to decide if I want to go the rink tonight or not.

I told her yesterday I'd be back, basically. And I want to go, I think. The problem is I don't want to fall again. I know I'm going to fall again, and I don't actually like falling very much.

Walking back over to my desk, I pull up the videos. There are only two. The one of her the first night, and the one of both of us last night. 

I split the one from last night into three segments, so basically three different little movies. I put the part of her teaching me and me trying and failing in one. Then I put the one where I finally nailed the spin in another. And lastly I put the one where she attempted the triple axel and fell into another. 

So now I have four videos, but none of them are enough to make an entire movie. I have enough material time wise, but not interesting wise. I need something else.

Sighing, I close the windows on the computer and put my glass in the dumbwaiter next to my desk. There are five floors in this house, and so mom had a dumbwaiter installed when we moved in. I think it's the dumbest thing (no pun intended) but sometimes when I'm feeling exeptionally lazy it comes in handy.

I spin around in my desk chair several times, making everything inside my head go wonky. I guess I'm going then, since I don't have enough information and stuff.  

A knock comes on my door as I'm standing on a chair trying to find my gloves from last winter in the back of my closet. "Yeah?" I yell, and it's muffled even from in here.

I crane my neck around to see who's walking in, and surpise surprise, it's my mom.

She walks in and wrinkles her nose at my laundry on the floor. She opens her mouth to say something about it, but I beat her to it and tell her I'll take care of it. 

She perches on the edge of my chair and cracks her long fingers. I've always told her she has piano fingers and that she should learn how to play, but she typically just brushes it off. 

"North, you know the Christmas Ball is coming up rather soon."

I groan and throw my head back in annoyance, and slam it into a shelf in my closet, making me fall over into the depths of it. 

When I pull myself together and get up, my mother hasn't moved an inch. In fact she's looking closely at her pinky nail. She probably chipped it.

She clears her throat, "If you're all done being dramatic."

My nose twitches. 

"Right, so the ball is in two and a half weeks. About right after Thanksgiving."

I nod and she continues.

"I would like for you to sing a few songs."

I start laughing. My mom would never even want me to do anything at one of her parties for fear of screwing it up, so what is this even about?