Okay so a lot of people keep asking me about this story, and while I don't have the entire first chapter ready, I'm willing to give you guys a little blurb to keep you happy. :)
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Antarctica. I’m in freaking Antarctica right now, I swear - at least, that’s what it feels like. In reality, I’m crossing the threshold of the Ice Palace, and there’s nothing I want more than to walk back out into the Jacksonville heat. I’m not in the mood to spend the next eight hours of my life selling concessions. And I’m definitely not in the mood for the background noise of squealing children as they teeter on their new ice skates, or the grunts of hockey players as they slap one another with their sticks in hopes of impressing female onlookers.
Unfortunately, I have no choice. Due to the fact that I totaled my mom’s car last month, the Ice Palace is my future home - eight hours per day, four days per week, until the end of the summer. This is only my third shift, and I already want to set fire to the place - mostly for warmth. On average, the room temperature of ice rinks is supposed to be in the sixties - but I’m pretty sure Missy cranks it somewhere in the low forties. Freaking ice queen.
I guess I should be thankful, though - without her, I would probably still be out searching for a job, paying my mom back until I’m thirty. Applying at the Ice Palace wasn’t my first choice. But after being rejected by several restaurants, stores, and even weed pulling, I found myself accepting the offer from my old figure skating coach. For six years, she helped me train - until I threw it away at Nationals when I was thirteen. That day ended my skating career, and it was my intention to never enter a rink again. But, when Missy heard about the crash, she called to offer me a job, and I reluctantly accepted.
Because of this, I’ve learned to bring a jacket. Or three. And maybe a pair of fuzzy socks and a beanie. “Violet,” Missy calls out as I tug on my hoodie over my head. “You’re late.” I glance at my watch, and want to point out that, actually, I’m ten minutes early. However, I know my old coach well enough to realize that when she says one time, she really expects you there twenty minutes earlier.
“Sorry,” I mumble, stepping behind the concessions counter. “I guess I was walking kind of slow today.”
“You wouldn’t have that problem if you hadn’t crashed your mom’s car,” she points out. Although her tone is light, I can’t help aiming a withering glare in her direction. Missy glances at the thermostat on the wall and shakes her head. “It’s kind of warm in here - I need to go turn the temperature down.”
And with that she walks away, leaving me in all of my human popsicle glory. Perhaps a portable heater wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
*
“Ex-cuse me, can we please get some service over here?” My eyes whip around to the concessions window, where two little girls are standing with their arms folded across their chests. Ah, ice brats - I knew an encounter would come soon enough.
Let me explain to you a term that I coined in my skating days - seriously, can I patent this? An ice brat is a female figure skater between the age of five and sixteen that just needs to get over themselves. The kind of child who demands thousands upon thousands of their parents dollars to be put into competitions, and thinks that anyone who comes out of their mother’s womb not knowing how to do an axel is a peasant.
Standing before me are probably two of the biggest ice brats I’ve ever seen. They can’t be older than ten, and both have their hair pulled back into impeccable buns, despite having practiced for three hours previously. Their faces are covered in makeup, and their bodies adorned with competition costumes and glitter. The blonde one is sporting a pair of skates that must cost five-hundred dollars… each.
“Hell-o?” the brunette screeches, waving her hand. “Are you dumb? I said I want a water. I’m so thirsty.” Giving them both a tight-lipped smile, I reach into the cooler, pulling out two bottles of water, before one of them stops me, clucking her tongue. “I meant Fiji water.” I grit my teeth and reach back into the cooler, grabbing two of the rectangular bottles.
It takes every ounce of restraint I possess to not flick the water from my hands and onto their makeup-caked faces. Maybe I’m lucky and they’d pull a wicked witch - I would love to see them both melt into the floor. “That’ll be six dollars,” I tell them, trying to keep my voice level. I try reminding myself that once upon a time, I was one of them. And then, I snap because the little snots have the nerve to tell me to put it on their tab. Seriously? A tab. At a concessions stand.
“Oh, by the way,” the blonde one says, shooting me a sickeningly sweet smile as they walk away. “Did a clown throw up on your hair?” I glance down at the rainbow streaks in my dirty blonde curls and frown. I’ll be lucky if I survive the summer working here.
*
It's not much and you didn't even meet Duncan yet, but I hope it's enought to keep you wanting more. :)
Dedicated to my new friend, luckyelephant. She also made the great new cover. Check out her story, Saving Dolphins!
Also, there's a picture of Violet on the side. :)
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On Thin Ice (Editing)
Teen FictionFor years, Violet was known as the Ice Princess - until a terrible accident at Nationals not only brought an end to her figure skating career, but also transformed her into a rebellious, reckless, and rude teenager. Violet swore she would never set...
