Will O Wisp | YA Novella

Chapter 1: Whatever

"I've known you for four years and all you ever do is complain," Ocean screams. He slams the heel of his skating boot down against the ice, sending a flurry straight towards his partner's face.

All William can do is control himself. If he acted by instinct, his left boot—the one he always takes off first, would be loosed and flying toward the other boy's skull. "Oh? So what if we have to do three more hours of practice every week, because you fell during nationals three months ago."

"Don't you love to run your mouth," says Ocean. His mouth twists into an ugly snarl whenever he's angry. The sight makes Will even more furious, as if he can't believe that he is the cause of the argument.

"Whatever," says Will. He's definitely had enough. Coach Burnaby left exactly two hours ago, leaving the two boys to the silent fury of the ice. Sometimes, Will swears he could hear it hissing beneath him. It reminds him that he is also to blame for the fall. He was definitely off balance that day. And when the top of his right blade dug into the ice before their final throw, all he could do was tuck in and hope that Ocean would catch him on the way down. His horizontal body completed all three rotations in the air, but he was definitely tenser than usual. In figure skating, where every muscle being controlled is crucial, it was just as big as a mistake as Ocean's. They went tumbling like face-planting into the ice was a promise of girls, gin, and a gold medal.

The Richmond Ice Arena has been kind enough to allow use of the rink after closing hours—5 pm to 12 am is their prime time to practice. The whole stands are empty, and all is dark except the spotlights against the ice—now scarred from their skates like knives against wood.

"The Olympics are tomorrow," says Ocean.

Sometimes, Will can picture him—his skating partner, the guy who put up with him for four years—on the edge of an emotional breakdown. He doesn't understand Ocean. Those turquoise blue eyes—which glimmer under the spotlights like twin jewels. And that blonde hair which is much lighter than his own. How all of those qualities mask someone so different but so like himself.

"I know, dude," says Will. "Way to state the obvious."

Then, after a long silence as they drift farther away on their skates, and the cold seems more biting than in every other training session, Will decides to follow it up. "They start tomorrow. But that's only the opening ceremony. Bearing the flag and dancing with that ugly ogre-thing mascot. And then the next day is the team event. If we break it down we could still squeeze in around 6 hours of practice."

"There you go again," says Ocean. He doesn't look like he wants to argue anymore. If anything, he looks ready to crash for tonight.

William, even being the smaller one—by exactly four and a half inches—always seems to tower over all the major decisions. They are almost the exact same age, exactly six months over eighteen. They have won three national championships together, at ages fifteen, sixteen and seventeen. At sixteen they managed to enter world's and placed silver. And tomorrow—as foretold by the beads of sweat across Will's own forehead—they will begin the height of their career. The 25th Olympic Winter Games held in none other than Vancouver, Canada.

On a plane that seated two babies crying on each side of them, they headed to Richmond in preparation. "Best not to get jet lag right before the competition," Coach Burnaby had said.

"One more time, then," says Will. He is too bothered to read any more of Ocean's subliminal messages. "Throw me one more time."

So they go, each other's echo as they fly counterclockwise for another try.

"Now, Ocean."

And just like that, Will is relaxed and lifted in his partner's arms, resting his left blade on Ocean's thigh while the other is lifted no more and no less than seventy-five degrees. At this stage in practice, his focus has to be razor sharp. He has to visualize himself in the air before it happens.

"Shoot me."

That's what they always say when their ready, and just like that—they're in sync. in the moment they are no longer enemies. They are only the two awkward young teens who met each other at the local ice rink in Halawa, Hawaii.

Ocean raises and releases, and Will twists with his body tucked in tight. Three rotations pass in half a second, and Will's vision blurs as everything melds into one shade of light grey. When he's caught and lowered back to the ice, he releases his breath. While spinning so quickly, breathing becomes something of second priority.

Will thinks that being caught is the most exhilarating part about skating. When there's a 0% chance that he and his partner would fall, that is when he can rest easy. When Ocean catches him—no matter how silent and/or volatile their conversation was beforehand—that is when the magic happens. They coined the term Will-O' Wisp, back when they were fifteen and more friends than enemies.

They collapse on the ice together. Both with matching black sweatpants, coupled with white jackets that Ocean's mother bought and embroidered just-for-them.

"Good job, O." Will only speaks once the ice has melted against their backs. When Ocean's so quiet like this, he really does feel like the one "running his mouth."

"Yeah." The word is more like a breath or whisper.

Let's go out for after-practice pizza, like we used to.

Will raises his head from the ice, dizzy and with every part of him aching. "Let's go back to the hotel."

A/N : Thank you for reading, and please vote and/or comment if you enjoyed! Continue on because Will & Ocean need someone to accompany them on their journey :).