[Maddie’s POV]

A different coffee shop Victoria picks serves lattes with foam art so elaborate you feel guilty drinking them. Mine has a leaf. Hers has what might be a swan or possibly a deformed duck. I’m going with duck.

Thursday morning before Regionals feels like the universe’s idea of terrible timing, but here I am anyway, sitting across from a judge who could make or break my skating career while my relationship does its best impersonation of the Titanic.

“Thanks for meeting me,” I say, wrapping my hands around the mug like it might provide emotional support along with caffeine. “I know you’re busy with competition prep.”

Victoria’s smile is warm and genuine, the kind that makes you want to spill all your secrets. “I’m never too busy for a skater working as hard as you are. How are you feeling about this weekend?”

“Nervous,” I admit, because apparently honesty is my new strategy. “Really nervous. Things with Emily are strained, and I can’t tell if I’m nervous about skating or us or if it’s all one giant mess.”

Victoria takes a sip of her deformed-duck latte and regards me thoughtfully. “Can I ask you something? Be completely honest.” I nod, though my stomach does something uncomfortable, like it knows what’s coming.

“Do you think your relationship with Emily is affecting your skating?” Her voice is gentle, non-judgmental, like she’s asking about the weather rather than poking at the wound that’s been bleeding for weeks.

The question lands with the weight of something I’ve been avoiding thinking about. I stare at my leaf-latte, watching the foam slowly dissolve.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Everything feels tangled. I can’t separate what’s relationship stress and what’s competition stress and what’s just me being a disaster.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Victoria leans forward, her expression compassionate. “I’ve been judging for fifteen years. When personal relationships become enmeshed with competitive partnerships, it creates dynamics that are… complicated.”

“Complicated is one word for it,” I mutter, thinking about how Emily and I can barely breathe the same air lately without someone ending up hurt or defensive or both.

“I’m not saying you should end things with Emily,” Victoria continues, and I appreciate that she doesn’t immediately jump to relationship advice. “What I am saying is that you should be aware of how intertwined everything has become.”

“You’re roommates, training partners, competitors in the same events, and romantic partners. That’s a lot of overlap.” She’s looking at me, as if trying to get me to understand something.

I nod slowly, feeling something click into place. “It’s like there’s no separation. No space where we’re just individuals.”

“Exactly.” Victoria’s expression softens. “I’m not telling you what to do with your personal life. But at Regionals, I’ll be looking for clean skating, technical precision, focus. The judges notice the distraction.”

The words settle in my chest like stones. “Right. Focus with technical precision. All the things I’ve been terrible at lately.”

“You’re not terrible,” Victoria says firmly. “You’re dealing with a lot. But this weekend, you need to put everything else aside and just skate.”

“I can try.” The words feel hollow, because I don’t know if trying is enough anymore.

We talk for a few more minutes about training and preparation, but the conversation feels perfunctory now. When we part ways, Victoria squeezes my shoulder and says she’s rooting for me.

I sit in my car afterward, staring at the steering wheel and having what can only be described as an existential crisis. Is my relationship with Emily hurting my skating? Am I hurting Emily? Are we just hurting each other?

The thought makes my chest ache. Every conversation lately ends in silence or tension.

“I approach from the left,” I say, closing my eyes to visualize. “You’re in your starting position. I need to make sure my timing is perfect on the entry.”

“Right. And I need to trust you’re there when I jump.” Emily’s voice goes quieter. “We haven’t been in sync lately.”

“I know.” I open my eyes and find her watching me, and there’s something almost hopeful in her expression. “But we will be.”

We continue through the routine, element by element. Emily describes each transition, each lift, each moment where we need perfect synchronization. I add details about timing, about where I need to be mentally for things to work.

For the first time in days, we’re talking without tension. We’re just two skaters working through a program, partners trying to nail their timing. It’s almost like old times, if old times involved less crying and more actual skating.

“The final lift,” Emily says. “That’s where we need to sell it. Make them believe we’re a team.”

“We are a team,” I say, maybe trying to convince myself as much as her. “Even when everything else is a mess.”

Emily’s smile is small but genuine, and something in my chest loosens slightly. “Yeah. We are.”

We sit there for a moment, knees touching, the tension between us eased for the first time in what feels like forever. It’s not fixed—nothing about our situation is fixed—but for right now, it feels like maybe we might be okay.

Maybe that’s enough to get us through Regionals. Maybe that’s all we need right now.