[Maddie’s POV]

The ice at Lakeview feels different than it did a week ago. Or maybe I’m different.

It’s Tuesday afternoon and I’m running through my program for the third time, and every element lands exactly where it’s supposed to, which should feel good but instead feels like I’m a well-programmed robot executing commands.

Jump, land, spin, hold, transition. I stick a triple lutz that would’ve made me scream with joy two weeks ago, and now I just think: cool, another thing that doesn’t matter when the judges have already decided you’re not worth their time.

Coach watches from the boards but doesn’t say anything, which is somehow worse than criticism.

I finish the program and skate over, breathing hard but not winded. “Good work today,” Coach says, and her tone suggests she’s trying to convince both of us. “Clean landings on everything.”

“Thanks,” I say, because what else is there? She pats me on the shoulder and lets me go. In the locker room, I’m peeling off my practice gear when Ava Thompson appears next to my bench.

We’ve existed in the same orbit for months—teammates, but she’s Emily’s friend first, which made her off-limits when I was still pretending to be the ice queen.

“Hey,” Ava says, sitting down without asking. “That was some bullshit at the competition.”

I glance at her, trying to gauge if this is sympathy or pity. “What was?”

“The scoring,” Ava says, like it’s obvious. Like it’s not a massive understatement wrapped in profanity. “What’s happening to you and Emily isn’t fair. Everyone knows it.”

I pull my sweatshirt over my head, buying myself a few seconds to construct an appropriate response. Something dismissive, something that keeps the walls up. “Life’s not fair. Breaking news at eleven.”

It comes out more bitter than I intended, and Ava’s expression shifts. “Sure,” she says slowly. “But you don’t have to pretend it doesn’t bother you. That’s some ice queen shit, and I thought we were past that.”

The observation lands like a slap because it’s accurate. I’m doing it again—performing unbothered when I’m actually drowning.

“I’m not pretending,” I lie, and Ava gives me a look that suggests my acting skills have seriously deteriorated. “I’m just… it is what it is.”

“Right.” Ava leans back against the lockers. “Look, I know we haven’t really talked much before. You were busy being terrifying, I was busy being Emily’s friend, classic social dynamics. But that scoring was garbage, and if you ever want to grab coffee and complain about it, I’m available.”

I stare at her, genuinely surprised. “You want to get coffee with me?”

“Sure. Why not?” Ava stands, shouldering her bag. “Unless you’re still doing that whole lone wolf thing. But the offer stands.”

“Okay. Yeah. Maybe.”

“Cool.” Ava grins. “Text me when you’re free.”

She leaves, and I sit there alone, staring at my phone. It buzzes almost immediately—my father’s name flashing across the screen. The contact photo is from years ago, me at twelve, mid-jump, all enthusiasm and potential. I let it go to voicemail.

The walk back to the dorm feels longer than usual, or maybe I’m just moving slower, dreading the inevitable conversation. Emily’s already there when I arrive, sprawled on her bed with a biology textbook she’s definitely not actually reading.

“Hey,” she says, sitting up immediately. Her eyes scan my face like she’s trying to read a particularly complex equation. “How was practice?”

“Fine,” I say, dropping my bag by the door. “Landed everything. Coach seemed pleased.”

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