Flight Over Ice
by Tina Gao | Grade 9 | Scholastic 2023 | Flash Fiction | Silver Key
They lug their equipment to the edge of the rink each morning. The skaters. Leather condition, plastic guards, and extra jackets stowed neatly inside their bags. Teetering on sharp silver blades, they march across the rubber floor. The Zamboni, as big as a food truck, turns the last corner, trailing glossy, resurfaced ice, pushing accumulated snow, always forward. The skaters lean against the wall, watching the Zamboni inch towards its gate.
See that boy in the front, standing on his toe picks? That’s Johannes. He pushes himself up against the railing, glittery white skates flashing, motioning his freestyle routine: mazurka, crossover, half-turn, waltz… If he wins his competition tomorrow, his parents will buy the sleek black skates he’s always wanted. Then, he won’t be called anything, not a sissy, not a princess, but a champion.
Behind him, Cynthia zips her black figure skating club jacket. Despite two sweaters, sherpa lined gloves, and insulated ski pants, she shivers. She locks her eyes on the window, waiting for Tina, for her high, bobbing ponytail as she struts in slim leggings, bursting with gossip and awards from the latest tournaments. They will spin and jump in tandem, and Cynthia will peel away her coats. Sometimes though, Tina arrives too late, with too much to say, too much to show off.
Towards the back, Peter leans against his star-spangled Zuca case, legs crossed. Those lanky legs once launched into a triple lutz at the men’s Olympic qualifiers. A leap off the toe, three spins, descending onto the other blade. One slip. One slice. And then he was he’s back at the local rink with a hospital bill worth more than all the gold medals his case could carry.
The Zamboni crawls off the ice, dumping the cold collected ice crumbs into the drain, disappearing behind the rink. With a single, solid, slam, the gates shut. Peter stands up and stretches his newly healed legs. Cynthia turns away from the window, gazing at its wavering reflection in the ice instead. Lifting the latch, Johannes swings the door halfway open, releasing the chilly wind. that sprinkles excitement and adrenaline into each breath. One by one, the skaters step onto the ice. Sharp, silver blades stroke the surface, soft as wingbeats, gliding toward the edges of the rink.
Now, they fly.
