*
The skates surprised me the most: their bulk, the very unnatural feeling of walking in them, the way I was sure I’d snap both my ankles within seconds of putting them on. Then there was the fact that I had to step onto ice—onto ice. Step onto it. I didn’t know how to do that, so with my skates on, I sat in the stands surrounding the rink, watching people do it for a little while, how they transitioned from regular ground to a surface so slick. Some people launched into big graceful laps, but I ignored them, scrutinizing instead the ones pulling themselves along the edge of the rink, hand over hand. I spent the afternoon in that latter category, so afraid to let go that even at the urging of the group and Ethan, I never tried it. My knuckles would hurt the next day; my arms and shoulders would ache. But despite never leaving the edge of the rink, I fell flat on my ass three times when my legs flipped out from under me.
The third time, Ethan glided over to where I sat on the ice. I was leaning back on my hands, Jillian’s mittens protecting them, but when he bent forward and sped over, his own hands tucked behind him, I pulled mine to my lap, imagining his skates sharp enough to slice off all my fingers.
—You OK? he said. That one looked bad.
I was sure my tailbone was now embedded into some other bone right above it. I tried very hard not to cry from the pain of it.
—It was, I said. You know what? I think I’m done for now.
—Fair enough.
He reached down a hand—no gloves for him—and I took it, my other hand latching on to the rink’s wall.
—This might not be for me, I said, letting go of him the instant I was up.
He let me inch back by myself, circling the rink a couple times as I did it, then joined me on the bench once I was safely off the ice and over the threat of tears.
—So, not for you, huh? he said, his hands clasped together between his legs.
—I don’t think so, I said.
We both looked at the skates wobbling on the ends of my legs.
—Did you at least have fun today? Even a little?
I told him yes, a little, and he grinned.
—Good! He clapped once and said, My work here is done.
—So this is work?
He shrugged and said, Sorta. Planning stuff like this, coming up with programs? It’s part of my job. But it’s fun, too, sometimes.
He raised his hands and curled two fingers on each into air quotes. You know, he said, building community.
He sat there as I untied the skates and struggled to pull them off. I tried to make that very awkward motion look smooth, because he was watching the whole time; I tugged at them—one foot, then the other—and searched my tiny, non-orca brain for anything to say.
He tapped his pointer finger on my knee and said, You interested in being an RA?
—Do people in Seattle say sketchy? I blurted out.
He reeled away from me on the bench.
—Are you saying I’m being sketchy? Because I’m not. I’m sure it happens all the time but I swear I’m not hitting on you. I don’t hit on freshmen – why would I hit on a freshman? And I don’t hit on freshmen with boyfriends. I’m not that lame.
I felt my face heat up despite the proximity of all that ice—though his face flushed so red it looked painful. I ducked down to hide my cheeks and tie my sneakers back on my feet, my legs feeling a thousand times lighter without the skates.
—Uh, no, bro, I said (mostly to my ankles). I’m really just asking that. I never heard sketchy before coming here and I didn’t know – whatever. But yeah, thanks for clearing up that other thing!
He shoved his hands in his hair and said, Oh, dude, no, I – you’re obviously cool, I didn’t mean –
—No, it’s fine.
I finished the last double tie on my laces and said, I really don’t care.
—I’d never heard sketchy either! Not before Rawlings. But everyone says it here.
—Good to know, thanks.
—Like everyone, he said out to the ice, his face still searing.
A girl out on the rink leapt into the air, spun, and landed perfectly, a spray of ice erupting from the spot her skate touched. We both watched her for longer than the move deserved.
—So the deadline is coming up – to be an RA, to apply, I mean. It’s a tough gig to get but it’s a sweet deal if you land it.
I thought about saying that sophomore year was a little up in the air for me right now, but I knew he’d ask why—that he’d ask because, if nothing else, he was someone whose job was to listen. Of course he’d ask why. I was only a couple weeks away from escaping campus without any other student knowing about the hearing. Out on the ice, the girl went for a second leap.
—Like for starters? he said to my silence. It’s free room and board. If I’m being honest, that’s a big reason to do it.