Being Sloane Jacobs by Lauren Morrill

Author:Lauren Morrill [Morrill, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 978-0-375-98712-0
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2014-01-07T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

SLOANE DEVON

Pairs sucks.

I was under the impression it would be half as hard. I thought my incompetence would stick out half as much. But it turns out pairs just sucks times two. It double sucks.

Even though we’re going to be exhibition partners, in class Andy is in the good group, whereas I am in the sucky group. And in most of the classes I’m paired with Roman Andrews, a lanky, pizza-faced blond guy from Kansas whose long program costume is an exact replica of Captain Kirk’s uniform. He started sweating the moment our names appeared next to each other on the training lists.

Then there are our coaches, Katinka and Sergei Bolosovic, former Russian national champions turned husband-and-wife coaching duo. Sergei doesn’t speak much English, so his coaching is mostly relegated to raised eyebrows, grunts, and strategic eye rolls. Katinka does her best to be supportive, but every piece of advice she offers sounds like it’s coming straight from the Cold War.

I can skate and spin, and I’ve been practicing all those arm-swishing movements in my room whenever Ivy’s not around to give me the evil eye. But when it comes to letting someone lift me over his head? That I’m not so good at. I have trouble putting my trust in a pair of arms that have roughly the density of a cooked piece of linguine.

“Sloane! You must go with dee lift!” Katinka skates over to center ice, where I’m flat on my butt, my legs out in front of me in a V shape. Roman is towering over me, sighing.

“You keep saying that, but I still don’t know what that means.” I mean to say it under my breath, but Katinka hears me.

“I know dis ees first time you do pairs. Ees not easy, I know dis. But you must try.” Katinka offers me about one-eighth of a smile, which in Russia is practically a hug. “When Roman lifts, you must lift. Breathe in with dee lift, yes?”

“Yes,” I say. I stand up on my skates and turn, eye to eye with Roman. Looking at his lanky arms and narrow hips, I’m thinking the lifting problem might not be only with me.

“Roman, you lift.” Katinka nods and crosses her arms behind her back. I’d feel more comfortable if she prepped herself to catch me, because it looks like the last thing Roman lifted over his head was his Han Solo action figure as he positioned it above his bed. No joke, the kid brought his dolls to summer camp.

“I’ll do my best,” Roman says, with another gargantuan sigh.

Katinka counts off, and Roman and I take off side by side. The move, which three couples before us all completed without incident, calls for me to drop back a stride. Then Roman is supposed to grab my right hand, pull me toward him, then wrap his hands around my waist and use the momentum to lift me straight up. It’s an “elementary lift,” as Katinka keeps saying, in that Roman uses both hands and I’m not upside down or anything, thank God.

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