Gold Medal Winter by Donna Freitas

Author:Donna Freitas [Freitas, Donna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2013-06-11T16:00:00+00:00

“I think we should have everyone to Luciano’s tomorrow evening like you wanted,” I tell my mother that evening. She is in the kitchen, having some tea before bed. “If that’s still an option,” I add quickly.

My mother brightens at this. “I thought you weren’t into the idea.”

I sit down at the table next to her. “I wasn’t sure about it at first. But now I am.”

“What changed your mind?”

Well, I think to myself, my afternoon included several under-the-breath remarks from Stacie and Meredith calling me a “Media Hog,” which made me feel awful and want to run away, and all Hunter said to me today was, “Way to steal my spotlight, Espi.” He said it with a laugh, but I wasn’t sure I bought it. People think I am trying to hog the spotlight, and I want to prove that I’m not. Maybe with a party, the other skaters will see I’m generous and not at all hoglike.

What I say is the following:

“I just think you were right and it would be a nice thing to do.”

“I’m glad,” she says.

I nod. Then I stare off into space while my mother finishes her tea. It’s late, and I’m tired and sore, and it’s been a long and not-so-easy day. “Full of right angles,” as Mr. Chen would say. Then again, it’s been a long and not-so-easy couple of days. It’s difficult not to wonder if they will only get harder going forward until the Olympics are over. Maybe I’m not cut out for the Olympics. Maybe this is all too much for me. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea.

Notice this big pile of self-doubt?

I realize this is what Libby would call a Shame Spiral, which she defines as a downward descent into a black hole of negativity. Shame Spirals are really bad for you. I need to stop this one before it’s too late and I’m so spiral-y I can’t find my way out again.

“Espi?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Sure,” I say. Nothing to see here. “Why?”

“You have a look of abject horror on your face.”

I smile. English may be my mother’s second language, but boy, can she knock it out of the park with the vocabulary sometimes. “‘Abject horror,’ Mamá?”

“Yes. Just like the girls in those horror movies who aren’t one of the leads, and suddenly the villain is coming to get them in some awful way, like with a chain saw, and they know it’s their time to go.”

“Wow. That is a vivid explanation of my facial expression.”

“Well, mi amor, it was pretty vivid. And worrisome. There isn’t some bad man coming for you. You’re one of the stars, mija. You just need to get used to it.”

“I guess so. It’s strange. It’s different. Maybe it’s not what I’m meant to do.”

My mother gets up and places her empty teacup in the sink. “I don’t think anyone is meant to withstand the kind of onslaught you did today,” she says.

Onslaught! My mother is racking up the SAT words.

“But with

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