I skated over to the side of the rink, picking up my water and removing my helmet. Around me, the boys did the same, gulping down water and wiping the sweat from their brows. It was chilly inside the rink, but not when you were skating hard for nearly two hours straight. Still, I know that as warm as I am now, it would do nothing against the raw New England night. Once the sun set, the temperatures plummeted. And nine o'clock was long past sundown.

The rest of the team filed out of the locker room and out the door, scrambling to their cars as they lugged their bags of pads behind them. I set about removing my own gear, wrinkling my nose at the stench. This aspect of hockey certainly wasn't glamorous. I was sure that I couldn't smell remotely pleasant after double practices four out of five nights a week. A Lady Shawmuts night plus school practice and Chicks WIth Sticks meant that I was practically living in at least some part of my gear. And it also meant about 6 hours at the rink.

I looked down at my skates, and then my sock-covered feet. On an impulse, I laced them back up and glided back onto the ice. It was my job to lock up the doors, and the zamboni was scheduled to run at ten. There was nothing stopping me from spending a little bit more time out there.

It felt a little odd to be skating without a stick in my hand and without being weighed down by my pads. Though practice had torn tracks across nearly every inch of the rink, I smoothly skated across the rough ice, throwing in a few crossovers at the turns. Without a need to race across the rink, I instead let myself meader, swirling in circles across the cold expanse. Just for kicks, I lifted up my back leg like the figure skaters that Mom loves to watch during the Winter Olympics. My laugh echoed loudly in the empty rink, leading me into a sharp turn. I swept one leg up as if to jump before thinking better of it. Just because I had learned the basic when I was teaching skating lessons didn't mean that I knew what I was doing. Basics I and 2 in figure skating lessons were really just basic skating skills, not necessarily "figure skating". But Eva had made me attend a few training sessions and I figured it couldn't hurt to try a few of the more advanced moves.

It certainly could hurt, I mused as I picked myself up from the ice. I haven't fallen without some "help" from the other team since I had been in elementary school, but I suppose trying to spin around more than once on one skate was asking a bit too much. Maybe a toe pick would have helped, but then again, it might have made me fall more. A little wistful, I unlaced my skates, pulling on a pair of soft winter boots. Nothing like a fall to bring back memories. All that experience told me that I would be sore in the morning. With one last look at the ice behind me, I slipped from the rink, locking the door behind me. It didn't take long to find Stanley, sitting in the only car waiting in the now-empty lot.

He smiled at me as I climbed in. I yawned in response, looking at the clock. 9:20. It wasn't that late, but I still needed to finish my English paper, though I had managed to finish the rest of my work in the hour between when school got out and Chicks with Sticks began. I'd be lucky if I managed to wake up at six AM. I wouldn't describe myself as a high maintenance girl or anything, but I needed a little time in the morning to get ready for the day. Half and hour was usually more than enough, but if I overslept…

Unfortunately, I knew myself too well. Not only had I fallen asleep while writing my paper, but I had also missed the bus. My english teacher was none too happy when I showed up late to first block without my paper. She pulled me aside after class with such a disappointed look that I couldn't meet her eyes.

"Cassidy, we've had this talk before. I know how much of a priority sports are to you, but we can't go on like this. School needs to be your main concern. I was really starting to enjoy reading your work this fall, but the second hockey season started it seems that your work stopped."

I look at her guiltily. It's not that I didn't care about school or my grades. Actually, I knew that they were probably as important as my skills when it came to college. No matter how good I was, no one was going to offer a scholarship to someone who wasn't decently intelligent. It's just that I felt really committed to Chicks with Sticks… and the school team… and I couldn't stop doing Lady Shawmuts. Of course, my ability to do all three hinged upon receiving good grades. I licked my lips, unsure of what to say. Luckily, the warning bell rang, and I was able to dart from the room, sprinting down the hallway to math.

As I suited up for practice I still felt stressed. I wasn't quite sure what I could do about this situation. Maybe I could ask for an extra credit opportunity? Or maybe I could find someone to help me run Chicks With Sticks. I'm not sure who I could ask, though. Darcy would be a safe bet except he was currently in England. And I would feel terrible asking so much of Mrs. Bergson after she had already helped me so much.

I attacked the ice, the puck, and my fellow players with a fierce passion. Anything to let out some of my feelings. From the looks I received at the end of practice, the rest of my team had definitely noticed. I heard some of the other guys laughing as they came out of the locker room.

"That time of month, Sloane?" one of them quipped. I socked him in the arm before turning into the girls' locker room. I shed my layers quickly, prepared to leave immediately. Today I had finished all of my homework before practice. Maybe I would manage to get 8 hours of sleep tonight. But hearing no voice in the hall, I quickly slipped my skates back on. It had been relaxing yesterday. It could help me forget about English for a little bit. At least I had managed to finish the paper since Chicks With Sticks was only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The extra hour on Wednesdays made all the difference. Hopefully I could receive partial credit. A zero would make my grade tank, and make my mother notice. She had already threatened to take me off of the Lady Shawmuts when I had gotten a 70 on my science test. Honestly, a C wasn't that bad!

I set out across the ice again, letting myself try some different moves. A little backwards skating. A few simple spins. Gritting my teeth, I tried the same spin from yesterday.

I was shocked when I managed to stay on my feet, but even more so when the sound of clapping reached my ears. I was all set to go off on whoever was mocking my skating when I opened my eyes to see Mrs. Bergson.

Instantly, my glare softened and I glided over to the entrance she stood at.

"Well, that wasn't something I would expect to see you doing. But nicely done, Cassidy," she joked, smiling warmly at me. I couldn't help but return her grin.

"Just fooling around. School's got me a bit stressed out," I confided.

She nodded understandingly.

"You know, you're welcome to stay a little later. I know when I was younger, skating was the only thing that let me feel…"

"Free," I finished.

"And I'm always here to help. It wouldn't hurt to have someone qualified to teach the rest of the figure skating basics. And I know that you aren't the biggest fan of figure skating, but if you took a few lessons yourself, I'm sure that you'd do wonderfully. You're more qualified than you think, and those girls really do look up to you, Cassidy. You're becoming quite the teacher."

I blushed at her praise.

"Thanks Mrs. Bergson. I'll think about it."

"Call me Eva dear, you know that."

I smiled at her again before heading into the locker room and grabbing my things. Her offer sounded surprisingly fun, but I wasn't sure where I would fit it in. My schedule was already jam-packed. But a part of me just wanted to help people learn to love skating like I do. Even if it was… figure skating.

The rest of the week passed in a haze of hard work. Practice, practice, some writing, a little math. By the time Friday rolled around, I thought I might drop. Thankfully, Shawmuts didn't practice on Fridays unless we had a tournament on the weekends, and my weekend was clear. I looked forwards to sleep, sleep, and more sleep, mixed in with a lot of eating.

By the time practice was over, I could gladly have gone home and straight to bed. But as I had every day of this week, I snuck back onto the ice. Eva had made me promise that I would come back Saturday night for a figure skating lesson, and I didn't want to disappoint her. So I had spent some time on the Internet trying to figure out what I would need to know. I stumbled my way through a few Mohawks until I felt satisfied that I could do them, but slowly. I could finally spin on one foot for awhile, long enough to make me dizzy. I felt really confident when my skates were on the ice- it was jumping that was the problem. I figured it probably had something to do with my hockey skates, but I wasn't really sure what I could do to fix that situation. Skate rental wasn't open when the rink wasn't open to the public.

I pushed those thoughts away and continued to whirl around the ice. Crossover into Mohawk. Three-turn. I nearly fell out of a spin when I heard someone else's voice call out to me.

"Hello? You there?"

The British accent told me all I needed to know. Not Tristan Jerkley again. Ever since I had run into him at the rink early into the fall, I had tried my best to avoid him. Luckily he was usually leaving just before Chicks with Sticks, having snuck in an hour of skating between when the high school let out and the elementary school kids arrived. He had made his position on hockey very clear and that endeared him to few people at the rink. I turned to look at him.

"Yes, you. Actually, Mrs. Bergson said that I could have the ice now before the zamboni. So I'd appreciate it if you could leave?"

I looked at him flatly.

"She told me that I could, after the hockey practice."

Before the conflict could escalate any further, the woman herself appeared from the door to her office.

"Cassidy, Tristan! So good to see you," she greeted warmly. I felt satisfaction when Tristan recoiled. Obviously he hadn't recognized me. I wondered why- there weren't too many redheads running around the rink. I took this as my opportunity to escape into the locker room, putting skate guards onto my blades and making a dash for freedom. The door shut behind me, and I sighed in relief, sitting down to unlace my skates. Thank goodness I had managed to avoid another encounter with the Jerk himself. Waiting a few minutes (or what felt like long enough for Tristan to be distracted), I walked out of the battered door.

I actually stopped in my tracks when I saw him flying around on the ice, clad in his usual blue spandex. Ordinarily I would have stopped to laugh at the ridiculous outfit, but I got a little distracted. He was good. Like, really good. He performed the (admittedly basic) combinations that I struggled with as if they were nothing. Mohawks which I had struggled with were used causally in connections. Tearing my eyes away, I walked out into the parking lot.

I couldn't let myself admit that maybe I was a little jealous. After all, it's not like I would ever want to be a figure skater, right? Or, what was it that he called it? "Ice dancing"? Personally, I didn't know the difference.

Back on Google at home, I saw the difference. To be honest, ice dancing actually sounded pretty fun. There wasn't the same emphasis on terrifyingly fast spins and lifts. It was more about spins than jumping, more like a dance than gymnastics. It seemed a little bit more approachable than figure skating, at least for someone who was so far not a big fan of the big figure skating moves. But whereas ice dancing seemed approachable, Tristan was not. And as scary as figure skating seemed, Eva was just about the easiest person to talk to.

I climbed into bed, a little confused at my own sudden interest. It's not like I had anything to prove to anyone. Especially not the Jerk.

But I couldn't get his analyzing gaze out of my mind as I fell asleep. It felt like he was mocking me. His eyes when he realized that it had been me who was skating had grown cold and judgemental. They told me exactly what he thought of me. And I found myself wanting to change that.

Score: Tristan Berkley, 1. Cassidy Sloane, 0.

I didn't like losing.