Practice had more or less turned into foreplay.
But we had made it through another week. And as Ty murmured the routines of the other teams into my ear (I still refused to look at the TV monitors and watch for myself), I knew that we had a creative routine. The others had gone more traditional, less exciting. Someone had even worn red, which was a bold choice. Everyone knew that red was an unlucky color.
“You’re on in ten seconds,” the assistant murmured to us as we stood in the waiting area.
I looked over at Ty. He held his fist out, and I bumped it, then we went through our lucky handshake, getting our mojo on track.
“Go,” The assistant said and pointed at the curtain.
We emerged, and the crowd began to cheer. I waved as we skated to the center of the ice, and the roar of the crowd grew steadily stronger. They really liked our costumes. Excellent.
When we got to the center of the ice, I turned and faced forward, tucking my arm in Ty’s. He gave my hand a little squeeze and then we bowed our heads, waiting for the music to start.
The beautiful strains of Canon in D began to play, and as it did, we lifted our heads and stepped forward, paused, stepped forward, paused again, and continued to do so in an imitation of going down the aisle at a wedding. When we got to the ‘end’ of our sequence, Ty took my hands in his and we began to skate. We glided through the routine that I’d mapped out. No flash this time, just pure beauty and sweeping movements to go with the song. Over and over, our hands clasped and we turned in time with the music, our edges tight.
Then came the first partner lift. Ty picked me up, and I felt his grip slip a little. I wobbled, but he recovered, and I kept my body plank straight as we did another turn around the edge, though inside, my nerves were twanging. We’d almost messed up.
But he set me down gracefully, and the audience applauded, and we went on with the routine. The second lift? Went off without a hitch.
We finished the routine in a loving embrace, and the lights went down. The crowd went wild, and I hugged Ty happily. We’d done just fine.
“Sorry about that,” he murmured in my ear as we skated forward.
“It’s okay,” I told him with a pat on the stomach, my head tucked under his arm. “I wasn’t perfect either.”
“Please. You’re always perfect,” he told me.
Pleasure rolled through me at his words. Why did such a little, offhand compliment from him make me feel so incredibly good?
Then Chip skated up and gave us both a beaming smile. “Great skate, you two, and interesting choice of themes. I have to ask, though, is there romance blossoming in the air?”
I froze in place, looking up at Ty.
“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” he said into the microphone Chip held out for him.
That brought more cheers from the crowd.
“Zara? What about you? Anything you’d like to divulge?” The microphone was thrust under my chin.
I thought for a moment, and then said, “Ty is a perfect gentleman.”
A ripple of laughter echoed through the studio, and more clapping.
“Well, with those non-answers, it’s now time to see what our judges thought. Let’s go first to Penelope Marks.” Chip turned to her, and the spotlight shifted from us to the judging table. “What did you think?”
She toyed with her face-down scorecard for a moment. “While I did appreciate the clever twist of the costumes and the pick in music, I found technically that the entire routine was lacking. The lifts weren’t clean, and I’ve seen both of you perform better.”
She held up a three.
Boos chorused from the audience, but Penelope’s face was impassive. No surprise there. She’d hated us in week one, and she still hated us in week three.
The spotlight switched to Irina, and she smiled broadly. “I thought it was a beautiful theme choice, and I love the costumes. The dance was a little shaky, but we all have bad nights.”
Seven.
There was lackluster clapping from the audience, as if they weren’t quite sure how to take a seven. It wasn’t bad enough to boo, but not good enough to cheer.
“Raul?” Chip asked.
He drummed his fingers on the judging table, thinking. “I agree with Irina. I loved the artistry. However, I also agree with Penelope in that the execution was weak.” He sighed heavily, and then slowly turned over his card.
A five.
I clenched Ty’s hand tightly, disappointment crashing through me. 15 out of 30. We were going to have the lowest score of the evening. And it was totally unjustified. We had one wobble; that was it. My jaw clenched, I gave another cheerful wave to the audience as we skated away and stepped off back at the curtained staging area.
“Well,” Ty said, and looked over at me. “That was bullshit.”
“A lot of the time, that’s how figure skating scoring goes,” I said with a heavy sigh. “They have favorites and make sure those rise to the top, and we’re no one’s favorites.”
“No one but the audience,” he agreed. “They fuckin’ loved us.”
I just hoped it’d be enough.
Sure enough, when we skated back out at the end of the show, Ty and I were in last place. Emma and Louie Earl were in first, Annamarie and Serge were in second, and Victoria Kiss and her partner Toby had slid into third place, a full seven points ahead of us. All of the others had been graded extremely highly. Us? We were like the Bad News Bears of skating.
But we weren’t out yet. The audience could still save us. So I smiled and waved ecstatically to everyone and cast Ty a few flirty looks, since I knew they were no doubt wondering if we were a couple or not.
And hey, I wondered that too. So might as well make everyone think about it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
How do I feel right now? No comment. No fucking comment. — Ty Randall, Ice Dancing with the Stars, Post-Show Interview
~~ * ~~
The next day was full of tension. I went back and forth between being utterly convinced we were voted off and utterly convinced that the audience vote would save us. We’d been charming and fun. How could they not save us? But the judging panel had done their best to sabotage us, and it might not be enough to bail us out.
It was hard to skate and practice when you didn’t know if it’d be worth it. But I was an athlete, so I worked my ass off anyhow, and Ty and I worked on practicing some harder elements that we could potentially add to next week’s routine.
The hours passed slowly, but then we were off to the studio and dressing in last night’s costumes once more. Except now, it didn’t feel like as much fun as it had when we’d had hope ahead of us.
As I emerged from the dressing room, Ty saw my face and gave me a hug. “Hey. Either way it’s going to be okay, all right?”
I nodded, my throat tight with nervousness. But I let him hug me a minute longer, and then it was time for all of the skaters to go back out onto the ice.
Ty and I were the last couple to arrive, since we’d scored lowest, but I received a perverse sense of satisfaction when the audience cheered louder for us than anyone else. America loved an underdog. Maybe we’d be safe.
“Before I get to tonight’s results,” Chip said, a fake smile in his voice. “Let’s talk with our contestants about how they think they did last night.” He immediately skated over to us, and that dreaded microphone was in our faces again. “Ty and Zara. Are you pleased with your performance?”
But we had made it through another week. And as Ty murmured the routines of the other teams into my ear (I still refused to look at the TV monitors and watch for myself), I knew that we had a creative routine. The others had gone more traditional, less exciting. Someone had even worn red, which was a bold choice. Everyone knew that red was an unlucky color.
“You’re on in ten seconds,” the assistant murmured to us as we stood in the waiting area.
I looked over at Ty. He held his fist out, and I bumped it, then we went through our lucky handshake, getting our mojo on track.
“Go,” The assistant said and pointed at the curtain.
We emerged, and the crowd began to cheer. I waved as we skated to the center of the ice, and the roar of the crowd grew steadily stronger. They really liked our costumes. Excellent.
When we got to the center of the ice, I turned and faced forward, tucking my arm in Ty’s. He gave my hand a little squeeze and then we bowed our heads, waiting for the music to start.
The beautiful strains of Canon in D began to play, and as it did, we lifted our heads and stepped forward, paused, stepped forward, paused again, and continued to do so in an imitation of going down the aisle at a wedding. When we got to the ‘end’ of our sequence, Ty took my hands in his and we began to skate. We glided through the routine that I’d mapped out. No flash this time, just pure beauty and sweeping movements to go with the song. Over and over, our hands clasped and we turned in time with the music, our edges tight.
Then came the first partner lift. Ty picked me up, and I felt his grip slip a little. I wobbled, but he recovered, and I kept my body plank straight as we did another turn around the edge, though inside, my nerves were twanging. We’d almost messed up.
But he set me down gracefully, and the audience applauded, and we went on with the routine. The second lift? Went off without a hitch.
We finished the routine in a loving embrace, and the lights went down. The crowd went wild, and I hugged Ty happily. We’d done just fine.
“Sorry about that,” he murmured in my ear as we skated forward.
“It’s okay,” I told him with a pat on the stomach, my head tucked under his arm. “I wasn’t perfect either.”
“Please. You’re always perfect,” he told me.
Pleasure rolled through me at his words. Why did such a little, offhand compliment from him make me feel so incredibly good?
Then Chip skated up and gave us both a beaming smile. “Great skate, you two, and interesting choice of themes. I have to ask, though, is there romance blossoming in the air?”
I froze in place, looking up at Ty.
“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” he said into the microphone Chip held out for him.
That brought more cheers from the crowd.
“Zara? What about you? Anything you’d like to divulge?” The microphone was thrust under my chin.
I thought for a moment, and then said, “Ty is a perfect gentleman.”
A ripple of laughter echoed through the studio, and more clapping.
“Well, with those non-answers, it’s now time to see what our judges thought. Let’s go first to Penelope Marks.” Chip turned to her, and the spotlight shifted from us to the judging table. “What did you think?”
She toyed with her face-down scorecard for a moment. “While I did appreciate the clever twist of the costumes and the pick in music, I found technically that the entire routine was lacking. The lifts weren’t clean, and I’ve seen both of you perform better.”
She held up a three.
Boos chorused from the audience, but Penelope’s face was impassive. No surprise there. She’d hated us in week one, and she still hated us in week three.
The spotlight switched to Irina, and she smiled broadly. “I thought it was a beautiful theme choice, and I love the costumes. The dance was a little shaky, but we all have bad nights.”
Seven.
There was lackluster clapping from the audience, as if they weren’t quite sure how to take a seven. It wasn’t bad enough to boo, but not good enough to cheer.
“Raul?” Chip asked.
He drummed his fingers on the judging table, thinking. “I agree with Irina. I loved the artistry. However, I also agree with Penelope in that the execution was weak.” He sighed heavily, and then slowly turned over his card.
A five.
I clenched Ty’s hand tightly, disappointment crashing through me. 15 out of 30. We were going to have the lowest score of the evening. And it was totally unjustified. We had one wobble; that was it. My jaw clenched, I gave another cheerful wave to the audience as we skated away and stepped off back at the curtained staging area.
“Well,” Ty said, and looked over at me. “That was bullshit.”
“A lot of the time, that’s how figure skating scoring goes,” I said with a heavy sigh. “They have favorites and make sure those rise to the top, and we’re no one’s favorites.”
“No one but the audience,” he agreed. “They fuckin’ loved us.”
I just hoped it’d be enough.
Sure enough, when we skated back out at the end of the show, Ty and I were in last place. Emma and Louie Earl were in first, Annamarie and Serge were in second, and Victoria Kiss and her partner Toby had slid into third place, a full seven points ahead of us. All of the others had been graded extremely highly. Us? We were like the Bad News Bears of skating.
But we weren’t out yet. The audience could still save us. So I smiled and waved ecstatically to everyone and cast Ty a few flirty looks, since I knew they were no doubt wondering if we were a couple or not.
And hey, I wondered that too. So might as well make everyone think about it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
How do I feel right now? No comment. No fucking comment. — Ty Randall, Ice Dancing with the Stars, Post-Show Interview
~~ * ~~
The next day was full of tension. I went back and forth between being utterly convinced we were voted off and utterly convinced that the audience vote would save us. We’d been charming and fun. How could they not save us? But the judging panel had done their best to sabotage us, and it might not be enough to bail us out.
It was hard to skate and practice when you didn’t know if it’d be worth it. But I was an athlete, so I worked my ass off anyhow, and Ty and I worked on practicing some harder elements that we could potentially add to next week’s routine.
The hours passed slowly, but then we were off to the studio and dressing in last night’s costumes once more. Except now, it didn’t feel like as much fun as it had when we’d had hope ahead of us.
As I emerged from the dressing room, Ty saw my face and gave me a hug. “Hey. Either way it’s going to be okay, all right?”
I nodded, my throat tight with nervousness. But I let him hug me a minute longer, and then it was time for all of the skaters to go back out onto the ice.
Ty and I were the last couple to arrive, since we’d scored lowest, but I received a perverse sense of satisfaction when the audience cheered louder for us than anyone else. America loved an underdog. Maybe we’d be safe.
“Before I get to tonight’s results,” Chip said, a fake smile in his voice. “Let’s talk with our contestants about how they think they did last night.” He immediately skated over to us, and that dreaded microphone was in our faces again. “Ty and Zara. Are you pleased with your performance?”
