International Kennedy Day is April 20th. Mark it in your calendars
because I have been forced to tell every single person that I breathe next to that this is her day. And her day only.
I don’t think Kennedy has stopped talking about her birthday since the second March was over. She has always loved her birthday more than Scarlett and I ever have. Our birthdays are at such weird times. My birthday
is in the midst of summer on June 16th and Scarlett’s is August 19th, just
before school starts. Kennedy has always had the perfect birthday. I have spent countless April 20th’ s with Kennedy to know that the day can always fluctuate depending on the weather. Some years it’s scorching hot and others the winter chill still manages to make an appearance.
We are in for a rainy day this year so we’re planning a party at our apartment. Kennedy wanted it to be a surprise, but she’s been helping us decorate and organise regardless. There is something biological within her that although she loves the idea of a surprise party, she also needs to be in complete control of what happens on her day. She chose the theme, the food, the decorations, and the music. Me and Scarlett are merely the ones
who have to put up the balloon arches and cover the house in silver decorations. The only part that we’ve managed to keep a secret are our costumes. She wanted to have a celebrity themed party where everyone has to dress up as their favourite.
Helping with the party has been a good distraction from my final competition later and everything Miles-related. I just about made it into the soloist finals against Grace Reed from Tipton College. I’ve had an idea for my final routine engraved in my memory since before competition season began. I always knew that I wanted to end with one of my favourite sequences where I can pay homage to multiple different figure skaters. Even now, just past eight am, I’m cutting it a little close to be at home instead of at the rink.
“Happy birthday, Kenny,” Scarlett yawns when she finally wakes up.
Kennedy and I have been up for almost an hour, sifting through a photo album from high school where we took Polaroids together and a ton of baby pictures that Kennedy printed out. We’re planning on hanging them up somewhere for tonight because there is no better way to yell ‘today is all about me’ than with millions of baby photos of the birthday girl.
“Thank you but my birthday wish is for you to stop calling me Kenny,” she frowns as Scarlett takes a seat next to her at the breakfast bar. Scarlett sticks her tongue out her.
“Well, it can’t come true if you say it out loud,” Scarlett retorts, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Do you always have to wake up so early on your birthday?”
“You only turn twenty once,” Kennedy says with a grin. “Okay, which picture says, ‘I was funny and cute as a kid, but I still am in a different way?”
She holds up four pictures, but they all look the same in some way. In one of the photos, she’s sat at her birthday party table at a play centre at the head of the table with a sad face. In another picture, she’s sat between me and Scarlett in McDonald’s in high school where she is sulking again. In the last two, she’s got the same miserable expression but one at a beach in South Carolina and the other in her childhood bedroom. As much as she loves to take pictures, all the ones that I have of her, she’s sulking in some way or giving me a death stare.
“I say the first one. You’re the centre of attention yet you’re still sad.
It’s so you,” Scarlett says.
“You’re so right,” Kennedy agrees, sorting it into another pile. “Are you two still not telling me what you’re dressing up as?”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “You need to have at least one
surprise.”
“Okay, fine. Will I be able to recognise you though? You can’t dress up as some famous figure skater because they all look the same to me,” Kennedy sulks.
“I’m not telling you anything,” I retort, my arms akimbo, trying to sound as serious as possible.
“Give me one clue,” she pleads, flashing her brown doe eyes at me. She turns to Scarlett flashing the same expression and of course, she folds.
“Okay, just one,” Scarlett begins, holding up her index finger to her as if she’s a baby. “One of us is going to be one of your favourite singers and one of us is going to be one of your favourite actresses.”
“Oh, wow, that really narrows it down,” Kennedy groans sarcastically. The theme makes so much sense for her because she spends so much of her time within celebrities’ lives. If I didn’t know how much she genuinely adored her favourite celebrities, it would be seen as creepy.
“Let’s just put these pictures up because I need to go soon,” I say, stepping away from the table full of pictures.
“You’re just trying to avoid telling me what your costume is,” Kennedy says, squinting her eyes at me.
“It’s going to be a surprise. A good one.”
“I might not be the only one getting surprised tonight,” Kennedy mumbles, flashing Scarlett a glance. Something unknown dances between them and I just push it off as I try to focus on what my day holds. Compete then party. I can do that.
“You guys are still coming to the show, right?” I ask, grabbing a water from the fridge.
“I get to watch you perform in the finals on my birthday that’s, like, the
best birthday gift ever. I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Kennedy beams. “Okay but if you need to leave early to come back here, that’s fine too,”
I ramble. As much as she can say she’s excited, I know some part of her is disappointed that my final competition has to land on her day.
“We’re going to be there, Wren,” Kennedy says, trapping me in one of her infamous hugs. “Now, go and practice.”
*
I know this routine like the back of my hand. It’s something I’ve been
working on and adding to over time for as long as I can remember. Coach Darcy told me to save it for last in case I get into the finals and now, I’ll finally be able to perform it in front of an audience.
The last few shows had a decent turn out although it was mainly the other teams’ supporters that came. We’ve been up and down the state competing. Nonetheless, coach and the dean are thinking about changing the curriculum format a little to adjust to the way that people perceive skating now rather than how it used to be. It just sucks that I wasted so much time trying to boost my image for them to change their minds at the last minute. The remaining five people on my team are trying hard to work on drumming up support but it’s too little too late. With Miles and I’s relationship going up and down, when we were together people were more interested but then after the video came out, everyone has gone back to how it was before. I’m counting on the rest of the team to get the support back up to its standard.
As I glide on the ice, it finally sinks deep into me that this is what everything has been leading up to. All the days where I would get nauseous with anxiety and bust my ass all day, has finally paid off and I’m only doing it for one person only. Myself. If my mom wants to live vicariously through me, she can do that in the by-lines but I’m not letting her control me anymore. I’ve found something liberating and brilliant about skating for myself. I listened to what Austin said and I held onto the part of me that
knows I’m doing it for me. It doesn’t feel like I need to do it anymore. I simply just want to.
The rink has stopped being a prison for me to work like a hamster in a cage and it’s become my sanctuary. My home. I feel most alive when I’m skating, when I’m able to let the music take me across the ice as if it’s second nature. I’ve started skating with the girls and our friends at the public rink in town and I can just enjoy myself. I can just live. And when it stops feeling like that, I’m going to stop. I’m not going to force myself into doing it to find what I once had. When it’s not fun anymore, I’ll find something else. I’ll have to.
After hours of practice, I go into the locker room and pull out my phone to talk to Gigi. I had to schedule an appointment to talk to my friend. She’s suddenly so busy with her series and doing her online classes that I’ve hardly had time to talk to her. At exactly three forty-four my phone lights up with a call.
“Hi, Emmy,” she says, followed by a long sigh.
“Hey, G, what’s the big news?” I ask, readjusting my socks on my ankle. “If it’s something to do with Mr Dixie’s immune system, I don’t want to know.”
“It isn’t,” she begins with a long dramatic pause. “I got a deal with Tiger Publishing Agency.”
My heart almost breaks in half – part joy and part jealousy. She has already made it so big as a semi-famous author through self-publishing, but this is different. This is her big break. My best friend the author. What is this life? As much as I am proud of her, I wish I could do the same.
“Oh my God, Gianna! I’m so happy for you. This is insane,” I exclaim.
She’s quiet over the phone for a second.
“It’s not insane. You were the one who told me you were sure that it would get picked up,” she replies.
“Either way, it’s great. I am so proud of you, Gigi,” I say. “You should come to Kennedy’s party tonight. It’s not going to be too crazy, and we can celebrate your deal.”
“That’s exactly what my mom said but I’m going to stay home. We could go out for lunch soon though?” she asks quietly. I don’t push her anymore on it. Growing up with her, I’ve always known that she would take a little longer than the rest of us to adjust to extreme social situations.
“That sounds good. I’ll text you later,” I say, standing up from the bench. “Wish me luck for my competition.”
“You don’t need my luck, Wren,” Gigi says before ending the call. I push down all the jealous feelings and try to be happy for my best friend. This is it for her.
I grab my duffle bag from my locker and walk down to Coach Darcy’s office. Her office is a large classroom that’s been converted into an office. Even though she doesn’t need all the space, she somehow managed to snag one of the coolest offices in the whole University. There was a rumour that she used to live in here because the room was so big, yet she didn’t need to use up all the space for the shrinking ice-skating team.
“Hey, coach. Are you ready to go?” I ask, walking through the open door. Coach is looking at her cabinet full of trophies for the school, zipping
up her coat. I’ve spent way too much time in here to know a story about every single trophy in the cabinet. A lot of which were won by my mom.
“Yes,” she replies without looking back at me. “Are you ready? This is a big competition, Wren.”
“I’m ready. I’m excited, even,” I say, only half lying. The fact that I don’t feel sick to my stomach is a good sign. She turns to me, her short brown her swishing over her shoulder.
“You sure?” she asks, walking towards me. She places her hands on my shoulders, squinting her eyes at me as if to study me. “All eyes are going to be on you.”
“If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working. I’m ready, Coach,” I say bravely.
“If you say so, chèrie,” she whispers.
*
I thought I would be nervous when we drove half an hour away from
Salt Lake. I thought I would feel that sick feeling in my stomach as I put on my silver figure skating dress. I also thought I’d feel a little queasy when I put on my lucky skates. I thought I’d feel worse when I saw the girls in the crowd with a very pregnant Austin next to them. But for some reason I’m not. I’ve spent the last two months preparing for this. I’ve put the work in. I’ve had no distractions. Even when they call out my name and ‘Flying’ starts to play, I feel settled. Even when I’m ready in my position on the ice, I feel fine.
I’m ready.
