Sixteen-year-old figure skater Madz Monroe flees SuperEdge Rink and her demanding coach, leaving on the locker-room mirror a lipstick manifesto that questions the purpose of her intense training. Determined to heal her aching body and spread her wings beyond the rink, sheâll close this chapter of her life by taking her final skating test. Easy enough if her wealthy parents didnât cancel her credit card.
A deal with her cute landscaper solves the money problem, sparks a crush, and leads Madz to make promises beyond the deal. However, when a medical crisis forces her into hibernation, she faces a major dilemma: how does she keep promises while hiding her illness and herself?
Whirling through medical and social abysses, Madz opens her eyes to a world of suffering and unsung heroes. If she fights hard enough, sheâll survive. But to heal, she must figure out who she is beyond the rink and find the answer to the question she posed on the locker-room mirror months before.
Sixteen-year-old figure skater Madz Monroe flees SuperEdge Rink and her demanding coach, leaving on the locker-room mirror a lipstick manifesto that questions the purpose of her intense training. Determined to heal her aching body and spread her wings beyond the rink, sheâll close this chapter of her life by taking her final skating test. Easy enough if her wealthy parents didnât cancel her credit card.
A deal with her cute landscaper solves the money problem, sparks a crush, and leads Madz to make promises beyond the deal. However, when a medical crisis forces her into hibernation, she faces a major dilemma: how does she keep promises while hiding her illness and herself?
Whirling through medical and social abysses, Madz opens her eyes to a world of suffering and unsung heroes. If she fights hard enough, sheâll survive. But to heal, she must figure out who she is beyond the rink and find the answer to the question she posed on the locker-room mirror months before.
The day I left skating, I was sure of one thing: I didnât know exactly who I was other than a girl who hurt too much for her chronological age.Â
My blades sank into the ice, and each stroke, each edge, each three-turn resisted, forcing me to push harder. My program demanded more energy from me because the record-breaking end-of-May heat had leached into the rink, softening the ice. Instead of gliding across a smooth sheet, I slogged through a field of frozen fractals bent on gluing themselves to my blades. Out of energy, I still had to pull off a triple axel. Double it, I thought. On my worst day, I could land a double axel . . . until that day.Â
My right hip slammed into the ice. Panting, I rolled onto my knees, then stood up, hunching until I caught my breath. I looked up, and just as I had expected, my coach was shaking his head. Not a normal uh-uh shake. A slow you-pathetic-loser shake.Â
I mentally flipped him the bird and thought, Iâm not subjecting myself to this anymore.Â
Instead of skating to my coach and completing my lesson, I hopped off the ice, hooked my guards on, and marched to the freezer humming by the lunch counter. There, I filled a plastic baggie with ice. Pressing it against my hip, I scurried into the locker room, tears stinging their way out of my eyes.Â
I reached into the side pocket of my skate bag and pulled out a tube of lipstickâred, the one Iâd used for my salsa routine. I leaned against the counter, pressed my lipstick against the wall-length mirror, and wrote the following:
We spend all these hours here skating, beating up our bodies. I donât understand why. Whatâs it all for?? A world exists outside these walls, where life involves more than ice packs & medals. Time to spread my wings & explore it. ~Madz
My mother would freak, but Iâd made up my mind. I shouldnât have been this tired and sore at sixteen.Â
I removed my guards and tucked them into my skate bag. I wiped the water off my blades with a clean, dry rag, then repeated the process with a second clean, dry rag. Blades are beautiful things. Shiny, strong, and sharp (if theyâre taken care of properly), they hold an edge, a vital component of staying in control on the ice. Each jag on their picks is strategically sized to grip the ice for a perfect launch into a jump.Â
I held up my skate, slowly rotating it before my eyes as if it were a precious gem on display at Tiffanyâs. Every knick tells a story, but that day, all the stories merged into one: Iâd beaten up them and myself for this sport. A tiny wedge of leather stuck up from the boot, so I pressed it back in. The damage had happened a week before, when my blade dug into the leather as I fell on an attempted quad toe loop. The slam contused the same hip I bruised five minutes ago.Â
At least I didnât fracture a vertebra like my best friend, Lindsey. It was a stress fracture caused by the repeated pressure her training had put it under. The problem came to a head seven weeks ago. Her body twisted when she fell hard after catching an edge on a rocker during her last maneuvers test.Â
I had a test to take myself, and Iâd need to do it soon.Â
I slipped puffy terry-cloth covers over my blades, packed up the skates, and pulled out my phone. I searched the internet for local clubs hosting tests. The highest-level freestyle test would be my final figure-skating test. It would close this chapter of my life and launch the beginning of a new chapter.
I found a test session scheduled for the next day at a rink I was familiar with; however, applications were due two weeks before. Then I noticed the test chair was Lindseyâs motherâs best friend.Â
Call me as soon as you can, I texted Lindsey. I need you to do me a favor.
I peeked out the door to find Nathan coaching Joao. Nathan wouldnât waste the last few minutes chasing me when he could spend it coaching his star student, whoâd won sectionals the year before and medaled at junior nationals.
âHey,â Lindsey said, peeking in, startling me. The rubber floor had cushioned her steps, silencing them. âWhen I left the gym, I saw you fall. Are you okay?â
âYeah.â I glanced in Nathanâs direction. His focus remained on Joao.
She opened the door wider and held it open. âIt looked like you walked out on your lesson with Nathan, but I know you wouldnât dareââ
âThe sessionâs almost over, and Iâm skipping the next one. Iâm tired, and the ice sucks.â
âBut I want to see your new program. Youâve skated on sucky ice before. Why arenât you looking at me?â
Cracking my knuckles, I looked up at her.Â
Her jaw dropped with a gasp. âYou did walk out on your lesson.â She peered at Nathan. âArenât you afraid heâll block you?â
âI skated a session before lunch and a session after. Two out of three isnât bad, considering I wasnât going to come here at all.â
She grimaced. âHeâs gonna block you.â
Blocking skaters from texting or calling him was, still is, Nathanâs F-you. For a few reasons, I didnât think heâd block me. For starters, he and my mother had a spiritual Type-A connection. Theyâd controlled my life in unison for the past six years, the harmony between them matching that of an Olympic pairs team: heâd dictate his life-controlling plan for me, and sheâd religiously execute it, setting up my lessons, practice sessions, competitions, off-ice training, sessions with my choreographer, meetings with my nutritionist. Another reason, sheâd always paid him and all involved in his plan on time. Finally, sheâs a powerful lawyer. Why burn that bridge?
âLet him block me. I have nothing to say to him anyway. Wait here.â I grabbed my skating bag from the locker room, scurried back to the door, and cracked it open. âI have to get out of here.âÂ
âYouâre pale. I donât blame you if youâd rather relax by your pool. Weâre all vitamin D deficient around here. Howâs your appetite? Do you want me to grab you some juice? Maybe your blood sugar is low.â
âIâm good, thanks.â Eyeing the swinging doors leading to the main entrance, I deflected the conversation. âHowâs your back?â SuperEdge was like a nursing home. Around there, Howâs your [fill in the blank]? was the standard conversational courtesy.
âBetter. The brace is off, and Iâm taking Pilates classes to strengthen my core.â She patted her abs. âIâll be back on the ice in a week. My mother says the new refrigeration system and doors will be in by then. With all the money this club takes from our parents, the ice should always be perfect.â
I craned forward to make sure Nathan was still on the ice. âDid you get my text?â
âMy mother has my phone.â
My eyes lasered into hers. âI need a favor STAT. Call your motherâs test-chair friend and ask her to squeeze me into her test session tomorrow morning. Iâll text you a picture of my credit card.â
She recoiled and shook her head. âNo. Have you lost your freaking mind? Youâll have to compete at the highest level, and no offense, youâre not ready for that.â
âIâm not worried about competing, but I would like to have something to show for all these years of training. Please. If youâre my friend, youâll do it. Trust me. This is whatâs best for me. And no matter what, donât tell your mother until after I test. Otherwise, sheâll tell my mother and sabotage my plan.âÂ
I stepped out of the locker room. âBeg the test chair if necessary. Or have her call me, and Iâll beg her. Text me what she says.â I hugged her goodbye. âWhen you have a day off, weâll have a pool party at my house.âÂ
As the Zamboni rolled onto the ice with its usual whine, the skaters hooked their guards on and scattered into the locker rooms. I scooted toward the door, hoping to make a clean break. My coach would have my butt on a platter for not skating the next session, not practicing everything weâd gone over during my lesson. At the moment, he was chatting with an off-ice trainer.Â
When the Zamboni plowed by Nathan, creating a temporary wall between us, I broke through the first set of doors, turned into the main office, and printed out a test application. Iâd need signatures from a parent and a coach. Nathan would never sign it. Iâd have an older girl I skated with a couple of years ago sign it. She coached at a nearby rink. Iâd text her once I got in my car and have her sign it before I drove home, where Iâd ask my father to sign on the parentâs line. He wouldnât understand the significance of the test as my mother would. He attended my competitions and shows and often asked how my skating was goingâthat was it. Mom was the one who navigated my figure-skating career.Â
I broke through the final set of doors, into the sun, which instantly thawed my face and limbs. The rink wasnât frigid, but the contrast between inside and outside was stark. I threw my skate bag into the back of my SUV. As the liftgate closed, I turned, jumped back, and gasped.
âWhere are you going? You have to run through your new program and work on . . .â
Gestapo. Jail warden. Possibly a warlock. These thoughts were not hyperbolic. When Nathan finished firing off the work-on list, I said, âMy kneeâs bothering me. Donât wanna push it.â
âLie,â he said.
âTruth,â I snapped back. He was right, though. I was lying. Honesty wasnât the key to breaking out of this prison. Earlier, my honest complaint about the ache in my chest didnât stop him from pushing me. So I didnât expect him to give me time off for the freshly bruised hip and sheer exhaustion I suffered.Â
Lindseyâs mother stared from the rink door. Go in and worry about your own daughter, my mind urged her, but the telepathic attempt failed. I was sure sheâd already texted my mother. They reported to each other when one or the other wasnât at the rink.Â
âThose in motion tend to stay in motion and be successful,â Nathan said, following me to the driverâs-side door of my car. âThose who throw in the towel become inactive and tend to stay inactive. Inaction leads to a lack of success, not to mention soft, weak bodies. Youâll become a soft, weak, unsuccessful person. And youâre so much better than that.â
âThank you? But you know Iâve plateaued, and to be honest, Iâm happy where I am. Iâm just as happy landing a single axel as I am landing a double or triple.â
âYou rarely land a triple axel lately. Itâs only one more rotation, Madz, just one more. Youâve done it before, and you can do it again. Same with your triple toe loop. Even your quad. All you need to do to skate clean is focus, nail the required elements, and remember to breathe. And eat some protein. When I told you to lower your BMI, I didnât mean donât eat.â
âI am eating.â It had become impossible for me to keep up with the calorie count needed for his lessons and off-ice training. âAnd one more rotation on my end of this relationship could mean another stress fracture.â Or worse, more blows to my motherâs rink-mom ego. Which inevitably would mean more ice time for me, more off-ice training, more Pilates, more bruises.
âYou havenât had a stress fracture since you were twelve, and the last I heard, your tibia healed and grew normally. Furthermore, youâre missing the point. Youâve shined in the qualifying series before and placed at sectionals. If you could get back to where you were last year, you could win sectionals next year, and placing at nationals wouldnât be an unrealistic goal. But you need to persist. Falling on the double axel was just laziness. You gave up before you even took off.âÂ
âFirst of all, the ice was so soft it felt like my blades were carving through paste. Second, youâre missing the point. You said not every skater peaks at âbest.ââ I finger-quoted the last word. âI reached my peak; now Iâm rolling backward. Besides, Iâve met my skating goals. I never said I wanted to medal at nationals.â
âYou told me you wanted to be the best.â
âI was ten. I loved to skate. And letâs face it: Iâd been skating at a rink where it was easy to be the best. Most of the kids skated once or twice a week. SuperEdge turned what I loved to do into a job. Sometimes a bodily war. Tell me. Other than coaching or joining a show, whereâs all this skating going to take me, even if I were to win gold at nationals?â
âIâm doing very well coaching.â
âBut youâve been stuck in a rink your whole life. Maybe I donât want that . . . no offense.â
He twisted his lips and stared at me for a few seconds. âI have to go back in. I canât force you to practice, but if you donât, Iâll have to let you go as a student. I have a waiting list of kids who want to work with me.â
My point, I thought. Skating with him is work. A body-weakening job. Skatingâs supposed to be fun. Yes, it requires major effort, but it should instill a sense of joy and strengthen the physique, not wear it down. âThank you for helping me become a really good skater, Nathan.âÂ
âWhatâs that?â He took the test application from my hand.
I cracked my knuckles and bit my lip. He could find out in a minute when and where I was testing and run interception with the chair. If he found out Lindsey played a role in getting me into the test, heâd hold it against her. Bad for Lindsey because she wanted him as a coach. She was on his waiting list.
âIâm testing out. Iâm done competing. Keeping my body intact is more important than medaling.â
He paused, stared at me, then pulled a pen from his jacket and signed the paper. Handing it to me, he said, âKnock yourself out, Madz.â
My jaw dropped. His hasty signing . . . hurt.Â
He turned his back on me and walked into the rink, ending our relationship. Nathan had one-upped my drama with a perfect execution of reverse psychology. Despite the impact, I wouldnât give in. Iâd use his signature to my advantage.
For the first time since he became my coach, he wouldnât be at the test with me. No biggie, I told myself. I could hear him coaching me in my sleep.
Sleep. Something I looked forward to catching up on.
My stomach fluttered as I accelerated out of the parking lot. Iâm. In. Big. Trouble. My mother might disown me. Iâd severed my tether to this place, and I already felt myself whirling, my life spiraling out of control. Not because I regretted my decision. Because I didnât know what was next for me.
The beginning sucked me right in. The pacing was excellent. The writing style was seamless and flowed easily. I especially enjoyed all the interactions between Madz and Gracie and the way the author crafted each character with unique and distinct personalities so that it felt like the world was completely fleshed out and real. This is the type of contemporary fiction I would recommend to anyone who wants a good book with depth, and gut-wrenching emotion, and who doesn't mind learning a thing or two about the daily grind of a figure-skating teenager.
Madz is brave. She is brave to say no. She has the courage to stand up for herself, her body, and her needs. She dares to do the opposite of what her parents want, what her coach wants, and what her sport thinks she should do. She's been pushed to the edge of her limits and she's not backing down on her decision. It is so admirable that she finally defines her boundaries and stands her ground on her decision to leave figure skating. It is so hard to change your daily schedule and to suddenly be free of an activity that didn't just take over your life but is your life. Figure skating is a defining part of who Madz Monroe is and without it, she will have to figure out who she is. I admire her so much and love how strong her personality can be. She's not just stubborn but full of conviction that's backed by facts. She's not just quitting because it's hard or uncomfortable. Madz is a role model for teenagers and adults in the way she navigates her world and her problems. "⌠asking him to help me takes nerve. But I have a lot of them, and I have to get going." (Kindle Edition, 77%).
There is so much going on in Madz's world! This book was not just about Madz and her journey with figure skating. It touches on so many emotional subjects and does each of them justice. The parts with Chelsea were especially emotionally gut-wrenching.
It was so hard to put this book down because I wanted to know what was going to happen in each of the internal and external conflicts. The tension between Madz and Will, the cute landscaper, was intriguing. The relationship between Madz and her mother was fascinating and all their interactions had such well-written dialogue.
The relationship between Madz and her skating and health was the most fascinating of all. It was this subject matter, after all, that drew me to this book in the first place.