Ice Princess

[Lauren Lombardi]

The key slid home, the bolt turned, and Lauren passed through the door, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She noted the lights were on and the security system was off. It was a relief to have the owner already in the building. She locked the door behind her before making her way to his office long enough to say “good morning,” and then to the locker room to get changed. Within minutes she was on the ice.

“Is there a rink in Paragon?” “Did you look for a place to skate around here?” Of course there was an ice skating rink in Paragon. After five, she stopped counting how many people had asked her. It was a frustrating question. What did it matter to anyone else? She didn’t feel like answering the questions that were sure to follow. “I haven’t checked.”

By the end of her first week in Paragon she had already met with the owner and made arrangements to visit it before or after hours. It seemed he had a soft spot for figure skaters, probably because his daughter had been so enamored of the sport when she was younger. Lauren offered to pay for the private access. She even offered to pay double-time for any extra man-hours if the ice needed resurfacing.

“You don’t drive a very hard bargain, Miss Lombardi.”

“I don’t want you to have any excuse to say ‘no.’ This would mean an awful lot to me.”

More accurately, her father would pay for it, but Mr. Liebross seemed happy for the extra income.

She started off gradually, moving slowly in long graceful arcs and getting the feel of the ice. It was hard and cold, just like it had been every early morning she had come. Hard and cold. Fast ice.

Fast ice. Slow ice. Hockey players used those terms to describe the dynamics and feel of the ice. Fast ice is harder, colder, and has a smoother surface. Slow ice is warmer and softer. It may have a rougher surface. With so many skaters on the surface at one time, hockey games chewed up the ice too fast if it was too soft. Hockey players preferred fast ice. Cold and hard.

Figure skating is different. A hockey rink might keep the surface temperature as low as 20 degrees Fahrenheit. For figure skating, it could be as high as 28. It’s amazing the difference a few degrees can make. Softer ice grips the edges better, and doesn’t shatter as easily when you land on it after a jump. The problem, Lauren mused with a small amount of bitterness, is it’s already closer to its melting point.

She eased from a three turn into a short arc followed by a simple camel spin. With no lights on overnight and doors that weren’t opening and closing every few minutes, the air temperature was probably a brisk high 40’s. By the end of a session, the blades should be ice cold. Lauren could imagine them heating up as her body reacted to the cold until they were red hot. She smiled to herself. That was an exaggeration of course.

She tried an unsupported spiral, and frowned with disappointment. The difference might be subtle, but it was definitely there. She went through a few step sequences interspersed with the occasional spin or spiral giving herself time to get plenty warmed up. She played back the music in her mind and tried to lose herself in the performance, but it was hard to focus. She couldn’t shake the worry. When the time came, she thrust herself into an axel jump, allowing the thrill of the near-perfect launch to bring a smile to her face.

She landed with a harsh crunch, and the blade slid sideways. She panicked. She overcorrected once, twice, tried to regain her footing, caught her toe pick and went sprawling across the frozen surface with a quiet cry. She tried to catch herself and her forearm hit hard, flaring briefly with a dim flame. She put her head down on her arm and lay still for a few moments, feeling the cold air caressing her cheek. No one was watching, but it was still embarrassing. “Rookie mistake, Lauren,” she muttered. “Rookie mistake.”

She clambered to her feet, and stared at the just glistening surface. Lauren looked around, trying not to let the disappointment overwhelm her. The rest of the ice was still hard. Cold and hard. Fast ice.

Only she wasn’t a hockey player.

[Lauren Lombardi]

“Tomorrow, could you not turn it down, please?” Lauren flashed an appreciative smile at Mr. Liebross. Her spill that morning was proof enough that her idea wasn’t working well. After a week of trying, she still wasn’t used to the difference.

From his expression, he seemed to be expecting the request. “Sure thing, Miss Lombardi. I was wondering when you’d change your mind.”

“I had to try… something,” she offered. It was a lame answer, she knew, but it was all she had.

“If you don’t mind my opinion, you should have never tried turning it down in the first place. Your skates are just too little to have much effect on such a big sheet of ice when it’s that cold.” He could obviously see she wanted to interject, but he held up a hand so he could continue. “May I offer some advice?”

Lauren nodded mutely.

“If you keep moving and don’t stay too long in one place, you should do fine.”

“That makes it hard to do spins,” she quipped a little with a bit of a smirk.

“Then don’t do spins.”

In a way, his words echoed those she used with her coach a few months ago. Had it really been that long?

“We can change the program.”

“Fewer spins, more movement. It’ll be more dynamic in a way. I’ll never be in one place for long.”

Kurt nodded, but Lauren could see in his face that she wasn’t making much of a dent in his concerns. He didn’t have much of a poker face. In a way, that was good, because you could tell exactly where you stood with him in both his expression and his words. He was also straight up, and told you exactly what he was thinking with very little sugar coating. That was also good, since he probably couldn’t fool anyone with that face.

“You know there will still be complaints. Whether the effect is real or imagined people will be concerned about what happens to the ice.”

“If it melts, it’ll freeze again.” Lauren suggested with exasperation. “And you know they can patch it.”

“People will still be worried. That worry will affect their concentration. They’ll hold you responsible. Others will say it is affecting them, even if it isn’t. They’ll say that for their benefit and to throw off your concentration.”

Lauren put her hands on her hip and glared at him, but her voice was quiet, matter-of-fact, with only a mild hint of accusation. “You think I should quit.”

Kurt shook his head, “I think you should consider all the facts. You already have an unnatural advantage over…”

“Unnatural?!” Lauren kept that thought to herself, but it brought al her frustration to the surface. “What advantage? Doing everyday things, concentrating on the performance, I’m no stronger than anyone else. It takes a lot of effort.”

Kurt switched to his authoritative tone, the one he used to let her know that he might be her friend, but he was also her instructor. “Can you say that with certainty? Can you say that your...” He made an obvious pause. “...abilities give you no edge at all?”

What about that pause? And unnatural? Was Kurt one of those people who harbored prejudice against... What was the term? Metas? Did he think she didn’t deserve a chance because she was different? He had asked a question, though. Could she deny it? There was no way to know for sure. “No, I can’t,” she finally conceded.

“Lauren…” he started gently. Maybe he could see the worry in her face. Or the disappointment. He gestured for her to sit down, and took a seat on the bench next to her. Her put a hand on her arm, then looked for a second like he might move it. They were in the rink, and Lauren knew she would be warm. Unnaturally warm. But his hand stayed.

“Lauren, this is your decision. How we move forward is up to you. Yes, we can change the program. If you decide to do that, you must know what you will be up against. You cannot deny your superior strength. It will be enough challenge to get approval for that, but then…” He offered a shrug. They both knew it was a long shot to get the blessing of the ISU. Physical strength was only one factor out of many in a figure skater’s performance. Timing, agility, fluid motion, showmanship, but strength was a big factor in jumps and landings and holding your position in difficult poses, among other things. “Real, imagined, or made-up, people will complain about the effect you have on the ice, and if there is any display of fire, you will validate all of them. After that, there will be far more complaints than those from your competitors. It will be difficult… but if that is your decision, I will be with you.”

She shouldn’t have doubted him. He wasn’t like that.

“Miss Lombardi?”

“Hmm? Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Liebross. I guess I was drifting,” she admitted, a little embarrassed.

“I told you. Call me Jimmy. I asked what you think.”

“Sure,” she smiled. “Let’s give it a try.”

[Lauren Lombardi]

“Honey, maybe it’s time to try something new.” Lauren stood up from the couch in her father’s study and crossed her arms over her chest in a petulant stance.

“Did Kurt put you up to this?” It had been only a week since she talked to Kurt, and she and her father had just discussed the latest results and opinions from the most recent batch of “experts.” Now he was going to try to convince her to give up, too? She never expected that.

“What do you mean?” he asked, but she knew he and Kurt would have discussed it.

“Like you don’t know.” she thought. “You think I should quit, too.” This time, she allowed the accusation to flow freely.

“There’s a difference between quitting and bowing out gracefully when the time is right.”

Lauren helped her frustration deplete by plopping back down on the couch. “Everyone thinks I should give up before I’ve even tried.”

“No one is saying you should give up, but you should think about whether or not it’s the right time. We’re all behind you, whatever your decision. Maybe it’s time to move on. Maybe not. If it’s not, then fight for it. If it is, there is a difference, Lauren. If you know the time is right in your heart, it’s not quitting.”

After Lauren calmed down, they spent the rest of the afternoon talking. Lauren skipped dinner that night, apologizing to her mother to alleviate her concern, and spent the evening alone in her room. There were stories on the Internet of athletes, both professionals and rising stars, who turned out to be meta-human. Most were reported as scandals, with the assumption that they had concealed their abilities in order to cheat. Some came out on their own, announcing their retirement or simply withdrawing from competition. Almost no one left any kind of testimonial that she could glean any insight from.

She turned to thinking over her father’s words.

“You were given a gift. Now, you’ve been given another one.”

“You can choose a new direction on your own terms.”

“There’s a difference…”

Your terms. Your decision. Your choice… Yours

Was it?

Everything was her decision. Her parents never forced a decision on her. Instead, they offered opinions, suggestions, or differing points of view. They offered guidance. The decisions were hers, but more often than not she did what her parents suggested. Was it really her decision? Her father and Kurt thought it would be in her best interests to “bow out.” Her mother likely thought the same, but Lauren didn’t want to hear any more. She couldn’t help but feel pressured, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this was a cunning tactic her parents used that she never really noticed before. But… on the occasions she chose against their advice, they always backed her.

It wasn’t her decision to be strong enough to lift a car or to be a human bonfire. She didn’t have a choice to be different or not. She had to admit that she might not even get a choice of whether or not she was able to continue skating competitively in the end. Regardless of what they wanted her to do, her father and Kurt were right. This choice was hers. Maybe it was the one choice she really had in the whole affair.

She knew when she came downstairs the next morning prepared to announce her decision that she made the right choice. Maybe there were others who wouldn’t agree, but it was the right choice for her. She gathered her parents and Kurt.

She nodded toward her father. “I’m going to bow out gracefully. It's the right time.”



Another early morning brought another visit to the rink. Lauren had gone there nearly every morning after her first week in Paragon, and this wasn’t any different. Even though it still didn’t feel right, it was a lot easier to get used to the difference in feel than it was to get used to harder ice. She tried moves at random, with no program, no schedule, just skating.

But Lauren realized as glided across the frozen surface that there was a difference that day. Today she was going to stop trying to make things work like they used to. She realized there was nothing she could do to make anything, not just the ice, feel “right” as long as she was holding on. It was time to make things work the way they were.

It had been nearly a month since her arrival. This was supposed to be a fresh start, a new beginning. She had discovered Westbrook Academy and called her parents to the computer screen to have a look. After that, it seemed like a whirlwind. Phone calls, visits, records, days of discussions with her parents, packing, and somehow, one day, she was just there in Paragon City exploring the school led around by a furry boy people affectionately called “Fuzzy.”

Since then, she had visited the skating rink every morning trying to recapture some of what she left behind. “It’s the right time,” she reminded herself, time to really leave it behind, time to find something different, and maybe even time to go take Peyton up on her offer. If she wanted to indulge herself sometimes, there was nothing wrong with that, she reasoned, but skating wasn’t her life’s focus anymore.

[Lauren Lombardi]

A fair-haired man behind the counter nodded and smiled as Lauren hefted a pair of skates onto it with a thump. They looked like a cross between a figure skating boot and a rollerblade. “So… What do you think?”

Lauren shrugged. “I don’t know, Lance. My friend swears by them, but they’re really heavy and pretty sluggish.” When Lauren mentioned Pics to Jimmy, he suggested she contact Lance at his skate shop. Her skates were professionally fitted, and Lance was able to attach the Pic frames to an older pair of her boots and align them properly.

Lance nodded. “From what I hear those’re the most common complaints.”

“They’re not bad.” Lauren admitted. “With practice, I could probably make them work. I just feel so slow on them. Can we just put them back the way they were for now?”

“Sure,” Lance affirmed with a nod. “Just let me finish up another pair I’m working on.” Lance stepped partially out of view with his back turned to her.

“So you roll, huh?”

Lauren turned to find another teen standing behind and to the right of her. He was probably around her age, slightly shorter, with dark hair and a hint of Asian descent. She answered him with a wry grin and gestured to the skates. “What gave me away?”

He ignored the rhetorical question. “What kinda skates are those?”

“Pics,” she answered matter-of-factly.

“Never heard of ‘em.” He stepped forward and reached around her to pick one up from the counter.

Lauren was instantly annoyed. It was a minor thing, but to handle someone’s equipment without so much as a “May I?” was one of her pet peeves. She tried to sound polite all the same. “They’re for figure skating.”

“Figure skates? I thought that’s done on ice skates.” He thumbed the smaller rubber wheel at the front, seeming perplexed that it didn’t move. “What this for? Stoppin’? Like on quads?”

“They’re inline skates that simulate ice skates, so you can figure skate off the ice. That,” Lauren pointed at the small wheel, “simulates the toe pick. It’s used mostly for jumps. Now, if you don’t mind?” She reached to retrieve the skate. He handed it over with a shrug, and she placed it back on the counter.

“So you do jumps, huh? You do any other stunts?” Lauren wasn’t sure, but he seemed like he might be mildly impressed, though only mildly.

“On those? No, I haven’t had enough practice, but on ice?” It wouldn’t hurt to brag… just a little. “Sure. I’ve even pulled off a flip here and there in practice.”

He nodded and looked her up and down. She crossed her arms and gave him a smirk in return. “OK, girly. If you’re lookin’ to roll, you should come check out my crew. We’re lookin’ for new blood. But you’re gonna need some real skates if you wanna roll with us.” He smirked back at her and pulled a phone from his pocket. “Gimme your number. I’ll text a time and place.”

He held the phone in his hands, waiting. Without knowing why, she blurted out the digits.



So I gave him my number… That doesn’t make me crazy.

Lauren thought for the third time about heading back to campus. She stood on a street corner in Steel Canyon early on a Saturday morning occasionally shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She arrived ten minutes ahead of the time texted to her. The sun was still riding up the sky behind the eastern buildings, and a gentle breeze stirred the cool morning air. Traffic was light, and Lauren spotted six people heading in her direction at least a block away.

“Hey, girly! You made it!” The boy from the skate shop grinned broadly. “OK, then. Lemme introduce you…”

It was a quick flurry of new names and faces. There was Trixie with multi-colored spiky hair who supposedly knew every trick in the book. Skids was considered a master of grinds and slides. He had a dark complexion and seemed to like wearing sun glasses even in the early morning. The red-haired girl was called Airhead. Apparently she was a little spacy, but according to her friends she was queen on the vert, whatever that was. Skitch was named for what he did, though Lauren had no idea what one would do while skitching. Skitching? Doing a skitch? Whatever. Splatter got his name by having wiped out more than anyone else they knew. Yet he doggedly kept trying.

The boy from the skate shop turned to her with a flourish. “And I’m DJ. I usually bring the music. Now that you know our names, it’s your turn, unless you just wanna be known as ‘girly’ for now.”

“Lauren.” She looked the group over again. These people were not her usual style. “So, if you don’t mind me getting to the point, what am I doing here?”

“You’re gonna hang. Like I said, check us out. You like what you see? I’ll help you pick out the right gear. Then we’ll check you out. Come on. This way.” DJ patted her shoulder as he passed her. “And don’t worry, girly. We’ll getcha a better name.”

“Great,” she thought. “He must know Roach.”