Worrying about what other people were doing was a waste of time and energy I’d learned that as a kid when other girls had nicer costumes and newer skates than me. Jealousy I had no right to feel, but couldn’t exactly ignore, pierced right through my sternum, and I hated it. Because no one ever remembers second place, unless you’re Ivan Lukov. No matter how hard I had tried, how hard I had trained, nothing. One silver banner to commemorate the single silver medal for a world championship sitting in the trophy case at the entrance to the facility.Īnd thank fuck there weren’t banners for every Cup or other competition he’d won along the years too, otherwise the entire ceiling would have been covered in colors, and I would have been throwing up daily.Īll these banners… and none of them had my name on them. Two butter yellow banners for every gold medal. Two red banners for every world championship. I was pretty sure his parents had adopted him straight out of Hell.īut at that moment, nothing else mattered but those hanging tapestries.įive different blue banners proclaiming each of the national championships he’d won.

Not because his last name was the same last name as one of my favorite people in the world, but because his first name reminded me of Satan.

There were other names on there right alongside his-the other miserable souls he’d partnered up with over the years-but it was his that stood out. For the most part, it was the same thing I’d been seeing for the last thirteen years.īanners with the same jackass’s name on all of them. Because I knew what was hanging from the ceiling of the dome-shaped facility.

Rolling over onto the cheek I’d fallen on the least amount of times, I blew out a breath of frustration, managed to keep the “son of a bitch” I really wanted to scream inside my mouth, and tilted my head all the way back to make faces at the ceiling, figuring out almost immediately that decision was a fucking mistake. This was the second day in a row I hadn’t been able to land a damn jump. They might have to if I didn’t figure out what I was doing wrong, damn it. My butt cheeks could handle another two hours’ worth of falls tomorrow. By the time I’d busted my ass five times in a row, I figured it was time to call it quits.

From lukov with love pages