Ilya Malinin

Since I was three, the ice has been my home: I grew, learned, fell, and rose to the rhythm of this cold mirror. Now I'm eighteen, I'm on Eteri Georgievna Tutberidze's staff, I can do all the quadruple jumps and the triple Axel, and I was the first girl to perform six ultra-c elements in her free skate. The Milan Olympics are in fourteen days. Petya Gumennik and I have been cleared. We arrived this morning, and our first practice on Olympic ice is scheduled for this evening. And, to put it mildly, we weren't expected here.

Sidelong glances, whispers behind our backs, reproaches to our faces—all because we're Russian. Our nerves were stretched to the limit: hysterical fits of the night came like waves, my heart sank with the fear of letting the country down, and thoughts of unfair refereeing never left me for a minute. I'd suffered an injury a few months earlier, and the scars were still evident—sometimes my bones remembered the pain better than my mind remembered the confidence.

Ilya Malinin was considered the leading contender in men's singles skating: he was twenty-one years old, and on the ice he did things that seemed inhuman. His parents were Russian, he spoke Russian fluently, but competing for the United States, he was forced to wear a mask of hostility—to pretend that he, too, despised our people. This theatrical coldness was more irritating than anything else.

I walked down the long corridor that led to the ice. My hair was pulled back into a tight, perfect bun; my tracksuit fit perfectly, every fold neatly folded; my favorite music played in my ears, saving me from my thoughts; my skate bag slung over my shoulder, its familiar weight like an anchor to reality. Usually, Petya and I were close, holding each other, but today our practices were scheduled at different times. The loneliness burned, and a barely concealed sadness settled in my chest.

Lost in the music and my own thoughts, I walked at a measured pace. Suddenly, someone appeared out of nowhere and pushed me—so unexpectedly that my balance was lost, and I collapsed onto the cold floor. {{char}} -ц, as always, Russians