Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
When his face clears the shirt, several teenagers are gaping up at him. “Wait,” says one of the two boys sitting side by side in front of him. The kid’s name tag reads ETHAN KIM. “Are you the new counselor?”
“Seems so.”
“Um, wow,” the other kid says. “Feel free to take off your shirt at any time.”
Ethan elbows him to shut up.
Chase ignores the comment, tugs the fabric into place. “So, dudes, what do I need to know?”
“I’m, uh, Ethan, and this jackass is Joon-ho,” Ethan says. “We’re roommates. Both sixteen, both from Southern California. This is our third year with the program.”
“Nice to meet you,” Chase says. “Now give me the dirt. Who rules this place? Who should I avoid? Where do we get the best pizza? Which rules do they care most about, and which ones don’t matter?”
“They care about all the rules,” Joon-ho says with a snort. “And we’re not allowed to order pizza or leave campus.”
“But you’re probably allowed to leave,” Ethan puts in. “And, like, bring us back a pizza? For a treat sometime?”
Chase shrugs, promising nothing.
“Coach Pat is pretty intense,” Ethan adds. “You don’t want to get on her bad side. Also, watch out for the bunheads.” He gestures toward a group of girls seated a short distance away. “They’re, like, always auditioning for the next Mean Girls movie, if you know what I mean. The worst one is Melanie.”
Bunheads. Chase cracks a smile and glances toward them. Sure enough, they all have identical hairstyles. There’s a blonde who’s already staring at him.
“Ooh, you’re on her radar now,” Ethan says. “Not good.”
“But they’ll be nice to him,” Joon-ho argues. “Besides, things might be a little different this year now that we have Zoe. Might take ’em down a notch.”
“Who’s Zoe?” Chase has to ask.
Ethan gives him a skeptical look. Then he points.
Chase turns all the way around before he spots a lone figure gliding across the otherwise empty ice. She’s a young woman, wearing workout tights, a faded Western Mass sweatshirt, and earbuds. She seems to be marking a skating combination, each movement a flick, the mere suggestion of a glide or spin.
Even so, she moves more gracefully than most humans could ever dream to. As if her skates are an extension of her feet, and her arms are more fluid than a normal person’s.
The beehive sound around Chase dims. Or maybe that’s just how it feels. Suddenly this girl, Zoe, springs off the ice into an axel, as if she has a special agreement with gravity. The jump is so smoothly rotated that it looks like slo-mo. She seems to hover in the air before alighting again, only to pop immediately into a second jump.
The hair stands up on his arms.
“Everyone sit down!” Coach Pat calls, clapping her hands together. “Let’s go over some rules and expectations!”
Chase sinks onto the bench without being conscious of doing so. His eyes don’t leave Zoe. Having landed an exquisite combination, she casually skates backward for a half rotation of the rink, her expression inward and contemplative. As if she’s the only one in the arena.
“Shiiiit,” Ethan hisses behind him. “I should just quit, right? I’ll never skate like that.”
Zoe circles back around, and when the next jump comes, it startles him all over again. It’s the effortlessness of it. Well, not truly. He’s an athlete, too, and he knows that anything impressive requires a shit ton of effort. But damn. She has that X factor—that something special that separates the talented from the otherworldly.
He isn’t the only one who’s noticed. Every eye is on Zoe, who can’t even be bothered to notice. She’s at the far side now, facing the other way. Inside her own head.
But up front, Coach Pat is still talking, and nobody is listening. When their fearless leader suddenly realizes why, she breaks off mid-sentence, grabs her whistle, and gives it a shrill blast in the direction of the ice.
Zoe rotates smoothly, as if on wheels, and her eyes finally take in the coach and the crowd. But she doesn’t look alarmed. She simply nudges her earbuds out of her ears until they dangle on their little white cords and skates idly toward the nearest exit door, the one closest to Chase’s crew.
With a fierce frown, Coach Pat turns back to the crowd and resumes. “As I was saying, curfew is nine o’clock, lights out at ten. We’re getting an early start tomorrow morning…”
As if on autopilot, Zoe steps over the first row of the bleachers and then sits down on the next one, in a spot that just happens to be five feet away from Chase. There’s a careworn Western Mass duffel bag stashed there, and she pulls a pair of skate guards from the outer pocket.
“Breakfast ends promptly at eight, and the days’ first sessions begin at eight fifteen. Always double-check the whiteboard for your assigned activity…”