Chapter 1: The Fall Before the Flight
Mei Lin didn’t fall.
Not in practice, not in competition, not even on the icy sidewalk outside the rink in the dead of winter. Falling was for the unprepared, the undisciplined, the weak. And Mei Lin was none of those things.
So, of course, the moment her skates hit the ice this morning, she slipped on a rogue shaving of frost and landed flat on her backside.
“Oh good,” came a voice from behind her, laced with a distinctively North American drawl. “You’re human after all.”
Mei Lin groaned, tilting her head back far enough to glare at the owner of that voice. There she was — Zoe Matthews, five-time Canadian national champion, Olympic silver medallist, and, apparently, a full-time menace. Clad in faded jeans, a hoodie with a cartoon donut on it, and a ponytail that looked like it hadn’t seen a brush since the last ice age, Zoe stood at the edge of the rink, coffee in hand, smirking like she’d just witnessed something divine.
“You’re early,” Mei Lin muttered, pulling herself upright with a wince. Her pride ached more than her tailbone.
“I’m always early,” Zoe said, hopping the barrier and gliding onto the ice without laces tied or permission asked. “But don’t worry — I won’t tell anyone your butt met the ice. It’ll be our little secret.”
“I didn’t fall,” Mei Lin said through clenched teeth.
“Right. You rested creatively.”
Mei Lin dusted herself off, resisting the urge to throw a skate at her new coach. She still couldn’t believe this was happening — that the federation had actually assigned Zoe Matthews to work with her in the final season before the Winter Games. Was it a reward or some cruel cosmic prank?
Zoe skated a lazy circle around her, sipping her coffee like she was out for a stroll, not standing on a glacial stage where dreams were made and broken. “So. Triple Lutz-triple toe again today? Or shall we continue the traditional dance of you pretending you’re not stressed, and me pretending I’m not watching you unravel like a cheap scarf?”
“I’m fine.” Mei Lin snapped, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “I’m always fine.”
“Mmhmm,” Zoe said, leaning in a little too close. “You know, I used to say that too. Right before I burned out so hard I almost turned my skates into flowerpots.”
“You’re not helping.”
Zoe grinned. “I’m not here to help. I’m here to make you uncomfortable until you figure out how to have fun again.”
Mei Lin stared at her. Fun? Was this woman insane? The World Championship was less than six months away. Fun was for people who didn’t care about gold.
Still, as Zoe effortlessly twirled away from her, humming some off-key pop song, Mei Lin felt something tighten in her chest. It wasn’t frustration, not entirely. It was… curiosity. Zoe skated like she didn’t care who was watching. Like the ice belonged to her. Like freedom.
And for the first time, Mei Lin wondered what it would feel like to stop skating for everyone else — her coaches, her country, her mother — and start skating for herself.
But before she could dwell on the thought, Zoe called over her shoulder, “Come on, superstar. Try not to fall this time — I’d hate to spill my coffee laughing.”
Mei Lin rolled her eyes. And yet, as she took her starting position, something dangerous and unfamiliar tugged at the corner of her mouth.
A smile.
