The door to our rink opened, and we both glanced over. Imelda, the camera crew, Ty’s manager, and two other people I didn’t recognize all stood there.
The cavalry had arrived. Fun. And they were all staring at my face with horror. I felt Ty tense up, his hands still clasping me close. He was trying, though, and because he was holding up his end of the deal, I’d hold up mine.
I patted Ty’s arm. “Let me handle this.” I pulled away from him and skated to the edge of the ice. “Morning,” I said in my most cheerful voice. “I was wondering if you guys would ever get here.”
The cameras immediately hovered around me, filming my brutally awful face at every angle. I couldn’t say I blamed them. Imelda moved to the edge of the ice and put her hands on my chin in a motherly way. “Poor Zara. What happened to your face?”
“Oh, that.” I waved a hand casually. “I was practicing late last night, and I guess I was more tired than I thought. I went to stop on my toe pick, but it wasn’t sharp enough and I miscalculated.” I smacked my hands together. “Boom, flat on the ice. Luckily, Ty was there to pick me up. He offered to take me to the emergency room but I figured it was just a little bump.” I touched the pink Band-Aid on my nose innocently. “Does it look bad?”
Imelda was giving Ty a skeptical look. She glanced at him and back at me, and I knew what she was thinking. Did the big, mean MMA fighter beat up on fragile little Zara Pritchard? “He came back to skate last night?” Imelda asked skeptically. At her side, Ty’s coach took one look at me and stalked toward his client, practically vibrating with fury.
“He did,” I said brightly, glancing back at Ty so he could back up my story. “We had a little chat last night, and he wanted to come back out and practice some more, so we did. We’re getting better, too. Did you want to see what we’ve been practicing?”
Ty’s manager looked at my swollen face, then back to Ty. Then back to me. “You said this wasn’t him? You swear?”
I blinked my puffy eyes in what I hoped was an innocent expression and not something hideous. “No. Ty’s been the perfect gentleman. Why would you think he’d hurt me?”
He looked back at Ty. “That wasn’t you?”
Ty crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands into his armpits. He forced a casual stance, though I could still see him practically vibrating with tension. “It wasn’t me, man. Chill.”
“I told him you’d all say that,” I exclaimed, and gave a fake laugh. “No, it was just me getting too ahead of my own feet. It’ll go away in time for the show.” And I skated back to Ty’s side as if that settled things and we were bestest buddies.
No one said anything for a long moment, and I pretended to check the laces on my shoes, waiting. Waiting for someone to call bullshit on us. Waiting for someone to tear into Ty.
“Oh. Well, okay then,” Imelda said. “Let’s get your measurements.”
I stood back up, looking at Imelda with a question in my eyes. “Measurements?”
The two strangers moved forward, pulling out measuring tapes and sewing implements. “For this week’s costumes,” one of them said.
“No sequins,” Ty immediately called out.
One of them looked up and wrote that down. “What about you, Miss Pritchard? Sequins?”
“I don’t care. So what are we wearing?” I skated over and tried to get a glimpse at the clipboard that one of the costumers was carrying.
“The theme for this first week is country,” Imelda said.
I made a face and looked back at Ty, hoping he’d share my dismay. “Really? Country? How are we supposed to skate to wailing banjos?”
“I have music picked out,” Imelda said. “And we’re incorporating line dancing, so this should be fun.”
I stared at her, an unpleasant look on my face. Line dancing? Fun? “We’re not dancing to classical?” I’d always been skeptical of skaters who picked trendy music simply to get more of a rise from the audience. After all, in ice skating, the only ones you really had to impress were the judges’ panel, and if you came out to rock and roll, there was always going to be someone that wasn’t a fan. Classical music was safe.
“‘Boot Scootin’ Boogie,’” Imelda announced cheerfully. “The required elements this week are toe step sequences, so it’ll be perfect.”
“Toe step what?” Ty skated to my side and looked over at me. “What’s she talking about? Required elements?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Every time you skate a routine, there are required elements that you have to perform to get a certain number of points. You can’t just go out there and skate whatever you want.”
He rubbed his shaved head. “I thought that was exactly what you did.”
I laughed. “Uh, no. There are all kinds of specifics. And our judges are going to be other figure skaters, so we’ll need to be as precise as possible.”
“Precise as possible to ‘Boot Scootin’ Boogie?’”
I shrugged. I’d never even heard the song. “If it’s what the network wants, it’s what the network will get.”
“Great,” Imelda said. “I like to hear that.”
“What size skate do you wear?” one of the costumers asked me, fingers poised over his iPad.
“Doesn’t matter,” I told him. “I’m using my skates. They’re all broken in the way I like them.”
He eyed my beaten-up, white leather skates. Then made a note on his iPad. “We’ll make some skate covers attached to your tights.”
“Fine by me.” I stepped off of the ice and moved forward. Immediately, the one costume designer wrapped a tape around my thigh, measuring.
That was…weird. Normally female skaters just wore tights, and they didn’t have to be measured to the extent that she was. “So what’s with the thigh measurements?” I asked casually.
“For your chaps,” the other said.
“Chaps?” Ty repeated. Then a low groan escaped his throat.
I shot him a deadly warning look. “Chaps are fine,” I said, even though I thought they were stupid, especially for a skating costume.
“Chaps are fine,” he repeated in a flat voice, his gaze on the pink Band-Aid on my nose.