Delta Girls by Gayle Brandeis Page B

ferocious, these girls, running toward him, grabbing any part of him they could reach, pushing Karen out of the way just to graze the sleeve of his workout jacket. She looked to her mom for help, but Deena just smiled and nodded, as if to say
It’s good for business. Let it go
. Nathan, of course, was in his glory, signing programs and shirts and bits of cleavage, giving kisses left and right. Finally, Deena stepped in.
    “Okay, cowboy,” she said. “Save some of it for the ice.”
    No
, Karen found herself thinking,
save some of it for me
.
    IN THE DRESSING room, a skater from Hartford cornered Karen as she hung her dresses from a hook on the cinder-block wall of the locker room. She had brought both dresses, even though they’d only be doing the short program today; she wanted the long program dress to soak in the competition vibe. “So,” she asked, “what’s it like, being with Nathan?”
    “Sexy sexy sexy,” said a skater from Rhode Island, pulling an elaborate makeup case from her wheeled bag. Her dark hair, like everyone’s in the room, was scraped back into a ponytail, glued to her head with glittery gel.
    “You would know.” A slightly older skater with Cleopatra eyeliner swatted her in the arm.
    “So would you,” the skater said back, hitting her with the chamois cloth she used to clean her blades.
    “Let’s take a poll,” said a skater from Vermont. “How many of you have been with Nathan?”
    Most of the skaters raised their hands. Only Karen and a fifteen-year-old Korean American girl from New Hampshire kept their hands down. Laughter broke out through the room like a rash. Karen was mortified—this was only Regionals. These skaters weren’t even the cream of the crop.
    “What?” the older skater said to Karen. “You can’t tell me you haven’t …”
    “I’m seventeen,” Karen reminded her.
    “Hasn’t stopped him before,” chimed someone else, leading to another round of laughter. Some of the women were peeling off their workout clothes, stepping into their competition dresses. She glanced at a breast and shuddered, thinking
Nathan’s mouth has been there;
she looked at a hip, and thought of Nathan’s hands. She could barely look at her own dress, hanging limp onthe wall. Its redness mocked her; so much empty, sparkly passion.
    “I THINK YOU should kiss me,” Karen said to Nathan as they stroked, hand in hand, around the rink during their practice session.
    “What are you talking about, little girl?”
    They each did a three turn, started backwards crossovers together, right over left.
    “During the number,” she said. “At the end. I think you should kiss me.”
    “Not a good idea.” At the center of the rink, they switched directions, switched hands, left over right. Other couples moved around them, blurs in Karen’s peripheral vision.
    “I’m not so little.” It came out more petulant sounding than she would have liked.
    “I have too much respect for you to pull a cheap stunt like that,” he said, and a sudden giddiness burbled up her spine. Respect. Of course. Those skaters in the locker room, those skaters now holding their own partners’ hands as they all warmed up, dodging each other left and right—they didn’t have his respect. Their trysts didn’t mean a single thing. Just skin on skin. Fleeting. Nothing. That’s why he hadn’t touched her again—out of respect. When she and Nathan finally got together, it would be total magic. Respect + passion = forever.
    “Besides,” he said as he lifted her over his head like an airplane, “your mom would kill me.”
    She looked down at him. “Screw my mom.”
    “Okay.” He grinned. “If you insist.”
    “Asshole,” she said as he let her down. Why did he always have to ruin the moment?
    He winked. “Ready for some throws?”
    She sighed and let him toss her through the air.
    ———
    FANS CROWDED THE bottom of the bleachers at the end of the practice session. They hurled teddy bears and flowers and