"You got this, Mad,” I whisper to her. “Do it again.”

She nods, and her face reminds me of her dad, the way he looks on his campaign billboards. Eyes focused, chin set. A look that says you can trust him to get whatever job needs doing done. Mad takes her crossovers. She pushes. She jumps. One-two-three and there’s the extra half rotation and on the landing, her knee’s bent so low she’s almost doing a backward shoot-the-duck but by some miracle of anything and everything holy–

She. Stands. Up.

I have officially lost the triple Axel contest. I will never live this down, but I’m so psyched for Mad that I don’t give even a bucket of Zamboni sludge. Mad’s screaming and I’m screaming and Kate and Chris have forgotten whatever the hell they were fighting about this time. Mad throws her arms around me and I hug her back. Over her shoulder I see Igor watching, smiling, as our club mates pile on us in a massive group hug. Mad’s landed her triple Axel. I am not worthy to tie her skates, but for some reason she’s still my partner.

No, not some random, unknown reason. In the middle of the celebratory huddle with Mad, her body pressed full frontal against mine with her arms around me and her face buried in my neck, I know the reason she’s still my partner. And I also know that whatever I do, I can’t lose Mad.