Built for Speed: Winter Sports, Book 1 Read online

  I was shocked how easy it was to pull out in front of the rest of the group. No one challenged my position, but I worked to go faster. I loved the sensation of the speed. Maybe Lucas was right. Maybe I was born to go fast. Spontaneous applause erupted from the gathered crowd when I crossed the finish line in first place. I knew that my form was likely awkward, but it was good enough to glide through my very first race.

  Jordi high-fived as I stepped off the ice. He said, “I don’t like to brag, but I would have won big money betting on you.”

  He was also right about the ride home. No one listening would have guessed that I won anything during the day. We heard all about Eric’s victories. He won two races, and he was determined to make sure we didn’t forget it.

  Eric’s coach knew that I skated. He slipped me a business card and suggested that I talk to him about Milwaukee before we left. After we climbed into the car, we endured another monologue from Eric. This time it was an intricate dissection of each race he entered and his skills on the skates. Jordi and I looked at each other and sighed with relief when we arrived back on campus and exited the car.

  12

  Lucas

  “I’m so nervous, and it’s still three days away.” I held out a hand for Anna, and we both watched my fingers quiver. The selection committee at Jerry’s college asked to interview me over video chat. I had little experience with interviews, and I was nervous.

  “It’s just an interview,” said Anna. “You will be brilliant. I don’t want you to leave, but I know this must be exciting. I know how excited you were to spend time with Sophie. You need to make a whole lot of money; so that you can buy me an airplane ticket to America.”

  Anna earned a comfortable salary teaching, but she never traveled beyond the European continent. She grew up in a very modest household, and her parents taught her to be frugal. I suggested that she come with me sometime to visit Sophie, but I hadn’t yet succeeded in convincing her to buy the plane ticket.

  I said, “You’re more confident about how I’ll do than I am. I wish you could answer their questions for me. I’m an artist. I don’t talk for a living. I might do better if I could draw pictures for them.”

  Anna answered, “If you’re going to teach, you will have to talk. Remember when you explained to me how to do basic editing of my photographs on the computer? You are outstanding. You have inborn teaching talents. I could follow everything. You broke it down into the simplest parts, and I was doing my own work in no time.”

  “But that was one on one. Standing in front of a classroom must be different.”

  I was getting agitated and nervous just talking about what was coming up. Anna could see it, and she said, “Let’s order another beer. It’ll relax you. When you talk in the interview, be as simple and direct as you are when you’re talking to me.”

  It was my first job interview in years. Since we were on opposite sides of the ocean, I thought I was likely to answer questions on the phone. I was wrong, and I suddenly had to worry about not only the sound of my voice but also how I looked. I tended to wave my hands when I started explaining things. I knew that I needed to try and keep that in check. I asked, “Where do you think I should do the interview? Where should I be when I talk to them?”

  Anna flagged down a server and ordered our beers. She said, “I think you should do it in your studio. It’s beautiful. They might ask about where you work, and you can explain. You can even show them around.”

  I nodded and said, “That’s a good idea.”

  “Do you have paintings that you can set up on easels or hang on the walls?”

  I said, “I’ve sold most of them or given them away.”

  She sighed. “They would add so much.”

  I thought of the folios of sketches. I said, “I do have sketches that I’ve used for paintings. I have many from the past and a few that I’ve not yet turned into paintings.”

  “Oh, those sound excellent,” said Sophie. “If you want help, I can come with you to the studio and set it all up before they call you. It might help to have a second pair of eyes.”

  Anna was helpful. She kept my spirits up when I worried about peeling paint on a windowsill and a worn spot in the flooring. She said, “It’s an art studio, Lucas. It’s not your living room.”

  I tried to manage a smile in response. I said, “I don’t want to be such a perfectionist, but I can’t help it. I don’t want them to think poorly of me because something looks shabby in the room.”

  Anna shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know how you can believe that anything here looks shabby. I would live here. It’s a beautiful space. Where are the sketches you talked about?”

  I carried three oversized leather folios to a large table in the center of the room. The first one contained sketches of family and friends that preceded painted portraits. It was fun for me to look back through them and see my progression over time.

  The first several sketches were formal and static. The last few in chronological time were much more active. I sketched my subjects engaging in activities from talking on the phone to cooking a meal.

  Anna said, “These are fantastic. I especially love the action ones.”

  The most recent of the folios held my hockey sketches and my work on a portrait of James. I had the sketch that I created before we broke off contact and I thought of it as, “Happy James.” I did one more sketch of him after he disappeared from my life, and I called it, “Determined James.” I sketched him skating on speed skates instead of playing hockey. His jaw was set, and he was intent on winning a race.

  Anna gasped audibly. “These are gorgeous. They are the best that you have.” She held up the speed skating image of James and asked, “Who is this, Lucas? It’s not you, is it?”

  I understood how she got confused. A hood and goggles obscured most of his facial features. The sketch was monochrome and didn’t include color in the eyes. I said, “No, it’s not me. This is James.”

  “I thought you said he played hockey.”

  I said, “He does, so this is an imaginary portrait. The last of the hockey images is James, too. You can see more of his face.”

  Anna looked at me and said, “You’ve put him in your…” Her voice trailed off. The last time she tried to talk about racing on skates, I insisted that I didn’t want to talk about it. I was pleased that Anna respected my wishes and held her tongue. She said, “I’ll help you arrange these before your interview. You need fresh flowers, too. Spread them around the studio. They will brighten everything up.”

  When the interview began, my confidence was high. I loved how inviting my studio appeared. I was not only prepared to be asked questions. I knew that I would also be happy to welcome all the interviewers into my space if they decided to hop on airplanes and fly across the Atlantic Ocean.

  Anna brainstormed questions that she thought might be asked, and they were not nearly as tricky as I feared. She was familiar with educators and what they might want to know. I found it easy to talk about my goals and desires in the art field.

  Anna asked, “Is that what you really want, or are you painting us a pretty picture?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean moving to America and teaching painting. It’s a huge step if it’s not something that you want. Think about that before the interview. Make sure you want it, and you’ll do fine.”

  As the interview unfolded, I knew that I wanted the position. The panel of four people asking me questions were all individuals that I wanted to meet in person. They were both intelligent about art and encouraging about my career. They shared multiple compliments about my studio and Amsterdam. Two of them visited my city in the past.

  I ended the interview confident that they wanted me for the position, but I still had a long week to wait before hearing their decision. Anna told me that I was going to wear a hole in the floor of my studio with my pacing back and forth.

  She was at my side in the studio when I received the call. She clenched my han
d tight while I spoke to the provost of the college. Everything in the conversation was positive from the beginning. I whispered, “They were impressed that I had experience in juried shows.”

  Anna gripped my hand tighter with both of hers. She was petite, and her hands were small, but she could still grasp fiercely. I held my hand over the phone and said, “And they were impressed by my university records.”

  She whispered, “Oh, you have it, you have it, Lucas! This is so exciting!”

  I said, “Yes,” softly just before the end of the conversation, and then I tried to pull a joke on Anna with a dejected look on my face.

  She said, “You’re not fooling me, Lucas Bakker. I know what happened!”

  I couldn’t contain myself any longer, and I shoved a fist upward into the air. “I got it! I’m going to Chicago for a year! They said the contract can be renewed for a second year if all goes well.”

  Anna beamed from ear to ear. She said, “That’s so exciting. I’m happy for you. I’ll have to plan a trip to America.”

  I caught my breath, and I said, “The downside of all of it. I’ll have to tell my parents and say goodbye to everyone here.

  Anna shook her head. “We all know how exciting this is for you. We’ll miss you, but if anyone thought this day wouldn’t come, they didn’t know you very well. It makes perfect sense for you. Also, you get to spend more time with Sophie. I know how close you are to your sister.”

  I reached out for Anna’s hands and said, “You do need to come and visit. Sophie asks about you. She would love taking you on a girls’ day trip all over the city.”

  It didn’t take long for the image of James to appear in my head amid the celebration. It was likely that our relationship was over, but he clung to the back of my mind. I knew that part of me hoped for a reunion, and I thought it was possible if we were on the same side of the ocean.

  “When do you leave?” asked Anna.

  “Not until late summer. So I have plenty of time to decide what to bring and what to leave behind. I hope that Sophie and Jerry can help me find an apartment.”

  “The next few months will be so exciting,” said Anna. “Please keep me informed about everything.”

  I grinned. “You’ll be right in the middle of it all while I’m still here in Amsterdam.”

  13

  James

  We won the conference championship by a score of 2-0. I didn’t score either goal, but Coach Collins gave me a significant amount of credit for keeping the puck on our opponents’ side of the rink for most of the game. We needed to protect our lead, and the best way to do that was keeping the puck far away from our goal.

  I was part of a massive celebratory pile-up of our team members on the ice after we qualified for the national championships. It was my second time reaching the playoffs. The team qualified in my freshman year, and I went mostly as a bench player. I was the Jordi of that team. We were eliminated in the quarterfinals, but it was exciting to be a part of all of the hoopla.

  Jordi and I became good friends after my speed skating experience. I went with him to the track two more times and then decided to put it all on hold until fall. I was curious about a trip to Milwaukee, and I wanted to save up some of my own cash to make it a comfortable experience. Jordi said he would come with me, and we agreed not to mention it to Eric. Jordi said, “He will be there anyway, but he’ll be too busy to tell us stories when we’re at the ice center.”

  Jordi lay right on top of me in the on-ice pile-up. I wrenched myself to the right, and he went tumbling sideways along with at least three other players. The coaches skated out toward us, and Coach Collins said, “C’mon and get up. We don’t need any injuries from overzealous celebrations.”

  Jordi was laughing his head off by the time he stood up. He looked at me and asked, “Are you okay? You were almost on the bottom.”

  I winked at Jordi and said, “Maybe that’s where I like to be.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I need to hear about that.” Then he spontaneously hugged me and nearly knocked me down again. He said, “Fuck, James! We’re going to the championships! You’re going to play there. That’s amazing!”

  I said, “You might get a chance, too. I suspect Coach will try and squeeze you in at some point just to get the experience of playing in a big game.”

  Jordi reached down and straightened out his pads before gliding off the ice at my side. He said, “That’s awesome. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  When we entered the locker room, the whole team was still celebrating. In place of champagne, a few of the guys were spraying sparkling grape juice all over the place. Before one of the seniors got the chance to say the janitors were going to kill them, I heard a comment that they agreed to clean up the mess.

  I took off my pads and began pulling my street clothes out of the locker. I thought about taking a shower first, but then I decided I would do that when I got back home. Jordi said, “You’re not as excited as I thought you might be. Is there something wrong?”

  I knew what was wrong. I hung my head slightly, and I turned toward Jordi. “Do you remember that Dutch speed skater I told you about? He was the one I met over Christmas break.”

  Jordi nodded. “Yep, it sounded like it was a lot of fun racing him in Chicago. I think it’s cool that he got you interested in speed skating. You’re a double threat in winter sports now.”

  “I wish I could tell him about us making it to the national championships.”

  I saw the confusion spread across Jordi’s face. He asked, “Why can’t you?”

  I stopped myself from plunging ahead. Jordi knew that I was into guys, but I didn’t share details about my romantic connections. I said, “We had a falling out. We’re not in contact with each other. I can’t tell him.”

  Jordi put his arm around my shoulders, and he said, “That sucks. Sometimes I wish I could tell my grandpa about what I do on the ice. He played on a minor league hockey team, and he died before he was 50, but my grandma has told me a lot about his dreams. I’m living some of them.”

  I speculated about Lucas’ dreams while I listened. I leaned my head in toward the sometimes squirrelly freshman and said, “Jordi, you’re a good guy. Don’t let any of these guys in here ever tell you otherwise. I’m proud to be on your team.”

  We advanced to the quarterfinals, and I wondered if Lucas was paying attention on his side of the world. I was tempted to email links so that he could follow our progress. A couple of great action shots of me appeared online when I set up the winning goal that moved us into the quarters.

  My parents were in the stands, and Michael took off from school to watch me play. He pulled me aside and whispered, “Big brother, you’re my hero. I mean that, seriously. I love you even when I’m taking you down and pinning you to the carpet.”

  I laughed and gave him a shove. Then we both hugged. I said, “I love you, too. I’m looking forward to seeing you quarterback in a bowl game.”

  My dad watched our antics from a distance and shook his head. He was overflowing with pride in both of his sons, and I knew we were experiencing sports success that he dreamed about when he was in high school.

  Lucas wasn’t the only person I wished was around to see the championship games in person, but I knew that Meredith was watching from somewhere. There was no doubt about that. I wasn’t so confident about Lucas.

  The game leading into the quarterfinals was a hard-fought one. It was tied 2-2 into the last minutes. The last forty-five seconds were crazy and pivotal. One of our veteran defensemen wrenched an ankle and had to leave the game. It was Jordi’s opening, and he subbed in.

  Jordi immediately skated up to me and whispered, “I’m so fucking nervous, James.”

  I slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Just do your job,” before I skated away to take my position.

  Good fortune smiled on my team when we resumed play. I stole the puck, and a well-placed slap pass across the rink set up my fellow forward for a shot
on goal. We were suddenly up 3-2 with only thirty seconds left in the game.

  Unfortunately, it looked like karma was going to bite us in the ass when our opponents stole the playbook with a breakaway of their own. I watched Jordi mixing it up and trying to clear the puck away from our goal. I said my own quick prayer that his first time on the ice in a playoff game wouldn’t turn into a disaster.

  We had one of those moments when it felt like time stopped as the last seconds were ticking off the clock. I watched a forward from the opposing team push the puck in front of our goal. His partner slapped at it, and the puck sailed toward an unprotected spot in the corner of the net.

  At the last second, a stick appeared and slapped the puck free. It caromed into the boards, and I threw my arms in the air along with the rest of the team. The stick belonged to Jordi, and he saved the game with his first playoff appearance.

  I was the first to grab him, and I held on tight when the rest of the team knocked us to the ice. I heard Jordi shout, “I did it!” right before the team buried him in a mass of celebrating bodies.

  That was our last hurrah of the season. Our march was stopped in the quarterfinals once again. We were behind in the next game from the very beginning. The team that defeated us went on to win the national championship, so it wasn’t too painful of a loss. Jordi played the entire third period, and he saved a few more goals. He was on the path to being a starter in his sophomore season.

  As we exited the bus when we returned to campus, I asked Jordi, “So how does it feel to be a hockey hero?”

  With his usual humble attitude, he asked, “Me a hero?”