The older judge had left the panel.
He was looking directly at her.
“Nora Miller?”
Grace swallowed.
“Yes.”
Thomas’s eyes moved toward the skates.
Then back to Grace.
“Is Nora here?”
“No.”
“Are those hers?”
“Yes.”
He became very still.
Vivian Sloan appeared behind him.
Grace recognized her instantly.
Everybody did.
Vivian wore a black suit and a Northstar Academy credential around her neck. Silver hair cut neatly at her jaw. Perfect posture.
She looked at Grace.
Not the way fans looked at new talent.
The way people looked at something they had hoped never to see again.
“Who taught you that step sequence?”
Vivian asked.
Grace stared.
“My mother.”
Thomas Bell turned toward Vivian.
The movement was small.
But Grace saw it.
Something existed between them.
History.
Vivian smiled.
It looked practiced.
“I thought so.”
Grace frowned.
“You know her?”
Vivian’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
“We trained at the same rink.”
That was technically true.
Grace knew it was also incomplete.
Her mother had told her that much.
Nothing more.
Rebecca walked over.
“Grace needs to cool down.”
Vivian ignored her.
“Does Nora still coach?”
Grace shook her head.
“No.”
“Then who coaches you?”
“Mostly me.”
Charlotte blinked.
“What?”
Grace looked at her.
“My club coach helps with tests and competition paperwork. My mom fixes things sometimes.”
Vivian stared at Grace more carefully.
“You’re seventeen?”
“Yes.”
“Senior in high school?”
“Junior.”
“Interesting.”
Thomas Bell said:
“Vivian.”
She looked at him.
He continued:
“That sequence.”
“I saw.”
“It is the original.”
Grace looked between them.
“Original what?”
Vivian’s face went still.
Thomas seemed about to answer.
Then stopped.
Not his story.
Good instinct.
He looked at Grace.
“Ask your mother about the 2002 Northstar Winter Classic.”
Grace’s heart changed rhythm.
Her mother had skated that event.
Grace knew because she had found the program in a box.
NORA MILLER — JUNIOR LADIES — CEDAR RIDGE.
No results had been written beside her name.
Grace asked:
“What about it?”
Vivian spoke first.
“Nothing that belongs here.”
Thomas stared at her.
Vivian looked toward Grace.
“You skated beautifully.”
Then walked away.
Grace watched.
Charlotte whispered:
“That was weird.”
For once, Grace agreed.
The scores appeared three minutes later.
Grace had placed second in the qualifying showcase.
Charlotte first.
By 1.8 points.
Nobody was surprised by Charlotte’s technical score.
She had landed a triple Lutz-double toe and a stronger Axel.
Grace won presentation.
The scholarship committee would invite the top six skaters to a final exhibition the following evening.
One would receive the Helen Mercer Development Grant.
$25,000.
Coaching.
Equipment.
Travel.
Enough money to change Grace’s entire next season.
She should have been thinking about that.
Instead she sat on a bench staring at Thomas Bell’s business card.
ASK YOUR MOTHER ABOUT THE 2002 NORTHSTAR WINTER CLASSIC.
He had written the words on the back.
Grace turned the card over again.
Charlotte sat two benches away, replacing her guards.
After a while she asked:
“You really didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Whatever that was.”
Grace shook her head.
Charlotte looked toward the corridor where Vivian disappeared.