Books About Ice Skating Novels & Stories

Leila's still frozen in place, staring at the skates. “Really, babe.” Josh skated up to her. “It's not that hard.” “Damn, Josh,” she huffed. “How many times do you think I've ever skated in Washington? Really?” “I kinda figured everyone had at some point.” He looked at me. “Don't tell me – you've never skated either, right, Sandra?” “That would be correct,” I answered, finally looking up from the skates. “It's not really an 'in' thing in New York, funnily enough.”

I tore into the packaging, taking out the outfit, and it was… My eyes widened as I eyed the cropped, leather puffer jacket, a fluffy beanie cap, pink skate boots with a scarf. At least I had an idea about where we’d be going this time. Ice skating. He didn’t know, but I wasn’t good with ice. It was dangerous, freezing and made my blood run cold each time I went up close. That was a valid reason to cancel a date, wasn’t it? At exactly ten the next morning, I found myself getting into the outfit.

Aurora POV: An oblong ice rink with a low wall or railing around the familiar perimeter, winter sights surrounding the rink. The whole place was devoid of life this late in the night, "Sometimes I enjoy skating alone, just to wallow in my thoughts, but I've never had the opportunity of coming out here this late before."

The moment she opens it, the screen lights up. I stare at it like it’s an artifact from another lifetime. “Here,” Elise says, clicking on a bookmarked video. Soft, orchestral music fills the room, and a pair of skaters glide effortlessly across a mirror-smooth rink, spinning in perfect synchrony, the kind of dance that looks simple until you try not to fall on your face doing it. Elise points impatiently. “That. I want to learn that.” When was the last time I even touched a gadget?

Something to physically do that took away the rest of my thoughts. Not that I have ever skated before in my life. Even walking in heels would sometimes prove difficult for my balance. Yet, here we were. Both Amadeus and Alastair looked like kids in a candy store. Watched as people darted by. Practiced their flips and twirls. Some of them looked more graceful than others. Posters lined the walls, depicting people in several different positions. Flyers hung on parts of the glass, telling everyone about ice skating lessons. About becoming a champion ice skater and where to sign up.

Daniel asks and Daniella nods. A couple seconds later I feel Daniel’s hands on my hips, steadying me. “Lets try something, okay?” Daniel says. Daniella nods and skates back, causing my nerves to pick up. Daniel kicks off, gliding us across the ice. “Okay, nice. Now, look at Dani’s feet, do you see how they are moving? Push off one and then glide. And keep alternating” Daniel explains. I do as told, lapping around the rink.

December, 2009 Christmas music blared from the speakers strategically placed around the ice skating rink. No matter where one was skating--or in Memory Wilson’s case—falling, the festive sounds serenaded the perfect pirouette—or wipe out, as the case may be. Though her friends had been patient and tried to teach her, Memory was sure she’d just never get the hang of it. She’d come to the mall to buy a few last minute presents, not bust her behind on the ice, so she decided to watch from a nearby bench as Kathryn Rodgers and Rebekkah Stephens had fun whizzing past like naturals. Despite the ache in her hip, Memory laughed as they twirled each other around like ballerinas. Twisting her fingers

“We’re hitting the rink. You gotta learn to skate for real if we’re selling this boyfriend story.” I groaned but followed him anyway. The hockey rink was empty that early, just us and the cold air that made my nose sting. The ice looked smooth and scary under the bright lights. I laced up the skates, feeling clumsy already. My feet wobbled the second I stepped on. “Easy, dude,” Roland said, gliding over like it was nothing. “Bend your knees. Don’t lock up.”

His patience was thinner than the ice we trained on. Before I could even find the words, Isaac’s chair creaked. Slowly, deliberately, he set his pen down on the folder and looked up, his expression so flat it could’ve been carved from stone. “This is not a romance novel, Coach Lila. It’s competitive figure skating.”

I have my stuff stashed for when I visit anyway. I glance at the girl standing in front of me, her arms still wrapped around herself. How can she be a figure skater? She's fucking small, tiny even, barely reaching my shoulder. I hate to judge a book by its cover but I can't help it. Figure skaters always looked tougher on the ice than off it.. My mind struggles to reconcile her delicate appearance with the brutal demands of her sport. "Even if I led with that, you'd still would've left."