Untitled [about ice skating]

Hey, Abigail! I'm not a very good reviewer, but here goes.

Simple Corrections:

My mother insisted that I attend public ice skating with Ashley every Friday night since I was old enough to balance on my two feet. Mom always suspected that Ashley was going to do something stupid with “those lunatic friends of hers,” as she liked to say. Although the idea was a bit far-fetched, she claimed that is would keep Ashley focused on trying to keep me from smashing my face open, rather than spending her time smashing into the gumball machine for quarters. After all, I could barely skate, and Ashley wouldn’t have the heart to go off with her friends while I was falling head over heels, I would take out the head over heels part. It makes her seem like she's falling in love--unless that's what you wanted.unable to even get back up after I had fallen.

So, every Friday, I placed my chubby little hand in Ashley’s long thin one, The contrast here is cool! and we went around and around the rink. Of course, there was no stopping Ashley’s boisterous friends from romping around me, but she made sure I never got hurt. In time, I got used to the hockey players running up to us and skidding to a stop, letting snow spew up into everybody’s faces.

As I grew older, my footing on the ice stabilized, and Ashley slowly moved away from me. One day, eager to traverse the rink alone, I pulled my hand away from hers. She glanced at me and saw I was doing fine. She never skated back. When I was in seventh grade and she was in college, her long, thin hand would never be there for me to hold onto.



It was quarter to eight on October third when I laced up my white figure skates for the first time that season. It was Friday night, and countless students from my school would be there when public skating started in fifteen minutes. The Zamboni whirred in the background, and my fingers were starting to get their annual eczema. The eczema comment seems out of place. You could always do something like "As the Zamboni whirred in the background, I scratched my fingers, which were starting to get their annual eczema." It seems less random Who knew someone could be so cold when winter hadn’t even started yet?

I looked at my left hand, the one Ashley always held. It had a freckle in the very middle, There used to be a second comma, but I took it out. though it wasn’t visible now that the cold had taken so many tiny bites out of my hands. That freckle always told me which hand was my left, so I didn’t have to embarrass myself with the “L” finger trick. I like this part. My fingers were longer now, almost like Ashley’s, but not enough to keep me from wanting another hand – a different hand – to caress my own. Use a different word than caress. It almost makes it seem like she and Ashley had a romantic relationship.

Dylan hobbled in with his hockey skates dangling over one shoulder – the first to arrive, after me. I couldn’t tell whether the bloody splotches on his face were the results of acne or a bad shaving job. “Hey,” he said. I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me or to the air because he never made eye contact with anyone. You used the phrase "I couldn't tell" twice. "I couldn't tell whether the bloody..." and "I couldn't tell if he was..." Change one of them. It's less repetitive. Before I had the chance to answer, his cell phone and money splattered across the floor -- something very apt to happen to that clumsy hormonal kid. I felt obligated to do something other than sit there, so I dropped on my hands and knees and scavenged around for his change without saying a word to him.

“I got it,” he said, dropping on his hands and knees as well, still not looking up.

“Here.” I held out the thirty-two cents It seems a bit unrealistic that she would know EXACTLY how much change he had. Swap "thirty-two" with "the few" or something. and hundreds of pieces of lint I had gathered.

“Thanks.” He nodded, gazing not at the snack stand, but somehow beyond it. I've gotta be honest. I don't understand this part. ??? Maybe you could help me.

I glanced at his hands. He stuffed his phone and whatever change he had found into his pocket. Then he sat down on the bench and let his chubby little fingers fumble with the laces. There was something profoundly comical about this kid’s actions.

When he had finally finished getting his skates on (which seemed to take forever), we walked together to the gate while we waited for the Zamboni to finish its job. His acne suddenly didn’t look as repulsing as it had at school. He actually had a pretty nice face, what with those high cheekbones and that straight little nose. He was a hockey player, and I could tell someone must have smashed him into the glass not long ago by the nasty bruise on his elbow.

The Zamboni had retreated off the ice and half the grade was already lacing up their skates when a thought came to me. I’d never skated with Dylan. He didn’t know how good I was.

I opened the gate and put one foot on the ice, pretending to slip and then regain my balance. Is she pretending to get him to help her out? Does she want him to hold her hand? If so, convey that!

“Dylan … I can’t really skate that well. Can you?”

He nodded, looking at the one awkwardly twisted foot I had placed on the ice.

I held out my hand. “Do you think you could help me balance?”

He gave me his hand without hesitation. Our eyes met. I like this sentence, however, it seems an awkward ending to this part. I think it'd be better if you did something like "Once again, someone's hand was in my own. I smiled, and our eyes met." Something like that!

Thanks for the comments!

Abigail, I agree with Lava...this is a very cute story! I could just picture the story in my head the whole time I was reading it, and I'm not sure if you plan on expanding this or not but it has the makings of a great story/book! Your main character has that awkward teen/self-realization thing going on and I can just picture this being a coming of age story where she discovers something wonderful about her life in the end.

She glanced at me and saw I was doing fine. She never skated back.

So, every Friday, I placed my chubby little hand in Ashley’s long thin one, and we went around and around the rink.

Our eyes met.

Heya!

That's a cute story!

Now, I liked the start. The flow and feel was apt.

It was quarter to eight on October 3rd when I laced up my white figure skates for the first time that season.

I dropped on my hands and knees and scavenged around for his change without saying a word to him.

Our eyes met.