I was waiting on the rubber mat by the rink so that I could congratulate him when Coach Schubert tapped me on the shoulder. “There you are. Nancy called to say she’ll be a little late, so I need you to help out with her Twinkles. She hurt her knee, or something, in all this snow.” Nancy is a graduate student at Meredith College north of town, and she teaches the class for beginners, who are mostly five- and six-year-olds. “You can have them do something simple, like reviewing getting to and staying on their feet.”

  I felt as if someone had just put an icicle down my back. This year, there was a trio of boys—The Three Little Monsters, Nancy called them—who always disrupted the class. I wouldn’t blame Nancy if she were just faking an injury and were actually hiding in Brazil.

  “I can’t,” I pleaded desperately. “Can’t you just cancel the class?”

  The coach handed me my skate guards. “Nancy warned me that there were some problem kids.” That was like calling a hurricane a faint breeze. “I could cancel the session, but do you think that’s fair to the other students who really want to learn? How would you have felt at their age? Look, Nancy’ll be here any minute. Just keep them busy until she can take over.”

  “When you put it like that…” I said helplessly.

  “That’s the spirit,” she nodded approvingly. “Skaters need challenges or they don’t learn how to compete.” She added mischievously, “Besides, you’re bigger than they are.”

  “But they’re nastier pound for pound,” I muttered.

  As if on cue, the doors to the Lucerne opened and parents and children began to filter into the rink. I know this is terrible but I sort of hoped The Three Little Monsters might have caught the flu bug that was going around. But I saw them scamper inside and begin to wrestle one another, knocking over a trash can in the process.

  Garbage spilled onto the floor. When their exhausted-looking parents scolded them, the Monsters bent over and started to pick it up. However, it wasn’t long before the three boys began to toss the garbage at one another instead of putting it back inside the can.

  “A skater can handle every challenge,” I reminded myself desperately. “And besides, I’m bigger than they are.” But I doubted that this would be an advantage against the terrible threesome.

  “Who died, Sis?” Skip asked as he came up the steps toward me, still in his uniform. His hair was stuck to his sweaty forehead and his face was flushed, but he looked happy with the victory.

  I looked at his bulky frame. If I couldn’t be armed, maybe I could at least be armored. “Um, Skip, do you have a spare change of clothes with you?” I asked.

  “Sure—the team’s going out for pizza,” Skip said.

  “Then lend me your pads and uniform,” I said.

  He brightened. “So that fall finally knocked some sense into you. You back to hockey?”

  Ever since I picked figure skating over hockey, my brothers have been trying to get me to change my mind. “Don’t start that again. I just need them, okay?”

  “They’re pretty smelly,” he warned.

  “I know that,” I snapped as I started to drag him toward the locker rooms. “I could smell you from ten yards away. But desperate times call for desperate measures,” I said and pointed to The Three Monsters clambering around the seats as though they were on a jungle gym. Their parents had already sat down elsewhere, too tired to be embarrassed or to try to get them under control. “I have to teach figure skating to that bunch.”

  Skip let out a whistle. “Maybe you ought to borrow my stick, too.”

  “I wish I could, but I don’t think that’s allowed,” I said and then grinned. “But after all, ‘no guts, no glory.’ So, will you help me?”

  He gave me a wicked smile. “Anything for my dear, darling baby sister—especially if she’ll wash out my gear afterwards.”

  It was just like the big rat, but I gave in with a sigh. “Do I have a choice?”

  While he was in the locker room changing, I sent Mom a quick text message to let her know I’d be home a little late. With everyone going in so many different directions, our family has come to rely heavily on cell phones to stay in touch. Then Skip came out in jeans and a shirt, his jacket over his arm. As usual, he had gotten the buttons wrong.

  “Buttons,” I said meaningfully, looking at his shirt.

  He looked down and shrugged. He started to hand his gear to me but quickly took back the mask. “Oops,” he said and rubbed the inside of his mask with his sleeve—but not before I noticed the blood.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “It’s nothing.” He shrugged. “The puck bounced up against my nose, but it didn’t get past me. Nothing got past me—it was a shutout!” He handed the mask back to me with a satisfied grin.

  Skip’s stuff was pretty smelly. I promised myself a good, long shower afterwards.

  I really looked a sight. Even though I tied the cords as short as I could, the pads hung loose on me and I had to roll up the sleeves and pants of Skip’s uniform. I also borrowed a pair of beat-up hockey skates from the rental counter—I wasn’t about to use my good blades!

  When I came out of the girls’ locker room, there was a flash followed by another and another. I put a hand up to shield my eyes. “What’re you doing?”

  Skip and one of his teammates were shooting my picture with their cell phones and grinning from ear to ear. “I should have borrowed your stick,” I said, glaring.

  “Hold that scowl,” Skip said, snapping another picture. It made me think of all the cameras that had flashed when the coach had fallen at the Olympics.

  I quickly slapped Skip’s mask on my face as I held out my other hand. “Give me those phones!” I started toward Skip and his friend, but there was no way in all that gear that I could catch up with them. Laughing and whooping, they stampeded toward the exit. At the moment, the only difference between them and The Three Monsters was their heights.

  The only thing that could have made it worse was what happened next.

  “Look at what crawled out of the swamp,” Gemma said. “Phew! Downwind, girl!”

  Vanessa started to laugh and then paused, puzzled. “Who is that?”

  Glad that I was still wearing the hockey mask, I tried to take the high road and walk by them. However, it’s hard to look dignified when you’re waddling on skates and legs that goalie pads have turned into an elephant’s.

  My ears burned as Vanessa and Gemma laughed even louder. Then I heard Gemma say, “Did the coach give you any trouble when you asked for the tape?”

  Vanessa said, “No, but she’s weird. She told me that she had a better-quality tape, if I wanted it.”

  I turned and shouted behind me, “That’s because she’s not ashamed of trying.” But they were too busy in their own little world to hear me.

  As I walked down the steps, I paused by the mother of one of the Twinkles, who was using her cell phone to send a text message.

  “Excuse me,” I said. She gave a little jump when she looked at me. “I’m helping out until Nancy gets here. Do you know what they’ve worked on so far?”

  “They’ve begun to skate short distances and are practicing how to stop,” she said.

  That was a relief, because that meant that the class had just begun to develop their skills. “Thank you,” I said through my mask.

  The Twinkles were gathered loosely on the rubber mat by the opening to the rink. They started to point at me and whisper as I approached them.

  The first Monster tilted back his head to stare up at me. “Who are you?”

  I thought of how Mom handles my brothers and then motioned him over to me. “What’s your name?” I asked.

  He glanced uncertainly at the others but came forward.

  “Jack,” the first Monster announced.

  I was careful to stand between him and the nearest light so that he was deep within my shadow. “Well, Jack,” I said, “I’m Mia. I’m your teacher today until Nancy gets here.”

  Jack looked me up and down. “Teachers don’t wear this stuff.”

  I leaned forward so that he could see my eyes peering at him through the mask slits. “Well, Jack, this teacher does. So let’s please get along.”

  Jack looked behind him toward a man with a neat goatee.

  “Dad?” he appealed.

  His father laced his hands together and placed them on his lap, a funny expression on his face. “She did say ‘please,’ Jack.”

  Taking the guards off my blades, I stepped out onto the ice and skated a few feet away. I risked taking my mask off because I thought I could keep an eye on the Monsters better. “Ms. Nancy is running late,” I announced. Or in Brazil, I thought to myself. “So I’m helping out until she arrives. As I told Jack, my name is Mia. And today we’re going to practice falling and getting up.”

  I stood by the opening as they all moved onto the ice. I had to steady several of them, letting them pull themselves along the boards until there were a dozen of them in line, clinging to the guardrail.

  I pointed to one of Jack’s friends. “What’s your name?”

  His eyes had grown very wide. “J-Jim,” he said.

  “And you?” I asked his friend.

  He slipped behind Jim and peered at me over his friend’s shoulder. “Edgar.”

  “Well, I want you over there,” I said, and, taking Edgar by the hand, I led him to one end of the line and then took Jack to the other, leaving Jim in the center.

  Then I had the class warm up by bending their knees several times. Jack was the only one who let go of the boards.

  When we had done that for a little bit, I had them sit down and then lean forward on their knees with their hands on the ice. Most of them fell when they tried to stand up from that position, so I kept busy moving back and forth, teaching them how to move their bodies, their hands, and their feet so that they could keep their balance. Jack was the only one who didn’t need help, so I’m afraid I didn’t pay him any attention.

  The next thing I knew, a father was shouting, “Jack, come back here.”

  I heard the hissing of blades and turned to see Jack wobbling away, arms spread out for balance. “Stay here,” I ordered the other Twinkles, looking especially at Jim and Edgar. Then I skated after Jack until I caught up with him.

  He glanced at me from the corners of his eyes but went on determinedly.

  I wheeled around him in a slow, wide circle. “Let’s go back,” I coaxed. “Your friends are waiting for you.”

  “I want to do something new, not this old, boring stuff.” However, talking to me had made him lose his concentration and he started to fall. Alarmed, I reached out to catch him, but though he tilted back and forth, he managed to right himself on his own.

  He looked scared for a moment, but there was also something in his eyes. I thought it was excitement. Maybe Jack made trouble because he was bored, and Jim and Edgar copied him.

  “My coach was just saying that a skater needs challenges or he doesn’t develop,” I sympathized.

  “Can I take lessons from her?” he asked. Distracted, he again lost his balance and fell away from my outstretched hand.

  He slid a foot across the ice, and I knelt beside him, holding out my hand. “Every skater falls, even Coach Schubert. She’d want you to know how to get up,” I said, “because it’s going to happen often enough.”

  If his parents could afford them, some private lessons might qualify him for a more advanced class. I’d suggest that to Nancy.

  He struggled to get up without my help but toppled forward. Even so, he didn’t quit. I let him try several more times until he was red-faced and puffing. “I think you’re going to make a fine skater someday, Jack. But only if you learn to get to your feet.”

  “Yeah,” Jack sniffed as he lay on his belly.

  This time when I stuck out my hands, he took them. As I slowly pulled him back toward the boards, I watched the smile of pleasure spread across his face.

  “Every skater has to do the hard, boring stuff before he gets the rewards,” I said.

  “Yeah?” he asked thoughtfully.

  Once we got back to the boards, I invented a game called Sit-Down Tag. You were safe as long as you were standing up, but if you sat down, you could be tagged and become It. And the person who was It could prowl along the line, pouncing on a victim.

  I started out by being It but only for a minute. All the Twinkles were a little wobbly and I got Edgar right away. He took short, uncertain steps back and forth once before he caught a little girl called Madison.

  By the time Nancy got there, the Twinkles were smiling—and some were even giggling. And they were definitely more at ease on their skates. I’m not sure I raised their skill level any, but at least they weren’t bored anymore with getting up and falling down.

  As I was putting the guards back on my skate blades, someone cleared his throat behind me, and I turned to see Jack’s father. With him were Jim’s and Edgar’s parents. I thought I was going to get scolded for letting Jack wander off and then fall. But instead Jack’s father asked, “Um, do you babysit? You get along so well with our children.”

  “Yes, you have the right attitude and, ah…the correct gear for it,” Jim’s mother added.

  They all looked so hopeful, even desperate.

  I hated to disappoint them, but I told them I was too busy with my own lessons. I may be crazy, but I’m not that crazy.

  It was late afternoon by the time I was done with everything I had to do at the rink. I sent Mom a text message to tell her that I was on the way home. Then I checked my own messages. The most recent one was from Skip, with the results of our other brothers’ games. Too bad about Rick, who’s two years older than me. His team had lost. But the team that Perry, our oldest brother, is captain of had won its game.

  As I was getting ready to leave, I saw Coach Schubert fishing her car keys out of her bag.

  “Give you a lift, Mia?” she asked.

  “Thanks, but it’s only three blocks,” I said.

  “But you’re carrying quite a load there,” she pointed out.

  Well, that was true. And I was tired and bruised, so even if being around the coach made me nervous, not walking home with Skip’s smelly hockey gear sounded good.

  “I’ll call my mom and let her know,” I said, waving my phone.

  “Good idea. And good job with the Twinkles, by the way,” the coach said. “Several of the parents complimented you. It’s nice to know I can count on you to fill in.”

  Inside I groaned. Maybe there is such a thing as doing too good a job.

  Outside, cars had filled every available space in the snowy parking lot and Bob was clearing more room with his snowblower, which he loves almost as much as the Beast. Mona knitted him a cap and muffler with teeth to match the Beast’s, but the design actually makes him look more like a fireplace elf.

  Bob took a hand off the snowblower to wave to us and almost lost control of the powerful machine.

  The coach covered her ears at the thunderous racket from Bob’s snowblower as it shot cold, white streamers of snow high into the air, like the smoke plumes of rockets.

  “Is that a snowblower or are we standing next to a launching pad?” she shouted to me.

  “Bob super-powered it himself,” I said, pointing to the words “Beast Jr.” painted on the side.

  “Well, I’m not letting him near my coffee machine,” the coach said.

  I had expected a big-time Olympic and pro skater to have a fancy car, so I was surprised when the coach opened the door of a battered old Jeep with rust spots and so many dents, I wondered if she drove it in demolition derbies.

  She must have seen the confusion in my face because she said, “I bought this with my first earnings on the pro circuit.” She patted the fender. “She and I have both gotten a few dings over the years.”

  As I climbed into the passenger seat I said, “You must’ve felt good winning those pro contests.”

  “The scoring is different in those,” she said as she started up the engine. “But yes, I’m only human, so I enjoyed beating some of the people that I lost to when we were amateurs. It’s a funny thing, though. As many times as I’ve competed, I still get the jitters before I step onto the ice.”

  “You mean you never get used to it?” I was so horrified that I almost dropped the buckle of my seat belt.

  “But I learned a little trick for my nerves,” she said, strapping herself in. “I think of a silly jingle.”

  The coach could be brusque, even tough, so it was nice to see that she had a softer side. “A jingle? And it really works?” I asked.

  “Every time.” She winked. “I just wish that I’d known that secret before the Olympics.”

  As she drove, I gave her a quick tour of the neighborhood. Kids were out, floundering in the snow as they threw snowballs. People were clearing their sidewalks and walkways, some with snowblowers, others with shovels. The city’s big dump trucks with the plows mounted in front had already cleared the main streets and the crews had scattered salt.

  As usual, a store called Nelda’s Notions was wrapped in Christmas lights and there were enough inflatable snowmen and snowwomen in the window to start their own village. On the sidewalk, prancing around and handing out bags of cashews to delighted shoppers, was a human-sized squirrel.

  “So Zuzu’s still around,” the coach laughed.

  “You know Zuzu?” I asked.

  “Nelda’s Notions has shops all over western New York, and when I was a kid, it used to sponsor a cartoon show with Zuzu as the host.” Lifting her head, the coach began the jingle that went with all of Zuzu’s television ads. “‘We’re just nuts—,’” she began.

  “‘—about sewing,’” I chimed in. We finished the song together—there really wasn’t much of it and it went to the tune of what Dad said was “I’m Just Wild About Harry.”

  From the way the coach was grinning, I took a wild guess. “Was that the jingle?”

  She nodded. “I owe a lot to Zuzu.” She added, “And to Nelda’s Notions. It had everything I needed for my skating dresses—from special fabrics and doo-dads to patterns. Nelda has even become a friend. When she takes an interest in a skater, as she did with me, she really stands by her. I expect we’ll be seeing more of her around the rink.”