On Thin Ice Read Online Free PDF Page A

He rose to his feet. “I haff come to talk to you of skating,” he said.
    â€œTo me?” Her eyes got big. “You want to talk to me?”
    â€œYes. I watched you skate today and I see somesing . . . somesing special. No training. Rough, you understand. But you luff it, yes?”
    â€œOh, yes! More than anything.”
    â€œThen you will come be my student. Be at the rink Monday promptly after school. I will expect you no later than 4 P.M .” He moved toward the door.
    â€œMr. Petralahti,” Sasha’s mother said anxiously, fearing he may have somehow overlooked the poverty of their home, “we simply can’t afford—”
    â€œIss a scholarship.” Petralahti turned back to assure her. “I am giffing out two and one will go to Sasha on a probationary basis. If she does as well as I expect, it will be hers permanently. The second iss earmarked for a young man named Lon Morrison.” He turned to Sasha with a slight smile. “I sink you know him, eh? Four o’clock,” he reiterated autocratically. “Do not be late.” And as abruptly as he had arrived at their door, he was gone.
    Sasha blinked in wonder at her mother. “Mr. Petralahti is going to be my teacher?” She laughed suddenly, that deep, affecting laugh she’d had since she was a toddler, and grabbed her mother by the hands, whirling her around. In the midst of their third spin, she suddenly pulled back to regard her mother with puzzled eyes. “But why did he say I knew that person, Mama? I don’t know anybody named Lon Morrison.”
    But, she did. More or less. For the first thing she learned on Monday when she walked into Ivan Petralahti’s big, barn-like structure and saw him whizzing around the rink was that Lon Morrison was the boy from center ice.
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    She shook her head, coming back to the present with a start. Holy cow. Where had all that come from?
    As if you don’t know.
    Sasha skated slowly over to the rinkside seats where she’d left her sweats and skate bag. She’d better hit the road. This little trip down memory lane was all well and good . . . but life did move on.
    Then her head raised with stiff-necked pride. No, tell the truth, she demanded fiercely of herself. It wasn’t well and good at all; actually, it was kind of disturbing. It brought back memories she’d just as soon forget, and while recollections of Ivan were all very pleasant, thoughts of Lonnie were just plain, painful.
    She was tired of the pain. But her ties to Lon Morrison seemed to keep her perpetually bound to it.
    Sasha pulled off her skates, wiped the blades dry, put the rubber guards back on, and packed them away. Pulling on her sweatpants and street shoes, she went in search of the office to call a cab and let the guard know she was leaving. Ten minutes later she was on her way back to the hotel.
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    A group of Follie’s performers was just coming out of the coffee shop when she walked into the lobby. Connie was among them and, spotting Sasha, she peeled off from the group and crossed over to her. “Hi! Where’ve you been?”
    â€œChecking out the ice at Arco Arena.”
    â€œSasha, Sasha, Sasha.” Connie shook her head in mock despair. “I have got to teach you to have a little fun.” She nodded toward the coffee shop. “You hungry?”
    â€œStarved,” Sasha admitted. “I skipped breakfast.”
    Connie grabbed her arm and steered her into the restaurant. “Come on, then,” she commanded. “I’ll keep you company while you eat.”
    Connie all but danced in her seat with suppressed excitement while Sasha put in her order. “Hot news,” she said the minute the waitress walked away. “The new manager arrived while you were out.” She gripped the edge of the tabletop, straining closer. “And wait until you get a load of this guy, Saush.” She pursed her lips,