The ice was clouded and covered with a thin layer of snow scraped off by blades. Five, maybe six, skaters were practicing their programs, attempting triples, quads, doubles. Nikita's green eyes pierced holes through the skates of her peers. An underrotation, a shaky landing, things like that. Eventually, Nikita decided that she needed to work on her program. She had to work on her stamina if she wanted to perform six jumps in the second half like what was planned. Compared to the others at her rink, Nikita was a novice. Some of them had been skating as a senior for over ten years, meanwhile, the teenage girl was preparing for her senior debut. Her coach had stopped her from attempting quads until she reached fifteen but now that she was finally of the proper age, there was nothing that could stop her.

Eventually, night fell and Nikita had to begin the trek home. She bid goodbye to the other Olympic hopefuls and navigated her way through the darkened alleyways of San Ramon, California. There was none of her family nearby, or even in the same country, really.

About a year before Nikita began preparing for her senior debut, she relocated to America to train. A former Olympian had contacted while she still lived in St. Petersburg and volunteered to train her but he had a family to take care of in California didn't want to leave them so early in his childrens' lives. Nikita agreed to the conditions and her grandparents sent her across the ocean. It wasn't as if it was a completely new environment that she needed to get accustomed to; at competitions, they mostly spoke English to each other, but Nikita's accent was still strong at that point and she only really knew survival terms. While she could navigate her way through ordering at a restaurant, she couldn't necessarily watch a movie without having Cyrillic letters on the bottom to translate. At some point, Nikita made the decision to start competing for America. It got her scrutiny and retaliation in her home country, but she felt more comfortable with her western teammates. It's not like the Russian skating team was unbearable or completely isolated (far from the truth, actually), but she felt more at home going out to eat with with the Americans than making casual conversation about the weather with Moscow natives.

A gentle meow broke Nikita out of her thoughts and she looked down. Stranded in a box with mangled and tangled fur as well as a boney complexion was a cat no more than five years old. Perhaps it could be older, but Nikita couldn't tell based on its small stature. "Oh, koshka," she whispered, slipping into her native tongue. Picking up the box, she whispered assuring words in Russian to the cat.

Tucking it under one hand, she pulled her cell phone out of the back pocket of her skate bag. 'veterinary offices near me' Nikita typed into the search bar. The phone's default search engine that she never bothered to change came up with a list and Nikita picked directions to the closest one, nearly a mile down the road. She shot a text to her after switching her keyboard into Russian- [10:23 PM] "There's going to be a charge for an animal hospital. Don't worry, I found a cat and I wanna make sure he's healthy. I'll pay you back later"

The inside of a vet was quiet and serene and Nikita greeted the receptionist and waited until they called her inside with a butchered yell of 'Nikolaeva!'. The doctor ushered her into an examination room and a young redhead was sitting in the corner with a clipboard and a textbook.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Yamamoto and that's Adalene. She's volunteering here for one of her school classes, don't mind her," he said. Adalene waved before going back to what she was doing. "What seems to be the problem today?"

Nikita responded, "I found a cat on the streets. I don't really know anything about it but I want to bring it in for a checkup." The doctor may not have been surprised by Nikita's accent, but Adalene was. Nikita supposed it was reasonable; she had done a pretty good job of westernizing herself over the past year and a half.

The doctor had to leave the room for a few minutes and Nikita found it as an opportunity to converse with the girl in the corner. Her voice cut through the thick silence like a knife as she said, "Dr. Yamamoto mentioned that you're volunteering here. How old are you?"

The redhead looked up from her book and Nikita was instantly struck by how vibrant her eyes were. Green, but more like turquoise, trailed endlessly from her pupils into a vivid blue. "I'm sixteen years old. I'm here because I attend the veterinary program my school offers." Adalene said, "If we're asking questions, do you mind if I ask where you're from?"

"I'm Russian. I've lived in America for the past year and a half, though," was Nikita's response.

"That's so cool!" Adalene exclaimed. "It's colder there than here, right? Where did you live? I've been to Ukraine once but I guess that doesn't really count as Russia. I learned some Russian there though- wait, I went off on a tangent there, didn't I?" Adalene's cheeks flushed to the color of her hair as she nervously scratched the back of her neck. Nikita let out a small chuckle.

"It's fine, you're fun to listen to. To answer your questions, it's definitely colder in Russia, and I lived in St. Petersburg. I've only been to Ukraine once, but my grandfather used to travel there for business often before he retired.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Adalene opened her mouth, most likely to ask another question, but she was cut off by the opening of the door. Dr. Yamamoto walked in. "It appears like this cat is in good condition. If you're planning on keeping him, I recommend that you get him cleaned soon. If not, we have an excellent pet adoption center here where you can drop him off."

Nikita paused for a minute. "I don't know if I can bring him home. Do you mind if I call my grandma to ask?"

"No problem at all. I can leave if you'd like instead of you having to go outside," Dr. Yamamoto proposed, gesturing to the 'EMPLOYEES ONLY' sign on the door behind him.

"No, it's fine. I'll just go near the bathrooms. It'll be back in a few minutes.

Navigating her way around the main lobby, Nikita quickly found the restrooms and took out her phone. She dialed her grandmother's phone number and quickly switched into speaking Russian. Despite it having been a long time since she had to form her native sounds verbally, it was easier than expected. After all, whenever somebody asked Nikita what language she thought in, she'd always confidently respond "Russian."

"Hi, Granny," Nikita said when the call went through. "I have a question for you," Nikita purposely sugared up her tone of voice, a trick she always uses when she wants something. Her grandmother knew it, of course she did, and Nikita knew that, but she still hoped it added something to her proposal.

"What do you want, darling?" Nikita's Grandmother sighed out.

"If I get a cat, can you take care of him during competitions?"

"Sweetheart, I know how much you love cats, but how do you plan on sending him halfway across the world every time you have to leave California?" even through the crackling tone of the phone, Nikita could hear the sweetness that laced her aging grandmother's voice.

"I'll always make sure to take flights that connect out of St. Petersburg! I can make it work, Granny,"

"I'm afraid the answer has to be 'no' unless you can find somebody in California to take care of him.

"Alright," Nikita replied, tone dropping.

Nikita ended the call before it got too long. In addition to paying ice rink fees, she paid the phone bills of her grandparents and her. The costs of the rink were cut significantly because she volunteered as a skate guard during the open skates for free, but there came a point when she needed to get another job. Despite looking for a while, there seemed to be no places looking to hire a teenage part-time worker from Russia.

Stepping into the sterilized room with seafoam walls, Nikita shook her head to indicate her inability to provide the cat with a proper home.

"Well, these things happen," Dr. Yamamoto said, "There's not much we can do about it now."

"Actually," Adalene piped up from the back of the room where she had taken a seat, "my mother said that I can adopt a cat. I can text her right now to check," she suggested.

"That's wonderful! Would you mind if both of you girls stepped out of the room with the cat, though? I'd like to squeeze in another patient before my shift is over."

Nikita and Adalene agreed and walked into the air freshener scented lobby. The air conditioner was cranked up significantly higher than it had been before, which made no sense to Nikita but she decided to just shiver instead of saying anything. She didn't often bring a jacket to the ice rink with her, opting to wear thin long sleeved shirts instead. It gets hot doing jumps, so it had to be one or another.

"Are you cold?" Adalene inquired staring down concernedly at Nikita who, now that Adalene was standing up, was probably over half a foot shorter. Nikita had never been the tallest, not even remotely close, but her thin, 4'11" stature next to Adalene essentially felt like placing a teacup pomeranian next a great dane. Onlookers probably thought nothing of it, but Nikita felt tiny.

"Yeah," Nikita responded, "I'll be fine, though. I've spent half of my life at ice rinks," she joked.

Adalene looked up from her phone that she was, most likely, using to text her mother about the cat and quirked an eyebrow. "You skate?" she asked. Nikita offered a 'mhmm' in response and Adalene continued speaking. "I've always wanted to learn how to, but I haven't gotten around to it."

Almost instantaneously, Nikita replied with an "I can teach you!" Calming herself down, she added a "There's an ice rink near here with a public skate session on Saturday. If you want to come, I'll be there."

Adalene grinned, and Nikita took note of the way that her cheeks formed dimples and her freckles rose with the elevation of her cheekbones. "I might just take you up on the offer. What's your number? So that we can organize this, obviously," Adalene punctuated her statement with a jokingly-flirtatious wink. On the outside Nikita was calm. Internally, however, was a whole different story. Her insides were on fire, her mind was screaming cUTe gIRL CUte gIRL CUTE GIRLCutE GiRL. She offered her phone to Adalene to input her number, and she did. Saving her name as "adalene roux, the best veterinary volunteer❤❤❤❤❤". Five hearts. Five. That had to mean something, right? Maybe she was reading too much into it. Yeah, that had to be it.

"Oh! My mom says I can bring home the cat! She also says it's getting late. We should go home. Where do you live? I'll drive you."

"Are you sure? I don't want to bother you." The figure skater fidgeted with her fingers, a habit she tended to do when she was nervous. She was trying to keep her face as neutral colored as possible, but when they walked out of the office, cat in hand, she hoped the darkness would be enough of a cloak for her.

"It's no problem at all!"

Nikita rattled off her address getting into the car with Adalene.

"That's far," Adalene commented. "Your legs must be strong if you walk that distance every day after skating practice."

"You get used to it," Nikita replied. She willed away the urge to blush at the compliment as she rested her head against the newly-lowered cushion and closed her eyes.

Once she got home, she texted Adalene to let her know she entered safely, as per request. They started a conversation with topics ranging from what order to arrange cereal, how a dog would wear pants, and whether dogs were superior to cats or not (Adalane said yes, Nikita said no) until Nikita found herself drifting off to sleep.

(She never changed the contact name)