Day 7 - Incoming Chat Request

You must be wondering how long I'm gonna keep this up without giving myself away. Well, the answer is, I don't know. Maybe you already have some idea of who I am. Maybe you don't. Maybe you do, but your idea is so far off that the girl you're thinking of would laugh at the very thought of doing something this crazy.

Sunday, Ross thought sleepily as he read through the note. No practice today. Maybe I should go back to sleep...

He felt strangely relieved, and yet somehow disappointed, that he didn't have to skate today. No skating meant no Julie. No Julie meant no help in figuring out what the heck was up with these notes.

No Julie meant no figuring out if she was what the heck was up with these notes.

It's not her, he scolded himself. Didn't you decide you were through with that nonsense yesterday? Whoever is writing these things is right... she would laugh at the very thought of me thinking it was her.

Do you believe in fate? Like, that there's one person out there for you and you're fated to find her? That some things are meant to be? I didn't used to believe it, but I've searched for so long, and suddenly I realized it wasn't about searching. So I stopped looking, and I realized it was you all along. That we were meant to be.

Fated meetings. Fated meetings like the one at the rink in Montreal almost eight years ago. Things that were meant to be like a certain partnership, a certain friendship he could think of...

He resignedly realized that there was no way he was going back to sleep at this rate. He opened the fridge to decide on some breakfast and almost laughed. His grocery store escapades had bought him enough fruit to last quite some time, but in the process, he'd completely forgotten to buy anything else. He peered into the back of the bottom shelf and pulled out the last two eggs remaining in the carton he found. This living on caffeine thing wasn't gonna work. He might as well eat.

Is this driving you crazy, not knowing who I am?

"YES!" he exclaimed out loud, almost dropping the eggs in frustration. "Yes, yes, yes. Whoever you are, you're gonna drive me nuts!"

Don't think about it too much. If you search too hard, you'll never find what you're looking for. I see you at the rink all the time and wonder how I'm managing to get away with this. It all seems so obvious to me. But maybe I'm better at this than I feel.

Ross broke the eggs into a bowl and absentmindedly started beating them. He glanced over at the letter again and suddenly forgot all about breakfast or anything else.

"I see you at the rink all the time..."

The rink?!

The fork he'd been using to beat his eggs flew out of his hand and fell with a clatter to the floor. He completely ignored it and just stood there, staring into space.

She'd seen him at the rink? She saw him there all the time? Meaning she was a skater? Meaning it could be...

He dismissed the thought before it went any further. No, it couldn't be. She'd seen him at the rink, not skated with him. But here it was, the big, honking clue he'd been waiting for since day one. There were only so many girls who trained at the Academy of Ice Dance, and by process of elimination, only about five or six who it could possibly be. The others were simply too young or too old.

He tried running through the list in his head, getting back to his eggs while he did. Laura, Candice, Svetlana, Maddie, Kristy. Was that all?

He looked down at the bowl of eggs and wonderedly idly if he'd put salt in them. He knew he'd just put something in them, but he wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be sugar. Oh, well. Then he'd have... souffle? Or just sugary scrambled eggs. Whatever. Cook 'em and figure it out.

"I must be going crazy," he mumbled, pouring the eggs into the frying pan he'd just set on the stove.

Another thought occured to him. If this girl was a skater, if she saw him at the rink all the time, that automatically eliminated Melissa. As far as he knew, she had never been at the rink, ever. So much for all those grocery store stakeouts.

He'd have to tell Julie. She knew the girls at the rink better than he did, maybe she could figure something out, overhear them talking in the dressing room, something, anything.

But he didn't want to tell her. In fact, he dreaded it.

He snapped out of his thoughts and back to the stove, but it was too late. The scrambled eggs had turned into... well, burnt solid mass of eggs.

With a sigh, he dumped the mess of breakfast into the garbage and took an apple out of the fridge. All that fruit had to go somewhere.

* * * * * * * *

Flip.

Julie sat on the couch in her living room, aimlessly channel surfing as she searched for something mindless to watch on TV.

Football. Flip. Cooking show. Flip. Some sort of Japanese anime cartoon. Flip. Jr. hockey. Flip...

"Why is it that whenever you have two seconds to relax, there's never anything good on TV?" she questioned out loud.

Another cooking show, this one in French. Some action movie starring, of course, Bruce Willis. More cartoons. She gave up in frustration, tossing the remote aside.

"Let's try the computer," she announced, going to her desk and switching on her PC. Soon, she was logged on and laughing to herself over the completely farfetched and completely untrue gossip circulating the RSSIF figure skating newsgroup.

She liked surfing these figure skating websites... she'd read enough stuff about herself and her friends that was so ridiculously out there that it was actually funny. It was interesting, seeing what people thought of you, she mused. Especially when they have no idea you're reading it...

"Uh-oh!" The high-pitched greeting of an ICQ message came through her speakers.

"Hm, who's on?" she wondered, accepting the message. She smiled as she saw the words written on the little pop-up.

Ross: Hey, you. Are you as bored as I am?

She typed quickly, filling up the reply.

Dancer Girl: YES! Why is it that whenever you have time to do something, there's nothing to do? There's nothing on TV, it's snowing like crazy outside, and I'm _not_ going to the rink on our day off!

Sitting at his computer, Ross grinned as he saw the familiar screen name beckoning him. He remembered when he'd helped Julie sign on to ICQ during a late-night computer tutoring session. She'd scolded him over the blatant lack of creativity he'd used in coming up with his ICQ name.

"Well, there are probably a zillion Ross’ out there," he'd reasoned. "So no one will ever find me. I mean, you have to come up with something else. How many Juliannes do you think there are on ICQ?"

They'd found out there were more of them than they'd thought, and quite a few Julies, too, but she'd settled on "Dancer Girl" in the end. He clicked on "Reply".

Ross: Tell me about it. You don't even want to know what I've done this morning. So far, I've woken up about two hours earlier than I would've liked, burnt my breakfast to a crisp, and eaten about four apples without even realizing it.

Julie laughed out loud.

"Incoming Chat Request," the familiar ICQ voice announced. She accepted, and started to type.

Dancer Girl: Now _there's_ a way to relieve boredom. LOL!

Ross: Oh, shut up. What have _you_ been doing all morning?

Dancer Girl: Absolutely nothing. Trying to find something to watch on TV, but there was nothing on but football, cartoons, and cooking shows. I'm so lazy, I'm sitting here in my pajamas.

Ross: That's what days off are for. :-)

Dancer Girl: Ha. :-) Anyhow, you've gotta go check out RSSIF. There's this thread going on about how you're going out with Naomi Lang.

Ross: There's _what_?!

Dancer Girl: LOL! You heard me... read me, whatever... perfectly well. Go, go, check it out! It's so funny!

Ross: You wouldn't think it was so funny if they were writing about _you_.

Dancer Girl: Yes, I would. A few months ago, according to them I was dating Oleg Ovsiannikov. Now I think that's just as funny as you and Naomi. :-)

Ross: Okay, I'm checking it out right now... Oh, God. Julie, this is nuts. I wonder how this started?

Dancer Girl: You know how this all starts. You stand next to someone for two seconds and automatically someone will post that you're dating them.

Ross: Hey, did you read the one about Maia and Sergei coming back to train with Marina? I think not. ;-)

Dancer Girl: Hm, well, that would be fun. Party time in Brook Falls.

Ross: Uhhhhh... yeah. Okay. Whatever you say.

Dancer Girl: Exactly. Whatever I say.

Ross: Why do I always fall into that trap?

Dancer Girl: Because it's obvious you'll never learn. :-)

Ross: You're too quick for me.

Dancer Girl: Of course. :-)

Julie hesitated before she started typing her next sentence, but then swallowed and went on. After all, typing was safer than talking, right? He couldn't hear her voice... he couldn't see her reactions.

Dancer Girl: Anyhow, what's up with the secret admirer thing? Hee. :-)

Ross saw the words appear on the screen and wondered how to respond. He'd have to tell her eventually. Might as well tell her in black and white... it was easier this way.

Ross: It's not Melissa.

Julie looked at the words with a start. What? It wasn't? How did he know?

Dancer Girl: It _isn't_? How do you know?

Ross: Because she wrote this: "I see you at the rink all the time and wonder how I'm managing to get away with all this."

Oh, Lord. Oh, no. She didn't. She hadn't!

Dancer Girl: I di...

Julie cursed herself. How in God's name had she let that slip? She quickly deleted what she'd just typed and tried to calm herself.

"Please, God, please let him be in IRC mode and not split screen," she begged the sky.

Dancer Girl: She did?!

Ross looked at the split chat screen strangely. Julie had just typed something and then deleted it before he looked back at her half of the screen. Nothing important, he said to himself. Probably a typo.

Ross: Yeah, she did. So she has to be a skater.

Dancer Girl: She could be someone who just comes in to watch a lot.

Ross: But she said "all the time". I think she has to be a skater. I mean, have _you_ ever seen a young-ish woman who comes in to watch all the time? I think we know the regulars well enough.

Dancer Girl: I guess you're right. So who do you think it is?

Julie swallowed hard. Here we go again, she thought to herself. The whole Melissa thing, all over again...

Ross: I really don't know. I figure it has to be one of five.

Dancer Girl: One of five...? Oh, okay, I think I get it. Candice, Svetlana, Laura, Maddie, or... hm. Who else?

Ross: Kristy.

Dancer Girl: Oh, yeah. I forgot about Kristy.

Ross: So, out of those five, who would _you_ think would be the type to do something like this?

Of course. Of course, he had to ask. Julie winced and typed back.

Dancer Girl: I don't know. Probably not Maddie. She couldn't write like that to save her life.

Ross: Yeah, she is kind of... umm... flighty?

Dancer Girl: Ditzy. The word is ditzy. :-)

Ross: I was _trying_ to be nice. :-)

Dancer Girl: That's your problem, Ross. You're always trying to be nice. You're too nice for your own good.

Ross looked at the screen somewhat doubtfully. Was it true?

Ross: Really? Seriously, or are you teasing me (_again_)?

Dancer Girl: Well, both. You _are_ always trying to be nice. Sometimes you've just got to go after what you want.

He stifled a sigh. If only she knew what he wanted...

Ross: I know.

Dancer Girl: Then what's stopping you?

Julie waited for a response and got none. How very him, to avoid a question like that. Oh, well, she thought. It's not like I'd get the answer I want to hear, anyhow...

Dancer Girl: I'd better get off and actually _do_ something, eh? :-)

Ross: That might be a good idea for both of us. See ya tomorrow?

Dancer Girl: As usual.

Ross: On _time_?

Dancer Girl: HEY! _I_ wasn't the one that was late a few days ago... ;-)

Ross: Okay, okay. We'll _both_ be on time. :-)

Dancer Girl: Yup. Bye.

Ross: Bye.

"Dancer Girl has left the chat," ICQ informed Ross as he clicked the close button of the screen. He just sat there for a minute and stared at the monitor, smiling. Even in typing, she could make him smile. Sunshine on a snowy day. Energy to infuse boredom. Together, they always seemed to be able to make things happen...

"Quit it," he told himself sternly.

Sometimes you've just got to go after what you want... Her words reverberated in his head. Go after what you want. Make it happen.

Maybe, just maybe, he would.

Onto Day 8... OR
Back to the story...