On Thin Ice by Susan Andersen Page B

contrary, Sasha had always thought it was one of life’s little ironies that she actually wasn’t a very carnal person. Privately she found sex to be highly overrated.
    She had been deprived of her illusions on that subject at an impressionable age. Like young girls everywhere, she’d had her share of crushes on members of the opposite sex. Unlike other young girls her age, however, before her social skills had even had a sporting chance to properly evolve she’d already become the social pariah of Kells Crossing’s west side.
    Had she not, she freely admitted she most likely would have been too busy for much socializing anyway. Her life at that point had been a continuum of school, skating, homework, and bed. But it would have been nice to be granted a chance to test her wings. Just possibly she might have found a way to squeeze in a social life between her responsibilities. She had never had the opportunity to find out. Instead it was necessary for her to rush off from school the moment the last bell rang, and her association with Ivan Petralahti contributed to her alienation. Add to that the traveling she’d done to various competitions held in far-off, exotic locales, and it was enough to render her an outsider on her own side of town.
    And therefore to be considered fair game.
    She had been teased in less than friendly tones from practically the moment it was first learned Ivan had chosen to give her private lessons at his compound. Millworkers talked at their dinner tables and the general gist must have been that Carole Miller’s girl was getting above herself, because when their children came to school they had plenty to say to Sasha about the way she thought she was so much better than everyone. They were equally quick to point out that they considered her nothing but a stuck-up snob. Even the friends she’d had before Ivan Petralahti entered her life subscribed to a similar theory once her free time was curtailed by her new skating lessons.
    It had hurt; she couldn’t deny it. But she’d had Mama and Lonnie, who was going through an identical displacement, and perhaps even more importantly, she’d had her skating lessons with Ivan. The skating made up for almost everything else.
    And so it went for several years. She and Lonnie were different than the usual millworker’s kids and as such were gruffly excluded. The average west-side worker had to struggle just to put enough food on the table—never mind extras—and there was an overt resentment that transferred from parent to child regarding the obvious expense being poured into their development as skaters.
    Then Sasha began to fill out physically, and the less-than-subtle ostracism she’d previously been subjected to began to develop even darker overtones.
    At close to sixteen years old, Sasha had arrived at puberty quite a bit later than most of millworkers’ daughters. She’d always been on the small side, with a thin and gawky appearance, and had tended to look younger than her age. Until shortly before her sixteenth birthday she’d been all sharp shoulder blades and knobby knees, all big eyes, wide mouth, and wild hair.
    I’m so ugly, Mama, she’d frequently lamented in disgust. I’m always gonna be a freak.
    No, sweetie, her mother would invariably reply, sweeping Sasha’s thick, soft hair away from her face and smiling down at her. Trust me on this, baby; someday you’re going to be a swan.
    But Sasha knew that all mothers thought their daughters were beautiful; it made their judgment an iffy thing at best.
    Then overnight, everything she had previously despaired of as being either too awkward or ungainly seemed to rearrange itself into a new configuration that was altogether pleasing. No longer did she have so many protruding bones; there was a new feminine softness overall. It was in the delicately curved but freshly rounded hips and buttocks; in the peach-sized,