The first time I saw you, you laced up your skates, adjusted your knee mods, and I was just another unremarkable face as you fluttered to the ice. My mother snapped at me to watch you, but it was like asking a mallard to observe a flamingo. Our legs didn’t work the same. You’d been competing across the national circuit, in Boston and Orlando and Frisco, and this was my first competition.
They whispered that you were trained in China, where they apparently install the bionics under the skin rather than above it, flouting the bans on invasive mod tech. No matter that your parents were Singaporean. It was a comforting idea, that you were a china doll android, face painted into a smile and body preprogrammed to succeed. To replace. Maybe they would have said the same about me, if I was any good.
I placed second in my flight (three flights beneath yours) and Coach was extremely pleased, as was my mother—she even took me out for sushi afterward. The women at the table next to us kept shooting us dirty looks. I was confused until I saw the signs folded against their tables. They were part of the group always protesting outside the rink; their signs said KEEP METAL OUT OF KIDS and SPORTS ARE A HUMAN ENDEAVOR.
