Free Beastly: Lindy's Diary by Alex Flinn

ice-skating rinks with railings and smooth surfaces (and horrible, rented blue plastic skates). The pond had bumps and ruts where snow had frozen to the ice.
    There was, for sure, no Zamboni here.
    “I’ll show you how,” Adrian said. “The railings are just a crutch anyway.”
    “Some people need crutches,” I said.
    “Not you, Lindy. Come on. Take my hand.” He had no gloves on. I’d never held his hand without gloves. I
    was a little scared, more of the skating than that, but I smelled the pine trees and felt the cold stinging my face. I wanted to go and use my pretty skates. Finally, I took Adrian’s hand. Together, we stepped out onto the ice.
    “Just walk,” he said. “Hold out your arms, and if you feel like you’re going to fall, it helps to bend your knees a little.”
    I did as he said, and to my amazement, it all came back to me, and I was a six-year-old girl, skating at
    Prospect Park. When Adrian realized I didn’t need him to hold my hand anymore, he skated backward in
    front of me, watching.
    “Isn’t this better than some fake ice at a rink?” he said.
    There it was again. Had he skated at a rink before?
    Something else to indicate he’d been normal once.
    But I said, “Much better.” A flock of Canada geese flew over in a V. “You don’t see that at a rink.”
    “Race you!” he yelled, and he turned and started skating faster, so fast I couldn’t keep up. When he came around behind me, I said, “Let’s hold hands again.” Obediently, he took mine. “I like holding hands.”
    “Me too. But can I ask you something, something personal?”
    “Maybe.”
    I took a deep breath, uncertain. I didn’t want to insult him.
    But I wanted to know him, the real him. “You haven’t . . .
    always looked like this, have you?”
    He didn’t answer, and so I started to list the things. He’d mentioned skiing, having friends, going to
    school, skating rinks.
    Finally, he said, “No, I haven’t always been this way.
    Does it matter?”
    “I just wondered . . .” I wanted to ask him how it happened, what it was like for him. “It must have been hard.”
    “It was hard. That’s why I don’t like to talk about it. It was like everything I thought was true suddenly wasn’t. My father, people I thought were . . . they weren’t there anymore. They couldn’t deal.”
    I nodded. “Like when my mother died. Everything changed.”
    “Exactly.” He looked down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to talk about it because it . . .”
    “Hurts?”
    He nodded. “I should have known you’d understand.” And then, he dropped my hand and skated, lightning
    fast, around the ice. This time, he didn’t call to me to join him.
    Had I offended him, insulted him with my question? I couldn’t tell. He went around, faster and faster, and I remembered what he’d said about the tiger in the cage.
    Maybe sometimes he just needed to run. I watched him, his power and grace, and even though he might be
    freakish in some ways, in others, he was so, so beautiful, so full of life and energy.
    He went around three times, not looking back, just flying, but after the third time, he fell back in step. He didn’t even seem out of breath.
    “I’m sorry,” I said.
    “For what?”
    “For . . . asking you about something you didn’t want to talk about, for making you feel all weird.” He
    shook his head. “I am all weird, but it’s not because of you. I just like to go fast. I don’t get that many opportunities.”
    I told him I liked to watch him, and then, I begged him to do it again. And again. He happily obliged, and I yelled and clapped each time he passed. He really was like a wild cat, graceful even in his heavy clothes, and finally free. I could tell he knew it, knew it and liked impressing me. After a while, he even shed his jacket, knowing he was safe, knowing no one was watching but me.
    “It’s so great to get out and just go.”
    “It is. We should do it every day while we’re here.”
    “We