I checked Janaina's text again.

"We need to talk. It is important. Come to Antares tomorrow at 2pm."

Well, here I am.

Last time I set foot in Antares, I was walking on both feet. Granted, I needed crutches, and one of my feet was bandaged and completely useless, but they were here, I thought, as I made my way through the cobblestone path at Instituto Villa Lobos, the private K12 school that hosted Antares Skating School, and, alone, tried to make it down the stairs that led to the gymnasium where it was located.

"So much for a new life" I muttered. At least now I didn't have crutches anymore. So, one of my legs wasn't really made of flesh. But according to my father, it was the best robotic prosthetic leg, as expensive and state-of-the-art as they come. One of the benefits of being a legacy figure skater, son of a legendary figure skater. You see, my old man had called in a few favors and persuaded a few sponsors. Only the best for the prince. Kind of like gifts from divorced parents, only way more expensive. The divorced parents, the guilt, and strings attached, were a bonus.

Thanks to my early Christmas present, I didn't have to raise my hip as I was walking. My gait was a little more natural, most of the time I could even try skating, if I took it slow. Glaciar slow. If I trained too hard, my punishment was forced rest, painkillers and ointments for all the blisters that would break out.

Still, it took some getting used to, and I found myself wishing I'd brought at least one of my crutches. My new bionic leg was a bit heavier too, judging by the time it took me to walk down those steps, holding on to the handrail for dear life.

The stairway that led to the skating school was particularly challenging. Steep, constantly busy with children and teenagers walking and running up and down, running over any people on their way. If not that, they'd sit down on the bottom, chatting, oblivious to passersby or leaning against them as they made out. Been there, done that, I thought, bitterly. Look at me now, the grumpy 17-year-old grouch angrily shaking his proverbial cane at kids, shouting at them to stop stepping on his grass and to slow down. If only I'd brought my own.

Before I had even finished my mental rant, I lost my footing. With a quick move, I put my weight on the handrail, to keep from falling, face first, on the concrete steps. I still fell on my knees, on the brand new shiny prosthetic leg. I struggled to get up, trying to think of the worst possible cussword to yell at them, when I saw the back of the person who'd literally run me over. However, before I could even open my mouth, the person climbed back up as fast as before.

"I'm so, so sorry. I'm such a klutz! Are you ok?" a tremulous voice asked. The head belonging to it was down, looking for injuries on me. It also had jet black hair, tied in a French braid.

"I'm okay. I'm used to it by now", I avoided her touch and looked at my leg. I tried to pull the hem of my pants down, so she wouldn't notice the bionic leg.

When the girl lifted her head to look at me, she brushed back a stray lock of her hair.

"Are you sure? Do you need any help? You can lean on me if you want", she insisted.

If I couldn't make out her voice, she same could not be said about her piecing blue eyes. I'd recognize that penetrating gaze anywhere. They belonged to my former best friend's younger cousin. It had been a couple years since I last saw her, and now her hair had a few blue highlights. At another glance, her hair wasn't the only different thing about her. The girl next to me looked like a punk rocker, wore dark make-up on her eyes and had multiple earrings on both ears. I recovered my dignity, more amused than embarrassed, and said:

"It's ok... Estrela."

Her heavily smokey eyelined eyes were confused and her eyebrows furrowed at this. Her voice was louder at once.

"Hang on, how do you kn... Ulisses?"

Now she was really looking at me.

For about a year, I practically lived at the hospital. I already knew each of the operating rooms so well that you could call me Dr. House. My buddy House and I were practically twins separated at birth, identical in everything, from the painkiller addiction to the foul mood and manners.

It hadn't always been like that. It all started with an accident during practice. An attempt at a double salchow gone really badly. At the time, my father was one of the star instructors and he demanded way more from me than from other students. The son of the legendary Vitor Vasiliev had a reputation to uphold. After a particularly harsh fall, he reduced my sharp ankle pain to laziness, had me put some ice on it for 20 minutes and walk it off. I tried, tears in my eyes, not wanting to give him the pleasure of calling me a wimp. It got worse.

The next morning, I couldn't put my foot down. As soon as I put any pressure on my left foot, I saw stars, planets, the entire galaxy pulsating in front of my eyes. One thing was stronger than the pain: the anger I was feeling at my dad. I couldn't even look at him, that the thought that it was his fault I was in that situation invaded me.

In the hospital, they diagnosed me with an injury on my calcaneus, the heel bone. My father tried to ask if that could be fixed before the next competition,, but he was silenced by an indignant look from my mother.

I had had enough. I demanded, very loudly that, he leave my room. I think my screams still followed him down the hall to the elevators.

The surgery I would go through was the first of many that came after.

Right after I was released to go home, the pain started again, even stronger They found I had contracted osteomyelitis, a bone infection. And there we were, back to sterile rooms and gross hospital food.

Needless to say, I was mad at the world. At my father, who tried to find out how long was the recovery time, for his own benefit, and tried to give me pep talks, until I said I didn't want him as my coach anymore. At my mother, who was stepping on eggshells around me and then took her anger out on my father when she thought I couldn't hear them. She would alternate between despair and utter practicality, but, afraid to crush my Spirits, she would keep the truth from me whenever she thought it would upset me, which, of course, made me even angrier and more upset, not to mention feeling betrayed.

Heitor was the only one around whom I wouldn't act out.

My friend was the only one who would walk around in the hospital, making friends with nurses, doctors, and the cleaning staff. He would learn the name of every physical therapist and would goof off when I complained about the exercises I had to do. He would call me out when I was rude to my mom or snarky at the doctor.

"Whoever told you to be yourself has given you bad advice," he told me, on one occasion. "Dude, I know you're feeling like crap, but you don't have to act like one too. You're making your mom feel miserable, and the intern who you ran off just now is not the cause of your problems. And if you ever dare to throw any object at me, I swear I'll get a heavier one to throw at you. I'd like to see you run off like that." He pointed at my foot.

By the time he started bringing Estrela around, I was a bit more under control.

At one point, I thought bringing his cousin around was a deliberate move to try and make me act decent. I wouldn't yell at a twelve-year-old who wore an Avatar, the last Airbender T-shirt. I mean, I wasn't a monster, and at least she had good taste in anime.

Over time, Estrela made her presence more expected. Every afternoon, after skating practice, she would come over with some of her board games. We'd all play Uno. Sometimes, she would bring games I didn't even know existed, like Settlers of Catan or Carcassonne. She would rarely talk at all, except during the game and, even then, she spoke in monosyllables or whispered in her cousin's ear. Fine by me, I thought. The less she talks, the less annoying she is. But she also never giggled or joked around, something weird on any girl her age. She looked like a wild little animal. When I asked something about the game, or made a comment directed at her, she would ignore me or mutter something in response.

At some point, I asked Heitor what was up with her. His features hardened. He frowned, his eyebrows furrowed, and he wouldn't say anything for so long that I thought that he would just ignore me, or that he would yell at me for being nosy.

"It's complicated. Look, I appreciate you being decent to her. I've just met Estrela, and, as you saw, she is a figure skater like you, from another school. That's why I never brought her up before. She is going through a hard time at home, and my grandma Celeste, who she barely knows, is trying to contact her, but her lunatic of a mom won't allow."

"Fine, no problem. But why would a teenage girl want to come to the hospital every day? I hate being here!"

"No way! If you didn't tell me I could never tell! I could have sworn you were having a blast" he said, a smirk on his face as I flipped the bird at him. "Actually, being here around us is helping her a lot. Anyway, I've been helping grandma get close to Estrela. I made friends with her, using skating as a pretense, and my cousin just recently agreed to meet grandma, my mom, and Gabi. My sister doesn't even know about her yet. She would want to meet her at once."

"Are you for real? Are you like, a saint, or something?"

"No, I just try to make someone's day better. Or not worse."

"That is a lot"

He shrugged.

"Well, I'm not trying to say you don't have problems, but as you can see, other people have them too."

When the doctors came to tell me that, due to the infection, I was going to have to amputate my leg below the knee, I lost it. I saw all my skating dreams disappear before me.

"There is no reason to despair. You don't have any brain injury, or spinal injury. And even if you did, you are fully capable of practicing sports. You can even learn a new one. Have you never heard of the paralympic games?", said Dr. Otávio Guerra, the doctor on my case.

It was a good thing neither Heitor nor Estrela came that day, because any progress made on my manners went out the window. I didn't need or want any filter, any restraints. Only my parents were there, and I could fall apart around them. I could yell, and curse, and tell them to go to hell with their optimism.

Dad was the first to leave the room. My mom just looked at me tentatively. She tried to comfort me, but I didn't want to be hugged.

"Leave me alone, mom. I just want to be alone. Please."

I cried myself to sleep that day.

Those memories invaded me, as I accepted Estrela's offer and let her support me to the gym. As I took in the scent of her shampoo. I was so distracted that I wouldn't be able to look where I was going, anyway.