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The applause was deafening in the stadium. Every man, woman, and child seemed to be on their feet, cheering for the man on the ice. Olympic rings beneath his skates, he took his bows. Cameras flashed and history was made.
And then something very strange happened.
Like a biblical plague delivered by a divine toddler, Winnie the Pooh dolls rained down from the sky. Big Poohs, small Poohs, yellow Poohs, novelty pink Poohs. As far as Pooh-showers went, this one was well within monsoon territory. Viktor took that as his cue, pushing ahead of the other children, eager to be the first on the ice.
He had been absolutely beside himself with excitement when he’d been chosen to work at the Olympics. Every single day, Viktor would stand by the boards and watch the very best skaters in the whole world give the very best performances of their lives. Then after they were done, he got to skate with them! Or around them. In circles picking up stuffed animals and flowers and the occasional paper airplane. It was a very important job and Viktor loved every minute of it.
He was especially fond of his uniform. If you could call it that. The flowing garment had sparkles and billowy sleeves and it was exactly the best shade of blue for bringing out the color of his eyes (at least that’s what his mother said). His hair was swept up in a ponytail, fixed in place with a blue rose barrett that twinkled when he moved. He felt just like a real skater!
(And he was a real skater, Viktor told himself as he made his first pass around the rink, arms overflowing with Pooh. In four years he’d be thirteen, old enough to join the Junior Grand Prix. And then it would be him up there bowing for a packed stadium.)
The only downside to this job was that none of the other children seemed to love it as much as he did. They complained about their feet hurting and having nothing to do. Viktor thought that if they couldn't handle it, they shouldn't have signed up because surely their bored expressions would look terrible on camera. And he told them so. Not many of the other children seemed keen on hanging out with him after that.
After depositing his first armful, he went back out on the ice and found that he and the others had barely made a dent in the sea of gifts. In fact there seemed to be more now. The celebrated skater was still waving gratefully at the crowd as chaos rained down around him, showing no signs of stopping. Viktor was going to have his work cut out for him.
On his third pass, arms full once more, he was about to dump his findings onto the growing mountain at the side of the rink when he saw it. It was a stuffed animal, but it wasn’t a chubby yellow bear. In fact, Viktor realized with delight as he skid to a stop beside it, it looked like a stuffed puppy. After a struggle with the seven or eight bears in his arms, Viktor plucked the toy from the ice and gingerly placed it atop his pile.
It was a dog. And not just any dog—it was a poodle!
It was strange, though. Up close, the doll was clearly in rough shape. The plush brown fur dull and faded. There was an inexpertly sewn seam by its shoulder, as if someone had repaired a tear. And it was missing an eye.
How strange, to offer such a thing to one’s favorite skater as a present.
Unless...
Viktor let the Pooh bears in his care fall down to the ice, where his exasperated “co-workers” picked them up and zoomed off, some shooting him dirty looks. But Viktor was fully focused on his new mystery.
He found the clue under one soft ear. In the fuzzy pink underside was a name. Or Viktor thought it might be a name. It was written in a kind of language Viktor didn’t recognize. The letters were just round scribbles that looked nothing like the alphabet or numbers or even Cyrillic. But Viktor knew it was a name, and that the poodle in his hands wasn’t a gift from a fan.
It was a lost dog. And Viktor had to find its owner.
He skated to the boards closest to where he’d found the poodle and hoisted himself up. Above him the stands seemed to stretch on forever. He scanned row after row of rowdy skating fans, but couldn’t see a single person who was jumping up and down with a “Have You Seen My Dog?!” sign. So Viktor was back to square one with no leads. Sighing, he dropped back onto the ice. He’d have to ask an adult to help him. He hated that, he’d prefer to solve the mystery on his own. But the other children were nearly done clearing the ice and the skater had long since gone. It was time to go.
He was just about to head back when he heard a noise. It was barely audible over the murmur of the crowd. And it sounded like...a crying child.
That’s them! Viktor thought excitedly.
He whipped his head around, looking for the source of the crying. But he couldn’t see well over the first row of people. The crying sounded far away, too. Maybe the child was sitting higher up? Or were they in a different seating zone altogether? Or maybe-
“Vitya! Get off the ice!”
The gruff voice startled Viktor so much that he slipped a little when he turned around to face it. Yakov, his coach (who happened to be in charge of supervising the small army of child skaters at the Games), was shouting at him from the rink’s entrance. Very reluctantly, Viktor skated across the length of the Olympic rink, though he kept his head turned in the direction of the child’s cries until he couldn’t hear it anymore.
“Vitya, watch where you’re—oof!”
Because he wasn’t looking in front of him, Viktor crashed into Yakov’s torso. Luckily, it had been years since Yakov’s competitive skating days, so the man had plenty of padding to cushion Viktor’s collision.
Yakov lifted Viktor off the ice and onto the carpeted floor beyond the rink with a grunt.
Viktor practically bounced on his toe picks. “Yakov! Look! I found this doll-“
“Don’t even think about it."
"But-"
"I’m the one who got you this job so if you’re caught stealing from the an Olympic champion, I’ll be the one to catch hell for it.”
Viktor shook his head so hard that his ponytail hit him in the face. “I wasn’t going to steal it! How could you think that, Yakov?”
Yakov handed him his skate guards with a stern look. “The earrings you went home wearing yesterday were very fetching. I especially thought so when the Italian ice dancer wore them in her long program.”
“She said I could have them!”
“But you asked for them in the first place.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Yakov sighed heavily and Viktor held the poodle toy closer in case his coach decided to take it away. He held up the ear, revealing the name. “See? It belongs to someone. And I heard a child crying somewhere. It’s not a gift, it belongs to that little kid.”
Yakov’s eyebrows rose skeptically, but at least he seemed to study the strange letters instead of just ripping the toy out of Viktor’s hands and throwing it on the Pooh pile. “It’s Japanese. The skater is Japanese. No doubt it’s a message meant for him.”
Viktor huffed. Yakov was a terrible detective.
So he explained his deductions, “First of all, if a fan wanted to send him a message, they would attach a card, not draw it on the doll in permanent marker. Second, look at the marks. Don’t they look really old? There’s even a stain, like the tip of the ear fell in some tea or soup or something. And thirdly, it’s got a missing eye. No fan would dream of giving this to a famous skater. There’s only one explanation. It’s lost property.”
“Lost property. That you found on the ice? ”
“Well,” Viktor hesitated, “I don’t know how it got there but I’m positive it wasn’t supposed to be there. Yakov, I heard someone crying! I have to find them.”
Viktor just didn’t have time for Yakov’s scolding. And he definitely didn’t have time to explain the importance a well-loved stuffed dog had to a crying child. So the minute Yakov was distracted, he put on his skate guards and slipped away, making for the opposite side of the rink.
The next skater was taking position on the ice. Viktor had to edge his way around officials and cameramen and by the time he’d gotten back to where he thought he’d heard the crying, the music had started and there was no hope of hearing anything above that .
Viktor paced back and forth on the spot but he could barely see more than the first row of people from this vantage point. He had to go up into the stands. He left rinkside and headed to the audience area. A staff person tried to stop him.
“Young man? I’m not sure you’re allowed up there-“
“I gotta pee!”
Viktor pushed past, clumsy on his skates, and carefully navigated the staircase that would take him into the stands. It was even louder up here. The skater on the ice right now must be landing a lot of his jumps because the crowd was going wild. Viktor felt a pang of regret that he couldn’t watch the performance from the side of the rink like usual, but he couldn’t let anything distract him from his mission. He took it row by row, peering at every child he passed for signs of tears. When he reached the top level of one zone, he moved a section over and went back down, searching every face he passed.
By the time the skater had finished and a fresh wave of plushies was unleashed upon the ice, Viktor had to admit defeat.
“You find the toilets ok?” the staffer asked him kindly as she let him back in. Viktor shook his head sadly and she gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
Yakov was not impressed when he returned.
“You are aware that you’re here to work , not to run off on your own adventures.”
Viktor’s shoulders slumped. “I couldn’t find them, Yakov.”
Yakov gave a weary sigh. “Go and do your job, Vitya. Leave that old thing with me—and I promise ,“ he added above Viktor's protests, “I will help you find the owner after.”
Viktor nodded and reluctantly let Yakov have the doll. “Thanks, Yakov.”
“Hmph. Just get back to work.”
Viktor got back to work. After he and the others had cleared the space entirely of stuffed toys and flowers, he didn’t have a moment to rest before he was needed out on the ice again to help roll out the carpet for the flower ceremony. And then there was the ceremony itself. Despite his concern for the poodle toy and its crying owner, Viktor nearly lifted off the ice in pride when he was the one who got to hand the bouquet to the gold medalist. Viktor knew that this was a moment he would remember and cherish his whole life.
“Yakov!” he crowed as he left the ice. “Yakov did you-“
“Yes, I saw.”
“But did you-“
“Take pictures? Yes, yes.”
“And did you-“
“Remind your mother to record the program? No, because I doubt she’d forget and, though it may have escaped your notice, I am your coach not your nanny. Now hurry change out of your skates.”
“What for?”
Yakov shoved the poodle toy at Viktor, who took it back gratefully. “Just change.”
Viktor changed into his sneakers in record time. He was just getting used to the strange feeling of being on flat soles again when Yakov came to get him.
“But I’m still in costume.”
“Don't bother with that right now. Let’s go.”
Yakov led him to the other side of the change room where Viktor knew the male Olympians were situated. He would “accidentally” wander over there from time to time and try to talk to them when Yakov wasn’t looking. That Yakov was taking him there now was a rare opportunity to openly gape at the men he idolized without getting in trouble for it.
“Come on then, show him what you found.”
Viktor tore his eyes away from the bronze medalist, who was happily wolfing down what looked like a paper bag full of McDonalds fries now that the competition was over, to look at the man Yakov had indicated. It was the gold medalist from Japan.
“Hello again,” said the man smiling. “Thanks for the flowers, by the way.”
Eyes wide, Viktor said stupidly, “I didn’t buy them.”
The man laughed. He was putting on his shoes, a towel hanging from his neck along with the gold medal. “Yakov says you found something interesting on the ice after my skate?”
Viktor hesitated. What if the man decided that the poodle was his after all and wanted to keep it? The gold medalist’s eyes were kind, though, and Viktor felt sure that he only wanted to help. He handed the battered toy to the older man, who studied it with open curiosity.
Viktor rushed to explain himself, “I know I was supposed to put it with the rest of your stuff, but it’s definitely not supposed to be a gift. It belongs to somebody, it just got lost somehow. It even has something written on it.”
Yakov flipped the ear over, exposing the writing. “I thought it might be a message for you, since it’s Japanese. Viktor thinks it’s a name.”
“It is a name,” Viktor muttered.
The skater smiled. “Viktor is right, it is a name. It’s pronounced Yu-u-ri. ”
“Yuuri,” Viktor breathed.
“Just like that. I think your theory’s spot on, the handwriting and the name means this almost definitely belongs to a little kid. I wonder how it got on the ice.” Another man stepped close and said something in hurried Japanese. The skater responded, then carefully handed the dog back to Viktor with a rueful smile. “I really wish I could help more, but I have to go. I hope you’re able to get him back to his owner.”
“We have a solid lead now, Yakov,” Viktor said after they were mostly alone again in the change room, Olympic athletes having been herded out to talk to the press. “I told you it was a name.”
Yakov rolled his eyes, but he patted Viktor on the head playfully. “Hmph. Alright, Mr. Holmes. You did well, is that what you want to hear?”
Viktor beamed. “What next?”
“Next? Next you bring it to lost and found, let them deal with it.”
Yakov brought him to the security station then rushed away to do boring work things. Viktor knew that he should hand the dog in to the lost and found. He should keep himself occupied until his mother came to pick him up in a few hours. Usually by this time he’d be over at one of the other rinks, watching the speed skating or the curling events. But it just didn’t feel right to leave the old dog with these strangers. He’d been the one to find it, after all. It was his responsibility to reunite puppy and owner. His mission.
And so Viktor bypassed the security station and began his search.
Though the show was over, many people lingered in the stadium to buy souvenirs and take pictures. He held the poodle to his chest and walked around the lobby, calling Yuuri’s name over and over until a staffer asked him if he was lost. After running all over the arena with the doll and shoving it in the face of every child he came across in hopes of provoking a reaction, Viktor left the building.
“Yuuri!” he called across the courtyard.
Nobody paid him any attention. He called the name a few more times. When people started to look at him curiously, he just wandered in the direction of the nearest stadium. Maybe Yuuri would be watching the curlers?
But Yuuri hadn’t been at the rink with the curlers, or the speed skaters, or even the hockey games. Or if he had, Viktor wasn’t able to find them. To be fair, all he had to go on was a name and the fact that the kid was Japanese.
Dejected, Viktor found himself back in the changerooms, glumly unpacking his locker. His mother would be around to pick him up any minute now and then he would have to say goodbye to his stuffed friend. Viktor worried that maybe Yuuri had gone to the lost and found already, but because of Viktor, had gone home empty handed, never to return.
Maybe he should have left the poodle with security after all.
Viktor didn’t know how to fix this and didn’t want to think about it anymore. Viktor just wanted to skate. That always made him feel better. They’d probably let him on the ice for a little bit before the Zamboni went out. Viktor’s parents both worked during the day so he was always the last of the kids to get picked up. The rink staff had grown fond of him and (after much begging) had let him have free reign of the ice while they packed up at the end of the day. Now, Viktor skated out onto the frozen surface and let his worries leave him.
He was practicing singles when he saw a woman in a brown coat walking among the stands. Eventually she seemed to notice him as well. He waved at her. She waved back.
Sometimes people stuck around after the show to take pictures, so this was nothing unusual. When this happened, Viktor never complained. He liked having an audience. So he did a few doubles just to show off. Then he pushed off into a spiral, then into the step sequence he’d been working on with Yakov, finishing off with a dizzying sit spin. The woman and some of the staff clapped and he took his bows with a flourish.
“Not bad, kid!” the woman barked, her English lightly accented.
"Thanks!"
The woman in the coat had moved down from the middle to the front row. Beside her was a little boy. He stood on tip toe peering over the edge of the railing at Viktor with wide, wide eyes.
Viktor waved at the child, who squeaked and hid behind the woman’s (his mother’s?) legs.
She spoke softly to him in another language. Then she shrugged at Viktor, smiling. “Sorry, he’s shy. He wants me to say that he loved your performance.”
“Tell him I say thank you!” Viktor was pleased and found himself wanting to impress the child even more. “Well if he liked that, he’ll love this!”
Viktor circled the rink to build up speed for a double axel, his hardest jump. With barely a stumble, he landed it—fully rotated, too! His audience of two cheered. Viktor pulled out every trick in his arsenal. Flying sit spin, layback spin, double salchow, double toe. After each one he snuck a glance at the boy, who was inching farther out from behind his mother’s legs. By the time Viktor had come out of a twizzle-like turn, the boy was out in the open and leaning so far over the railings that Viktor would’ve been worried if his mother hadn’t had her arm around him.
He skidded to a stop before his captive audience. He craned his head to shoot them a cheeky grin. “What do you think? Did you like it?”
The boy’s cheeks were bright pink with excitement rather than embarrassment this time. He nodded enthusiastically. “You were amazing!”
“You speak English, too?” Viktor smiled. The boy gave a bashful shrug. He was unbelievably adorable. Viktor wanted to pinch his chubby cheeks, as much as he hated it when his aunts did it to him. “Did you and your mom get to watch the free skate?”
The boy’s eyes widened. “N-no! She’s not my—Minako-sensei is-“
The woman—Minako-sensei—laughed and ruffled the boy’s short black hair. “I’m not his mother. I’m his ballet teacher.”
“Wow! You do ballet?” The boy covered his blushing face with both hands, nodding. “Cool! Me too! Do you skate?” Another nod. “That’s amazing.”
The boy shook his head. “I’m not as good as you. I can’t do any jumps.”
“That’s okay! It took me forever to learn how to do a jump. I was on my butt all the time. Yakov—that’s my coach—made me wear butt pads.”
That earned him a giggle. The boy’s hands were still cupping his soft cheeks, but at least he wasn’t hiding behind them anymore. “Butt pads?”
“Uh huh. Like knee pads. For your entire butt.” They all laughed. Viktor was delighted to see the boy opening up so much.
“There’s no need to be modest, Yuuri,” the ballet teacher said. “Tell him how you learned how to do a spiral the other week.”
“You can already do a spiral? That’s great!” Viktor enthused. Wait. Viktor stared wide-eyed at the little boy, then at Minako-sensei. “Did you say Yuuri? ” Viktor gasped. “Wait here! Don’t go anywhere! I have to get it!”
Viktor skated as fast as he could to the other end of the rink, slapped on his guards and turned around again to yell, “Wait there!” to the faraway specks on the other side of the arena. Who probably couldn’t hear him. Somehow, the specks managed to look confused and startled even at this distance.
Viktor tripped a few times but he made it to his locker in one piece. Unlacing his skates and picking up his precious parcel, he ran back into the rink in his socks. He went up the stairs on cold feet and found himself somewhere in the stands. Then he saw Minako-sensei and Yuuri standing several rows away.
“Yuuri!”
He ran to meet them. They were staring at him like he’d grown a second head, but then Viktor revealed the dog in his hands with a flourish.
Yuuri gasped and leapt forward.
“P-chan!”
Minako-sensei clapped her hands together. “Oh, Yuuri! Look, he found your poodle-chan.”
Viktor released P-chan into Yuuri’s waiting arms where he belonged. Yuuri hugged the well-loved toy to his chest, looking radiant with happiness.
“How did you find him?” he asked Viktor, voice full of wonder.
Viktor pointed proudly at his uniform. “I’m an official Olympic, um, gift picker upper. It was out on the ice with all the Winnie the Poohs. I figured it must belong to someone so I kept it just in case.”
Yuuri’s eyes were wide and red-rimmed. Up close Viktor could tell that he’d been crying. Was. Currently. Crying. Viktor panicked.
“I’m sorry! I know I should have brought it to lost and found! And I was going to, but I really, really, really wanted to find you and I didn’t think they were gonna be able to. I asked that skater to read the name tag, and he said the name on it was Yuuri—that’s how I knew it was you—but then I went around everywhere looking and I couldn’t find you and—oof!”
Yuuri threw his arms around Viktor’s waist in a tight hug. He buried his face in Viktor’s sparkly blouse. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he sobbed.
Viktor was not good with crying people. He gave Yuuri a pat on the back and tried very hard to communicate help me to Minako-sensei with his eyes. She just looked amused.
“Yuuri’s been beside himself all day. At the end of that skate, he meant to throw this,” she held up another toy—a Winnie the Pooh bear, “but in all the excitement he accidentally threw his best friend onto the ice instead. We came back to search the area again, in case it fell around here after all, when we saw you skating.”
“Hm,” Viktor hummed. “Good thing I was the one who found it then, or else it would’ve been gone forever.”
Yuuri made a distressed noise and hugged Viktor tighter. Viktor winced. His mother often told him he’d been born with his foot in his mouth. “Aw, hey, don’t cry.” He squeezed Yuuri back a little before they parted, Yuuri wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
“I know it’s stupid,” Yuuri hiccupped. “And I’m a c-crybaby. And I’m too old to play with dolls.”
Yuuri said it so sadly and with such certainty that it made Viktor frown. “That’s not true!” Yuuri stared at him in surprise. “There’s nothing wrong with crying when you’re sad. Or even when you’re happy. And you’re never too old to play with dolls.”
Yuuri sniffed. “You’re just being nice.”
“I mean it, though, I love dolls. In fact,” Viktor pointed at the Pooh bear. “I want that one!”
Yuuri scrunched his brow. “You want that?”
“Yep.”
“You like Winnie the Pooh?”
“Maybe. Would it be stupid if I did?”
Yuuri shook his head, eyes wide. “No! Of course not.”
“Then how can it be stupid for you to like P-chan? Besides, were'nt you gonna give Pooh away to the gold medalist? I know for a fact he likes dolls. So if he likes dolls, and I like dolls, then there’s no way dolls aren’t cool if cool people like me and the Olympic champion like them.”
"Um...I guess so?"
Yuuri looked stunned. To Viktor’s relief, the crying seemed to be over. Minako cleared her throat handed Yuuri the bear. She pointed a thumb at Viktor.
“You heard him, aren’t you gonna give him a gift for his wonderful skate?”
Yuuri, blushing, took the bear and presented it to Viktor like it was his very own gold medal. “This is for you, uh…?”
“Viktor.”
“Okay then. This is for you, Viktor,” Yuuri smiled his shy smile. “You’re a really good skater. Thank you for saving P-chan.”
Viktor felt...touched. He accepted the gift gently. “Thank you, Yuuri.” Viktor winked. “I’m gonna be famous one day but this is my first gift from a fan.”
Yuuri laughed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah okay.”
“My own Pooh bear! Pooh-chan! I’m going to call him P-chan, too!”
“They can’t both be P-chan,” Yuuri frowned.
“You can rename yours Vicchan after me,” Viktor joked.
To his shock, Yuuri didn’t laugh. He just blushed and said, “Okay...I guess he can be Vicchan from now on.”
Viktor opened his mouth to say that Yuuri didn’t have to do that, Viktor wasn’t anyone special really, when a booming shout came from the rink below.
“VITYA! Your mother has been waiting outside for over fifteen minutes!”
Uh oh. Mama’s not going to be happy.
“Yakov, look!” Viktor yelled down to his coach. “I found Yuuri!”
“Good for you, now get changed, your mother is waiting in the car!”
Viktor sighed. Life was always so difficult. “I gotta go.”
“Oh,” Yuuri said. He looked dejected and Viktor wanted to make him smile one more time before he left.
“I have an idea,” Viktor said. “I’m pretty good at jumps, and you can’t do any.” Yuuri huffed, so Viktor hurried to add, “But I bet I could teach you and you’ll be jumping in no time. What do you say?”
“I...want to! But are you sure? I’m not very good...”
“I’m sure! Besides, I’ll bring P-chan so Vicchan won’t be lonely while we skate.”
There it was, that shy little smile that Viktor couldn’t help but return.
“Okay.”
They exchanged their parents’ phone numbers (Viktor’s cell phone was for emergencies only, he wasn’t allowed to give the number out) and set up a play date. Then with a final wave and a promise to keep in touch, Viktor ran back down the way he came.
Usually during the car rides home from the Olympic Games, Viktor would talk endlessly to his mother about the skaters he’d met and the performances he’d seen. This time, though, Viktor spent the entire trip telling her all about the lost poodle and the little boy. His first fan and maybe even his first friend.