A Flick of the Fingers

My left hand had been held out flat for so long. Suddenly, a little tingle rushed through my chest straight down into my gloves. I tried curling my fingers inward—and they moved! With a quiet, eager gasp, I leaned forward and pressed my padded white fingertips against the smooth pink surface behind me. It was cool and firm. A tiny spark of warmth hummed under my skin, and I couldn't help smirking as I settled my weight back onto my boots, ready for whatever race comes next.