Sunday morning, I wake up sneaky.

It’s one day before we all leave for the Olympics. It’s also the day of the team’s visit to Coach Chen’s rink and the going-away party at Luciano’s, so I need to make the most of it.

Therefore: sneakiness necessary.

I shower and change and get together my skating gear. I’m about to grab the Wang, then I think better of it and put on my favorite old costume of Coach’s instead. I finish packing my things and am out of the house at 4:30 a.m., which is crazy early, but I’m hoping to avoid the press and I want alone time on the ice. It will re-center me around the things that matter, I think.

I hope.

Blissful quiet.

That’s what this morning is made of so far. My walk out of the house and through the snow to Coach Chen’s was uninterrupted. The rink is dark and cold and empty, but in a way that brings me joy. The prospect of being out on the ice by myself for at least an hour and a half with only my music is a thrill. I unlock the building and flip on the lights. At the sound system, I plug in my iPod and scroll to my favorite salsa playlist. Then I take off my winter gear, trade my boots for my figure skates, and get out on the ice to warm up.

Maybe it’s Tawny’s influence, but for a while, all I do is dance. I salsa with the help of my toe picks, my hips moving as though separate from the rest of my body — my feet, my rib cage, my shoulders. I was born with salsa in my blood, since my mother loves to dance and she is as good as, if not better than, any of the celebrities on those competition dance shows. I swivel and sway until I’m thoroughly inspired. In the cheesiest way, it’s like I’ve just walked out of a feel-good movie that made me believe I can do anything.

Cheesy-inspiring can be the best, in fact, when you need energy or you need to get yourself psyched up, or when some of life’s doubts have been getting to you.

Like now, for example.

The song shifts to one of my favorites.

After the opening bars, right when the rhythm picks up, I decide it’s time for some jumps. First a few triple axels. I pick up speed and take off for the first triple axel, landing it and holding the back outside edge with a perfect position. Then I do it again. Once. Twice. Three times.

What has gotten into me?

Is it the salsa beat?

The press-free, drama-free morning?

The non-Wang dress?

Maybe I should stop asking stupid questions and just skate.

So I do.

Two hours later, just after 7:00 a.m., people start showing up.

Coach East smiles at me, her long pretty hair hidden away in a bun. Coach Danson stares at me while pretending not to. The ice dancers, including Tawny, who gives me a wave, head into the studio for their morning ballet class. The pairs are nowhere in sight. Oliver Mason is stretching on the rubbery floor at the far end of the rink.

I don’t see Hunter anywhere.

We still haven’t really talked since our paparazzi debacle. And the cheek kiss. He hasn’t indicated whether it has any grander meaning. Which I take to mean that it doesn’t.

Stacie and Meredith strut out onto the ice. They whisper and laugh and generally ignore my presence as usual. Stacie is in blue, surely to match her big eyes. Meredith wears black, which is striking with her red hair. The fact that I notice this makes me wish, once again, that somehow I could become friends with her, because then I’d be able to say things like, Hey, Meredith, you look great in that color! as though she were Libby or Joya.

Maybe now is my chance.

“Good morning, Esperanza,” Stacie says, in this way that I can’t tell if she’s being genuine or fake.

“Hi, Stacie, hi, Meredith,” I say.

Stacie makes a point of looking around the rink — up into the rafters, around at the bleachers, and at the other end of the ice. “So this is Lucy Chen’s famous private compound?”

“Um. Yes,” I answer, feeling awkward.

Her expression changes to something approaching sincerity and I wonder if she might actually say something nice. Maybe whatever comes out of her mouth next might alter the course of our relationship.

“Lucky for you she was willing to take on a charity case,” she says.

I open my mouth in shock, but before anything can come out, Meredith changes the subject.

“So you got here early,” she says.

“I couldn’t sleep.” This sounds like an honest enough explanation.

“Yeah, the Olympics will do that to you,” Meredith goes on, and she actually sounds almost sympathetic. “I’m in the same boat.”

Stacie looks at her, eyelashes fluttering. “Yeah, stress about losing at the US Championships can really mess with a girl.” She turns on me again. “We should discuss who among the two of you is going to be the alternate for the Team event. Or more accurately, which one of you will not.” She rolls her eyes. They are made up with eye shadow, thick liquid liner, and mascara. “It’s so stupid they’re doing this event this year. I don’t want to use up all my mojo on some shared gold.”

Who ever says mojo for real?

“It’s not our decision who the alternate will be,” I say, since this is, like, obvious. “And regardless of whether it’s shared, it’s another chance to medal.”

“That may be, but it’s a group win, so it’s worth less than if it’s just on your own,” she says, ignoring the part about how she doesn’t have control of who participates and who doesn’t.

Meredith shrugs. “I wouldn’t mind getting a gold that way.”

“That’s because it’s probably your only shot.”

Meredith’s fair skin flushes all over. Even her neck gets blotchy with shame. “You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do,” Stacie snaps back. “And you know it too, so stop pretending like you don’t. We’re both fully aware that Esperanza almost has a quad.” She nods in my direction, like what she’s just said is old news, a flash of triumph in her eyes.

Oh my gosh. Did Hunter tell?

When he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was a huge secret?

“But —” I start, unsure whether to deny it or give in and confirm that the quad is a potential reality.

Yet Stacie rattles on like what she’s said is no big deal. “Plus there’s that triple lutz–triple toe loop combination Esperanza has already been nailing forever now.” She turns to me, hand on her hip. She tries to smile innocently but it only makes the evil triumph in her eyes seem more wicked. “What else have you got up your sleeve, Espi?”

I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly freezing. I almost don’t know what to respond to first: Stacie’s mean comments to Meredith, her mention of the jumps in my programs, or the way she’s talking to me — first like I’m not even here, and now, like she deserves a full and honest answer. “How did you even know I was trying for a quad?” I finally manage.

Stacie smirks, her pink lip gloss shining in the overhead lights. “A little birdie told me.”

The only “birdie” that could blab such information is Hunter, of course. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl! This is why I do not need any boys in my life right now. Boys mess with your head, which then messes up everything else.

“I don’t have it yet,” I croak, thinking Coach is going to kill me. “Not even close. Definitely not good enough to risk it at the Games.”

Stacie’s eyes get wide. “So it’s true you are trying for a quad!”

“You didn’t actually know?” I ask, flustered.

“I had my suspicions,” she says.

It’s my turn to flush. Meredith shakes her head slightly, and I wonder for a second if she might be coming over to my side. I’d be thinking about switching alliances if Stacie treated me like she treats Meredith on a regular basis.

“And now I know for sure,” Stacie goes on. “Thanks for the heads-up, Esperanza.” She grabs Meredith by the elbow and tugs her away. “Let’s go tell our coaches. You’ve got a lot of work to do to have any hope of medaling now. Or a lot of praying.” She giggles like this is all a game. “Come on,” she urges Meredith when she doesn’t budge. Stacie is halfway across the rink before Meredith shows signs of life again.

“Don’t let her bully you,” I say mostly under my breath as Meredith starts to take off, but just loud enough that she might be able to hear.

She doesn’t turn around, but slows a little. For a moment I think she might be about to stop and talk.

But then Meredith skates away after Stacie.

“I’m going to go for the quad sal, okay?” I say to Coach nonchalantly. It’s my last run-through of the day, just before the meeting when we’ll be told who is going to be the alternate for the Team Event.

Coach Chen looks at me in alarm. “What? You can’t!”

I stare down at the nude-colored tights that stretch down over my boots. I can never decide if they look better than just wearing traditional tights that show my skates. Coach likes them because I don’t run the risk of my laces coming undone with them, but they are a definite fashion statement too. Some people hate them. I could go either way.

“Espi? I’m waiting.” Coach has her right hand on her hip. I can feel her dark eyes focused on me. She is in white again today — her favorite — her long black hair shining like silk down the back of her warm-up jacket. We’re the same height and body type, but Coach manages to seem intimidating nonetheless.

“Stacie and Meredith know about the quad,” I finally blurt.

Coach is shaking her head. “I’m going to have a word with that Hunter Wills. And then afterward, I am going to have some more words with you. This was supposed to be our secret! Our secret weapon!”

I nod. “I’m not even sure it was Hunter that told, though. Stacie didn’t seem to know for sure — she acted like she did at first, and I assumed Hunter must have said something, but then she tricked me into confirming that whatever she’d heard was true.”

“But who else could it be?”

I shrug. “I have no idea. I haven’t told anyone else in skating.”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t Bax.”

I laugh at the thought. “So I thought, since everybody knows or is going to know if they don’t already, shouldn’t I just go for it? I mean, won’t it help me at least get some respect among the other skaters on the team?”

“By ‘other skaters on the team,’ you mean Stacie and Meredith,” Coach says.

I shrug. “Maybe. But is that so bad?”

Coach gets a faraway look, which means she’s thinking. Debating, really. “Go do it,” she says after a moment. “And nail it. It will put you ahead of Meredith. And it will be good practice at making history, Espi. You’ll join the ranks of the very few women who’ve landed quads in public.”

The thought of knocking Meredith out of the running stabs me with guilt. But the possibility of making history — even just a little bit — is incredible even to contemplate.

“Okay,” I say, and before I can turn all Esperanza Pollo on myself, I skate out onto the ice, skirting the edges of the rink as I take the far curve, adrenaline pumping through my body, warming me even as the chill of the ice rushes along my cheeks and my arms as I pick up speed. Out of the corner of my eye I see Stacie and Meredith chatting in the corner, their attention trained on me.

Then I block them out.

I block everything out.

And I go into the second curve, faster still. When I come out of it, I race down the center of the ice, every stroke sure and strong and ready.

I’m ready.

And I go for my quad sal like never before, realizing that there’s nothing about being watched — no, being watched by my competition — that has to psych me out. That instead I can use the attention to drive myself to reach new heights.

Quite literally.

It’s a good lesson to learn.

Because I reach the top of my jump like I’m used to defying the laws of gravity, rising higher than I ever have in my life, spinning so fast and so perfectly poised that I know — I am 100 percent positive — that I’m coming out of this one standing.

And I do.

I nail it and as I slow to a stop on the ice, the only person who makes a sound is Coach Chen. “Go Esperanza!” she is cheering. “I knew you could do it!”

Everyone else is silent.

Then I hear Tawny join in. “Woo-hoo, Espi!”

The sound of clapping gets thicker now. I look around and see Oliver and Jason on the bleachers, their mouths wide with surprise as they applaud. Tawny’s partner and their coach cheer too. Coach East is standing next to Coach Chen and she’s nodding her head as she claps, the two of them talking even as their eyes are on me.

But the best moment of all is when my eyes meet Stacie’s.

She’s standing there, frozen, her eyes wide and her jaw hanging open, and in her stare I see shock, but also fear. It’s all over her face, really: full-on terror. She knows that if I can do that again even once at the Olympics, it’s all over. I’ll not only beat her out for gold, but I’ll beat out Mai Ling and Irina Mitslaya too. Plus, there’s that going-down-in-history thing by being the first ladies’ figure skater ever to land a quad anything at the Olympics.

I smile sweetly in her direction, in that way that’s also openly wicked. I can’t help myself — I learned it from watching her. And, to be totally honest, it kind of feels good to give her a little dose of her own medicine.

My smile fades when my eyes land on Meredith, though.

Her cheeks shine in the light. They are wet with tears, but they’re obviously not tears of joy. She and I both know, without either of us having to say a word, that by landing that quad sal, I’ve just beaten her out of the alternate spot for the Team Event. We don’t need to wait for the meeting to follow after practice for confirmation.

“Nice job, Espi,” Coach says when I come off the ice. She pulls me into a big hug. “Don’t feel bad about taking that spot,” she whispers. “You’re here to win.”

“I know,” I whisper back. Then I look down at my costume, the one that Coach once wore, and can’t help wondering if I’d worn the Wang today whether I would have landed on my butt instead.

Sometimes I hate being superstitious.

“Congratulations,” Coach East says, a smile so genuine on her face that I find myself hugging her too, in gratitude, and before I can think better of whether or not this is appropriate. She just laughs, though.

“Thanks,” I tell her.

A few minutes later, we all gather for the final Team USA meeting before we leave for the Games tomorrow — ice dancers, pairs, men and ladies too. Just before we start, Coach Danson pulls Meredith into a corner, and whatever he says to her is not good. People try to ignore the yelling that cuts into our more casual conversation — but it’s difficult. After what seems like an hour, even though it probably is only a few minutes, the yelling stops and the door to the rink opens and slams shut as Coach Danson storms out. Meredith, wiping tears from her eyes, follows after him.

Everyone grows silent.

Tawny pats the space next to her and I go sit with her, grateful to have at least one ally. After all Hunter’s phone calls and overtures to be a friend I can count on, he’s acting like I don’t exist.

Whatever, I think, even as I wince a little at this rejection.

But as the coaches confirm what we all knew without them having to say it — that it will be Stacie skating in the Team Event for the ladies and that I’ve won the alternate spot — I can’t help but wonder: If I’d landed on my butt today, would Hunter be sitting next to me right now?

Maybe there’s only room for one gold medalist in Hunter’s heart.

And that would be him.