Chapter Five
Later in the afternoon, the Parks drop me off in San Francisco. I wave to Samuel on my way into Mom’s office building. The elevator doors slide open, and I tap the button for the fourteenth floor. My stomach drops as the elevator zips up, like I’m riding a roller coaster in reverse.
The doors ping open, and I greet the receptionist as I head into Mom’s law office. Her desk sits in a maze of paralegal cubicles in the center of the room—two rights, one left. I poke my head around the corner of Mom’s desk.
“You made it back!” She looks up from her computer. “I can’t wait to hear all about your day. We can leave in about forty-five minutes. Do you have something to do while you wait?”
Normally, the Parks will drop me off at home so I can eat dinner and do chores while Mom’s still at work. But Mom asked Mrs. Park to drive me to her office today instead so we can walk home together and talk about my first day at the Oakland rink.
I nod, and Mom’s gaze moves back to her screen. “I’ll come get you as soon as I’m done.”
I’m off again, this time to a cubicle at the edge of the maze. It’s empty, except for a coffee mug that says I’d rather be skating in curly blue letters. It’s filled with pencils and pens Mom bought me when I started taking online homeschool classes last year.
I grab a pen, then pull out my notebook and phone from my skate bag.
I send a quick text to Tamar.
4:22 p.m.: Boo to your twizzles! Call you when I get home?
I turn to my notebook and flip to a clean page. I was really planning to do this earlier, but my thoughts kept spinning back to what Alex said during my lunch break.
Fifteen dollars per ice session, times four sessions a day, five days a week. That’s twelve hundred dollars saved a month. It could buy tons of groceries. Help with costs for flights and hotels at competitions. Maybe we could even save up enough to fly to Hawaii and surprise Grandma Goldie. Then I could skate well in Los Angeles and save us more by getting to skip Regionals.…
Focus!
I scribble a tip I learned in off-ice stretching class about breathing before deepening my splits. Faith sat in front of me today, legs long and straight, toes pointed. I jot down those details, too.
Looking up, I try to remember anything I could’ve forgotten. The office where Mom’s boss usually works is empty, lights off. Sun pours in through windows overlooking the Bay Bridge.
I twirl the pen in my hand, wishing I’d gotten to talk to Faith more today. But after the morning freestyle, then lunch in the coaches’ lounge with Alex, we both had lessons. Then, she put her headphones on the moment we climbed into Mrs. Park’s car, while Hope talked my ear off about team name ideas.
My phone screen blinks with a thumbs-up emoji from Tamar. I get back to my notes. By the time Mom’s ready to go, tips and diagrams fill my paper.
At street level, people crowd the sidewalks. Most make their way toward the BART subway station that will take them out of the city. Mom and I walk in the opposite direction.
Once we’re past the noisy crowd, I look up at her. “Are you tutoring the Millers tonight?”
“Just the oldest boy. The younger is away at a sports camp.”
That reminds me of the national training camp I’ll be trying to qualify for later this season. I wonder how much a Team USA jacket costs, or if you get one for free at the camp. Do they pay to send you to international events, or is that something else Mom’ll have to figure out?
We stop at a street corner, and I look up at Mom. At least this year, I know how to help. I slip my hand into hers. “Alex told me about how I can get free ice-time.”
“Oh, good,” Mom says as the light turns. “What did you think about his idea?”
“I think it’s awesome. I can skate as many freestyle sessions as I need. Plus, it’ll be fun to help teach other people to skate.”
“I bet you’ll be a wonderful assistant.” Mom smiles. “How was the rest of your day?”
“Good. I liked my off-ice classes and got used to the ice pretty quickly on freestyle.”
“That’s wonderful.” Mom squeezes my hand.
The walk sign flickers on. I take a step forward, but Mom pulls me back as a car whips past.
“Careful!” She doesn’t loosen her grip, even after other people move into the crosswalk. “These drivers, sometimes.”
She shakes her head, lips pursing into a thin line. It reminds me of Miss Lydia this morning.
Should I tell Mom about needing a skirt?
As we reach the gate at our building’s entrance, I still don’t have an answer.
“I met my new choreographer.”
“What was she like?” Mom asks as we enter a small lobby.
“Intense,” I admit. “Alex said our first lesson is tomorrow.”
We take the stairs up to the fourth floor. By the time we enter and slip our shoes off, I’ve made my decision. Mom doesn’t have time to buy me a skirt tonight. Plus, she said to focus on training hard. I don’t need a skirt to do that.
“That reminds me,” Mom says. “I need to take your measurements for Mrs. Park. She’s handling everything with the seamstress your choreographer recommended. I don’t think you’ve grown much since Nationals, but I’ll double-check this weekend.”
She drops her purse on the kitchen table, rushing around as she talks. I set my duffel bag by the door, then perch at the edge of her bed.
“I’m going to get changed before I head out for tutoring. Now, where did I put that red… ah!” Her eyes light up, and she takes the shirt I hold out. “Thank you. We make a good team, you and I.”
As Mom disappears into the bathroom, I think about training with Faith today. I wonder if we’ll ever become a real team like Alex wants.
“There are leftovers in the refrigerator.” Mom’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. She heads my way, then kisses my forehead. “If you need anything, Mrs. Lee is around tonight, just down the hall. I’ll be home in a couple of hours.”
After Mom leaves, I head for the kitchen. Magnets from skating events cover the refrigerator, plus photos from each new city Mom and I visit. I open the door with one hand, video-calling Tamar with the other.
Tamar appears, hair still pulled back in a ponytail from skating.
I pull a sealed bowl off the top shelf. “Tamarrrrr.”
“So, I was right. Practice was hecka boring without you and Alex.”
“Oh no.” I make sure she can see my big pout. “Weren’t you supposed to have a tryout with a new coach, though?”
“I did.” Tamar’s head bobs up and down. “Her name is Kell. I think it’s short for Kelly. She seems nice. Knows her stuff. Made me practice tons of brackets and twizzles.”
I set the phone on the counter, peel back the bowl’s plastic wrap, and pop it into the microwave. “But that’s good, right? Haven’t they been giving you trouble?”
“Always. But whatever.” Tamar rolls her eyes. “What about you? How was your first day in Oakland? Did you meet any Olympians?”
“Not sure about Olympians, but there were lots of good skaters there. I even saw a couple of Team USA jackets. And a lot of older kids can do triples, so maybe they have jackets, too, and just weren’t wearing them.”
“So cool! Have you—”
The microwave dings, drowning out the rest of what Tamar says. I grab the bowl and a pair of chopsticks, then head to the table.
“Sorry, say that again?”
“I asked if you’ve met your choreographer yet.”
“Oh. Yes. Kind of.”
“That doesn’t sound good. Is she mean?”
“She seems a little strict, but I don’t really know yet.” I take a bite of tofu. “I met her for, like, less than five minutes.”
“Gotcha.” Tamar flops on her bed and the video bounces with her.
I suddenly realize how tired I am. My legs feel like jelly. It’s the good type of exhausted from training hard, but I can hardly keep my eyes open.
“I think I’m going to pass out soon. Can I tell you more when we hang out on Wednesday?”
Tamar grins. “You better.”
I finish the rest of my dinner, take a quick shower, and crawl into bed, determined to wait up for Mom. I twist toward my wall, eyes on Michelle first, then my parents’ graduation photo—on Dad’s smiling face. I glance at the Juvenile championship medal hanging on its own special pin, then back to Dad.
I wonder if he knows I’m a national champion. What would he think about me training with a famous choreographer? Mom used to talk to him on the phone every Sunday night when I was little. Then it dropped to once a month, and now I can’t remember the last time he called her.
My eyelashes flutter. The photo blurs out of focus.
The next thing I know, the door clicks open. I blink, eyes bleary. Mom dims the lights and makes her way to my bed.
“Did you eat?” Her voice is a comforting murmur. I nod, and she smooths the hair on my forehead. “Go back to sleep. I need to make our lunches for tomorrow.”
Mom opens the window on her way to the kitchen, then sets a pot of water on the stove. I listen to the bubbling water until my eyelids shut, and everything fades away for the second time today.