Chapter Twenty-One
Before I can pack for next week’s competition, Mom and I take a trip to the laundromat down the street. We load clothes into a big washing machine, then Mom leaves to pick up toiletries while I keep an eye on our clothes from my perch on a folding table.
I could text Hayden while I wait, or even Tamar. Part of me wants to ask Hayden about those gender-neutral pronouns, but I’m not sure exactly what I want to know that I can’t look up online on my own. It’s not like he uses them himself.
I pull out my phone. Although we didn’t meet up last Sunday, Tamar finally sent me the videos of her Intermediate Moves. I click on the first clip, hoping it’ll be a good distraction.
Tamar appears on my screen, standing at one end of the San Francisco rink. Turning backward, she starts the back double three-turn pattern. Her edges look steady, turns controlled, although she could work on extending her free leg more.
I click to the spiral sequence clip. This doesn’t look bad, either. Tamar isn’t super flexible, but her leg is at hip level for all but her last back inside spiral. I make a mental note, then move on to the video of her bracket turns.
A woman steps in front of my table, arms full of clothes. I slide over to give her space and return to my video. Tamar’s brackets are scratchy. Her blade wobbles before and after each turn. I watch the clip again, but my washing machine dings before I get past her first set.
I feed quarters into the dryer, then return to my seat just as my phone buzzes in my pocket.
12:20 p.m.: Roxas’s jacket is DONE. 
Onward, pants!
12:20 p.m.: Also look at this!
Hayden’s attached two pictures. The first is a selfie, highlighting the checker pattern lining his shoulders and chest. The second is harder to figure out. I zoom in until a little white face with glowing eyes stares back at me from under his bed. I text him back, swinging my legs like a pendulum.
I should get back to watching Tamar’s videos, but I look back at Hayden’s selfie instead, then google Kingdom Hearts Roxas cosplay images. I scroll through colorful outfits and people with makeup covering their entire faces. For every costumed boy, there’s a page full of girls.
My legs go still. If these girls dress up as boy characters on purpose, why is it so hard for me to skate as a princess?
I type in another search term: boys versus girls. All I get is a list of internet parenting articles.
Next, I try the difference between boys and girls. That gives me lots of links about brain science.
“Is the laundry done, Ana-Marie?”
I click my phone off fast and look up at Mom. The empty tote bag she grabbed on her way out the door now brims with items from the corner store. I glance past her to the dryer.
“Yep. I’ll get it.”
We head home to pack. I climb the ladder up to my bed with an armful of clothes and get to work deciding what to take to Los Angeles.
My clothes are half-sorted when Hayden texts again.
3:04 p.m.: Yes it’s Fisk! She came out of hiding today for like 3 minutes!
3:05 p.m.: M and E were out with Mom. Q4Q achieved for both of us
3:05 p.m.: (That’s quest 4 quiet if ur wondering)
3:06 p.m.: And guess what
His next message is in Chinese characters. After I jotted down the promised list of pronouns last weekend, Hayden installed a special keyboard app. He’s been sending me new words as he learns them.
Today, he’s advanced to simple sentences.
His latest text declares, I am a cat. Laughter bubbles up. I bite the inside of my cheek so Mom doesn’t come investigate.
I send Hayden a pair of cat emojis and finish folding my clothes. We’ll only be gone for a couple of days, but my skates and other competition supplies take up lots of space. I have to choose my non-skating clothes carefully so everything fits. Alex calls it “suitcase Tetris.”
I grab the clothes I’ve chosen and climb down the ladder. Mom set out my suitcase on her bed. Now she’s in the kitchen, back on her laptop. Laying my folded clothes beside the suitcase, I grab my duffel bag and remove anything not coming with us to LA.
I try to focus on packing, but my thoughts circle back to Hayden. His I am a cat text seemed silly at first, but now I can’t get it out of my head.
I am a ____.
Girl? No, I don’t think so.
Boy? Maybe, but it’s not that simple.
Why is that blank so hard to fill?
I try again.
I am Ana-Marie Jin? True, but that means the same as girl to most people. The Marie part of my name still tells the wrong story.
Skater still works, at least.
But when I head to the closet and pull out my free-skate costume, even that word turns against me. Now I have to deal with a glittery dress. It may be the perfect size for me, but it definitely doesn’t feel like a good fit.
I return to Mom’s bed and slide the costume inside a garment bag, zipping it out of sight as fast as I can.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, I pull out my phone again and find the picture of Hayden and his Roxas jacket. This time, I study the wall over his shoulder, zooming in until I can make out the blurry zie, zir, and zirs cutouts.
I open another browser tab and search gender-neutral pronouns, chest fluttering as I skim the links.
How to use gender-neutral pronouns
Respecting people’s gender-neutral pronouns
Five reasons people use gender-neutral pronouns
I click on the third link, skipping past the list’s first header about not knowing the gender of the person you’re talking about, then the second that focuses on Limitations of the English Language. My eyes pause on the next header: Identifies as Nonbinary.
The short paragraph says gender-neutral pronouns can be used by people who don’t identify as the gender they were assigned at birth. I guess for me that would be a girl. But then wouldn’t I prefer boy pronouns like Hayden does?
I tuck my legs under me and open a new tab, searching for only one word this time. My first result is a dictionary definition.
The fluttering in my chest intensifies, like a spin picking up speed when I pull my arms in closer to my body.
Nonbinary: not relating to, composed of, or involving just two things.
That’s totally me.
I study Mom at the kitchen table, then look down again. There’s no time to google more stuff, but I wonder how I would explain this to her. Alex once told me that “coming out” is when a boy says he likes a boy, or when a girl shares that she likes another girl. Maybe it’s similar to explain that you are a boy or girl.
Or nonbinary.
My legs are falling asleep, so I shift positions. The mattress squeaks, but Mom doesn’t turn around.
How did Hayden come out to his parents? When he told them he’s a boy, did they believe him immediately? Or did they think he was lying?
Each time I try to imagine the conversation, I see Mom shaking her head at me. Definitely confused. Probably disappointed.
Hayden hasn’t really talked about his past to me. Maybe it’s too private. Or maybe it’s because he thinks we’re both boys. My stomach clenches, but I have to know. I’ll never be able to figure out how to talk to Mom if I don’t.
4:09 p.m.: Can I ask u a question?
Across the room, Mom sighs. She doesn’t turn around, but I still delete u and replace it with you.
4:09 p.m.: Can I ask you a question?
That gives me time to figure out the rest.
I tap send. Hold my breath.
4:10 p.m.: Go for it
“All packed?”
I jump, nearly dropping my phone at Mom’s feet.
“Almost,” I mumble.
“It looks like you’re texting when you should be packing.” Mom smiles. She knows she’s caught me.
“I—um.” The phone is still warm in my clammy hands. “Sorry.”
I slide it into my pocket, then stare at the pile of unpacked clothes.
“Use a smaller bag to separate the street clothes from your skating outfits,” Mom prompts.
Whoops. I travel for competitions enough that I should’ve already done this. “Sorry,” I say again, before sprinting back to the closet.
“Is everything all right?” The lines in Mom’s forehead deepen.
“Yes.” I look down. “Why?”
“You seem distracted lately—and always on your phone.”
True. But what else could I possibly say? I’m sorry you spent thousands of dollars to get me the best choreography and costume, but I just found out I’m not a girl and don’t want to perform my princess program?
Not happening. I have to wait until after the competition. Maybe Mom will be so happy if I skate well enough to skip Regionals that it’ll be easier to tell her.
Her eyes stay on me as I return with a second bag. I swipe a pair of practice pants off the bed and shove them into my suitcase, still imagining that conversation between Hayden and his parents. All I can see is Dan. Smiling down at me from the porch in Berkeley. Looking so proud when Hayden talked about his cosplay costume.
“I think I left a pair of tights on my bed.” I climb a few rungs of my ladder. “I’ll start packing my suitcase after I grab them.”
“All right, then.” Mom doesn’t look convinced, but she nods and heads back toward the kitchen. “Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll start dinner.”
It’s no fun lying to Mom, but I tell myself it’s only for another few days as I look up at my Michelle Kwan poster. Michelle technically lied to her parents when she was my age, too, telling them her coach gave her permission to take the Senior free-skate test when he hadn’t.
When they found out, Michelle moved up a level, even though her coach didn’t think she was ready. But then she medaled at Nationals and became an alternate skater for the Olympic team.
I grab my tights, but my eyes keep drifting back to Michelle. I know lying is never okay, but maybe sometimes it’s necessary. Plus, now that I know there’s a word for how I feel, I should be able to perform my free program better. After LA, everything will be easier.
My gaze drops to my parents’ graduation photo, still pinned to the poster’s bottom left corner. Before I realize what I’m doing, I crawl across my bed and pluck it off its pin. I pull out my hongbao and slip the photo between my emergency money.
I still need to figure out some stuff before I ask Hayden coming-out questions.
I shoot him a text before climbing down my ladder to finish packing.
4:19 p.m.: Never mind! Mom started talking and I forgot what I wanted to ask.
I’ll get to the bottom of this on my own—after I skate well enough next week to skip Regionals.