Chapter Twenty-Two

“Ana-Marie Jin.” The announcer’s voice trills over the sound system. “Your program music will start in thirty seconds.”

My name feels like a burn that stings long after the announcer goes quiet. I breathe in, then press my shoulders down and exhale as I skate to my starting position.

I’m in first place after this morning’s Intermediate short program. Tonight, skaters are allowed to run through their free programs once on practice ice. Tomorrow is the real deal. After the scores from both of my programs get added together, I’ll know if I performed well enough to skip Regionals.

I rise up on my toe picks. My shoulders are tense, arms rigid as I strain to hold the position.

My feet used to cramp in my skates when I was younger. We went through pair after pair, but nothing felt right. Our last resort was to buy expensive, custom-made boots. Mom started staying at the office later to work on extra projects and save up for them.

The first day I wore those skates, it was like inhaling deeply after holding my breath for a whole program. My jumps soared. My spins were fast, centered, and better than ever. All because I found something that finally fit.

That’s the exact way I feel about knowing I’m nonbinary. I’m already imagining how it’ll feel to come out to Mom and Alex, like finally stepping into the light after hiding someplace dark. I’m ready.

But first, I have to qualify for Sectionals.

My ears ring as my program’s first notes blare through the speaker. My throat vibrates. I glare in the direction of the music box, wishing they’d turn the volume down.

I force myself to smile as I set up my triple salchow. Turning backward, knee bent, I ride a steady inside edge, and prepare to—

Schwick.

For a split second, my arms flail, legs wide apart instead of tightly crossed. I land on two feet after a single rotation. The smile drops from my face.

I fly past Alex, knowing what he’d say: Don’t stop. Put it behind you.

My first spin feels slower than normal. The judges aren’t here tonight, but I imagine them taking away a ton of points. First, the popped salchow, then my sloppy spin, and now my footwork sequence. My edges are too shallow. My turns scratch and scrape.

I raise my arms as the music changes. The chorus of old voices drones over the speaker. Still too loud.

It’s hard to bend my knees with so much tension in my legs. This is no way to set up a triple jump. I turn but I don’t launch off my blade like usual. No rotation.

A hot surge of frustration fills my chest. My eyes water as I skip my next two solo jumps, then another jump combo. I refuse to look over at Alex.

One last spin is all that stands between me and the end of three minutes of embarrassment. I pivot hard.

Even this feels off. My positions aren’t crisp and my revolutions seem sluggish. I’m barely breathing hard when I hit my final pose.

Now there’s nothing left to do but face the music with Alex. I glide over and take a sip of water.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

His voice is quiet. Unlike Miss Lydia, Alex doesn’t believe in negative comments. If I were him, I’d definitely yell at me. I deserve it.

I thought discovering that I’m nonbinary would make it easier to skate my program, but I was so wrong. I might know who I am, but everyone else still believes I’m a girl—especially when my music’s on. This program doesn’t fit any better than my old skates.

I shrug, a sharp up and down of my shoulders.

“Are you tired from your short program this morning?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

Alex squeezes my shoulder. “Let’s call it a day, then, so you can get plenty of rest.”

I trail behind him as he gestures to Faith. Our eyes meet. Her expression is hard to read but hot embarrassment sparks in my chest again. I duck my head and hop off the ice fast.

She follows me to the bench where we left our skate bags. Glancing toward the stands, she leans over to untie her skates. “I guess our moms are still up there talking.”

“Probably.”

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

I keep my eyes down. “A little.”

“Me too. I’ve been thinking about what you said back in the hockey rink. About telling my parents how I feel about the musical.”

I finally look up. “Oh yeah?”

She nods. “I think that’s why I’m so freaked out. I want to skate well so they’re in a good mood when I try to talk to them.”

I get that, even though Faith doesn’t know it. I want Mom to be in a super good mood when I come out to her and tell her I need a new free-skate program.

Hope appears at the bottom of the stands. Mom and Mrs. Park come next. I turn to Faith and give her the advice I hope to use myself. “Just focus on one thing at a time. First, skate awesome tomorrow. Then, figure out how you’ll tell your parents.”

She gives me a quick smile before heading off with Hope and her mom.

Mom and I meet Alex in the rink lobby. He uses his phone to hail a rideshare back to the hotel. When the car arrives, Alex sits behind the passenger seat. Mom waits for me to slide into the center, then takes the seat behind the driver.

We buckle up, and she reaches out to squeeze my hand. “We’ll get some dinner at the hotel, shower, and have an early night.”

“Okay.” I don’t look at her, don’t even feel like checking my phone. Mom rubs small, soothing circles in my palm with her thumb, but it only makes me feel worse.

“Are you upset about your practice?” she asks.

“No.” There’s no point telling her I’m worried about scoring well enough to qualify for Sectionals. She and Alex told me that’s not supposed to be my goal.

“It’s been an intense day.” Alex nudges my shoulder. “But you skated a stellar short program this morning.”

“It was wonderful, wasn’t it?” I can hear the warmth in Mom’s voice. “I’m glad you kept that music for one more season. It brought back so many good memories from Nationals.”

My fingers twitch. So much depends on me skating well tomorrow.

The car pulls up in front of our hotel.

“More great memories to come. Right, Ana?” Alex winks at me before getting out. I smile, but my face falls the moment he turns away.

We say goodbye to Alex in the hallway between our hotel rooms. I make a beeline for my bed, dropping my duffel on the floor next to it.

Mom sets her purse on the desk, then reaches for a leather folder with the word Menu printed across it in gold letters. “How would you feel about ordering room service tonight?”

She looks so hopeful that I force myself to say something. “That’d be good.”

We choose our food, and Mom calls in our order. “Do you want to take the first shower?”

“You can.” Now that I’m lying down, my legs feel impossibly heavy.

Mom heads for the bathroom. “Dinner should be here around the time I’m done.”

Twisting onto my stomach, I exhale hard through closed lips. My phone pokes my ribs through the pocket of my warm-up jacket. I pull it out, then sit up fast when I see Tamar’s text. We haven’t talked in ages.

8:39 p.m.: Hey, how’d your short go today?

No exclamation marks or emojis, but any text is better than nothing.

A wave of cold loneliness washes over me. If she can’t be here, at least I can call to hear her voice.

She picks up fast. “Hi.”

“Hey.” I sigh. “We just got back to the hotel. I can’t talk for long, but I wanted to say hi.”

“That’s okay. How’d you do?”

I switch to speakerphone. “First, by a couple of points.”

“Oh, congrats. That’s awesome.”

“Thanks.” My lips scrunch up to keep from frowning. Something feels off. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel like giving her a play-by-play of my short program. “What’s up with you?”

“Not a ton. Lots of skating and synchro practice.”

A new text pings in, with a picture attached to it. “Has synchro season officially started, or is that in August?”

“August,” Tamar says as I tap on the new message.

8:52 p.m.: I brought in reinforcements!

Hayden’s snapped a picture of Dan in the middle of his bedroom. He holds a needle and thread, along with a strip of pant-shaped fabric. The waist looks half-hemmed, but Dan seems pretty pleased with himself.

My dad never even calls anymore.

“Ana?”

I startle, knocking a pillow onto the floor with my elbow. “Yeah?”

“Okay, you are still there. I thought the call dropped.”

“No, I’m here. Sorry.” I keep staring at Hayden’s photo. “What’d you say?”

“I was just wondering if you had a chance to look at my Intermediate Moves yet? I’m testing really soon.”

“Oh, yeah! I mean, some of them. I started looking at the first few clips and then got busy packing for this trip.”

“What’d you think of the ones you watched?”

I slide off the bed and snatch the pillow from the floor. My eyes return to Hayden’s photo. I can’t help thinking about how much time Dan spends with his family. My dad hasn’t sent me a letter in years. What would it be like if he came to my competitions? Maybe cosplay isn’t Dan’s thing, but he’s still there for Hayden. My hand reaches up, fingers tugging at the chain on my charm necklace.

“Hey, Tamar. I have to go. Mom’s done with her shower. Is it okay if I text you later?”

The line goes quiet. Now it’s my turn to wonder if the call dropped. Another beat of silence, then Tamar says, “Sure. Good luck tomorrow.” She hangs up.

I crouch down and grab my hongbao from my duffel bag, then pause, eyes darting toward the bathroom.

The shower’s still running.

I slip a finger between two bills, pulling out Mom and Dad’s graduation photo.

I’m not sure why I dug out this picture from a box at the back of our closet a couple of years ago. Maybe I was curious even back then. Mom doesn’t talk much about Dad. I don’t know what he’s like at all. Didn’t think I cared, either. It’s been Mom and me for as long as I can remember, and that never used to bother me.

All it took was one afternoon with the Lubecks.

Hayden’s whole family seems to support him. I wonder if this is always the way it’s been, or if there was a time when they struggled to accept him as a boy.

I sit on my bed, still studying the photo. I don’t have the kind of relationship with my dad that Hayden does with Dan. It’s Mom I’m most worried about telling I’m nonbinary. I know she loves me, but I can’t guess how she’ll react. One more day, and I’ll find out. My stomach lurches.

The bathroom door clicks open. I stuff the photo back into my hongbao as fast as possible as Mom pokes her head out.

“No food yet?”

“Not yet.”

She steps into the room, twisting a towel into place on her head. “Well, I’m sure it’ll get here soo—” She stops at her bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. The sick feeling in my stomach must also show on my face.

“Something seems to be bothering you.” She takes a seat on the edge of her bed, across from me. “Was it your practice this evening?”

I shake my head and look down, toward the hongbao still clutched in my hands. I rub it, feeling the thick edge of the photo inside.

“Do you think Dad is proud of me?”

“Pardon?” Mom’s voice is higher than it was a second ago. Her towel tilts precariously on her head. She reaches up to steady it, then glances back at me with a puzzled expression.

“Dad,” I say again. “Does he know about my skating? Or care how I’m doing?”

A sharp series of knocks makes both of us jump.

“Room service!” a man calls through the door.

Mom looks at me a moment longer, then moves to open it. She trades a tip for a serving tray. My eyes follow her across the room to the desk. She turns and passes me a plate, plus utensils wrapped in a cloth napkin.

“Your grandmother tells Jake about your competition results when she sees him.” Mom’s reply is slow and careful. “Is that what you’re asking?”

But how much does Grandma Goldie even see him? She’s Mom’s mom, not Dad’s. She and my dad just happen to live in the same town. I look up at Mom, ready to ask. She sounds as unsteady as I feel when I rise to my toe picks at the start of my free program.

Swallowing down my question, I manage a quiet “Yes, thanks.”

I reach for my plate, stabbing a piece of lettuce with my fork. Mom sits at the desk and starts buttering a roll, occasionally glancing at me.

Twenty-four hours, I tell myself. Just one more day.