This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Andrew Sass
Cover art © 2020 by Ellen Shi. Cover design by Angelie Yap.
Cover copyright © 2020 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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First Edition: October 2020
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Sass, A. J., author.
Title: Ana on the edge / by A. J. Sass.
Description: First edition. | New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2020. | Audience: Ages 8–12. | Summary: Twelve-year-old figure skater Ana strives to win competitions while learning about gender identity—Ana’s own and that of a new friend—and how to navigate the best path forward.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019056117 | ISBN 9780316458610 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780316458634 (ebook) | ISBN 9780316458641 (ebook other)
Subjects: CYAC: Ice skating—Fiction. | Gender identity—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S26476 An 2020 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019056117
ISBNs: 978-0-316-45861-0 (hardcover), 978-0-316-45863-4 (ebook)
E3-20200911-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
January
Breathe In
June
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
July
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
August
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Breathe Out
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To anyone who’s ever answered “no” when asked, “Are you a boy or a girl?”—or even just thought it silently to yourself.
I see you.
JANUARY
Breathe In
I stand alone at center ice. Around me, the audience is quiet. Seven judges sit in front of me, fourteen eyes ready to follow my every move.
Breathe in, breathe out. Shoulders down.
Black, glossy fabric encases my white skates, part of my one-piece costume. I look down at the National Championships logo underneath layers of ice. Knots unfurl in my stomach and flutter upward, even though I just chewed a ginger tab to settle my nerves.
The opening notes of my music drum rhythmic and low. I aim a smile at the judges before gliding forward, extending one leg behind me in a quick arabesque. I push thoughts of the large crowd in the stands, of my mom sitting among them, of how this is my first-ever Nationals, out of my head. It’s time to focus.
My step sequence begins. I carve deep edges and quick, controlled turns in a winding, S-shaped pattern.
I catch sight of my coach, Alex, by the boards. His eyes bore into me as I turn into my first jump, a simple double flip. It’s not the highest-scoring element I’m capable of, but it’s a great way to get my feet under me at the start of my program.
It also comes right before the tricky triple toe loop.
I take a steadying breath, then tap my toe pick into the ice for my double flip. One, two rotations, and I land strong, back arched.
I lift my arms as the music builds. There’s no time to get excited yet.
Everything comes down to this next jump: the triple toe loop.
Turn, bend, tap. I recite the toe loop’s takeoff technique in my head, then turn backward, preparing to spring off the ice. Once I’m airborne, muscle memory will have to get me through the rest.
My left leg reaches behind me, blade tapping. I launch into the air and snap my ankles together, arms crossed tight over my chest.
The audience cheers. Relief floods through me, and a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. It vanishes a second later as I twist into my next combination spin.
To the untrained eye, I’m just an effortless blur of glossy black fabric, gold-and-red chiffon fluttering from my costume. But I know each crisp position comes from years of repetition in private lessons with Alex, lessons that Mom worked long hours to pay for.
Shoulders relaxing, I exit my spin to more clapping. My smile is less rehearsed, more genuine. The ice feels more like home now, instead of slippery and foreign.
I lean on a deep edge and tap my toe pick into the ice for my three-jump combo. Launch and land, launch and land. Repeat again. It’s over in a matter of seconds, my movements smooth and fast.
Out here, all my problems vanish. The judges seem to disappear, and I can no longer hear the crowd roar. The world falls away once I get into character. My steps perfectly match the music.
I land two more jumps, right on the beat of my music, then finish with a crowd-pleasing spin. My short hair whips against my cheeks as I grab my skate blade, lifting my foot high behind me in a vertical split. I end with a flourish as the audience rises in a standing ovation.
I bow to the judges, then exit the ice. Warmth forms in my stomach and spreads outward as Alex uncrosses his arms and reaches out for a quick hug. He looked stiff during my performance, shoulders tense under the gray business suit he wore especially for this event. Not anymore.
We head to the Kiss and Cry seating area, where skaters receive their scores. The cameras catch
