“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.
“Anaaaaa.”
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.
Chapter Six
It’s not until after Tuesday’s off-ice classes that I start questioning my decision not to bring a skirt for my lesson with Miss Lydia.
I spot Faith at a nearby bench, skirt already tied around her waist. Hope perches on her roller bag. A glittering skirt lies on the bench beside her.
What if Miss Lydia refuses to choreograph my program without one?
I scan the other skaters, but Faith’s too tall, and I don’t know anyone else well enough to ask if I can borrow from them. Only one option left.
“Hey, Hope? I forgot to bring a skirt. Do you maybe have an extra?”
“Oh, sure!” She leans forward to unzip her roller bag. “I’ve got lots. What’s your favorite color?”
Before I can answer, she pulls out a handful of gauzy wraparounds. She sifts through her stash, then holds up a purple skirt bedazzled with crystals.
“This one is my favorite.” She glances down at the pink skirt on the bench. “Okay, second favorite, technically.”
I thank Hope, then quickly wrap her skirt around the band of my stretchy pants. It’s lightweight. Pretty, even. But I can’t make myself look down as I glide over to Miss Lydia.
“Your old footwork sequence,” Miss Lydia
