In just a few seconds, I’ll know how I placed.
Alex nudges me and offers a water bottle. I take a sip as a volunteer hands me flowers and stuffed animals that members of the audience threw onto the ice. I’ve seen this happen for famous skaters, but it’s the first time anyone besides Mom has thrown things for me.
“Now the score for Miss Ana-Marie Jin’s free-skate program.” I sit up straighter, trying to ignore a prickle of discomfort. “Ana-Marie has earned a total of sixty-eight point five eight.”
The steady thrum in my chest skips a beat. I was the last skater who performed today, and that’s higher than any of the scores I overheard while I warmed up. I turn to Alex, who squeezes my arm. His gaze stays on the results screen. It’ll refresh soon. Until then, nothing’s official.
I look up to the stands and spot Mom. Unlike others around her, she isn’t clapping. Her eyes are fixed on the huge digital scoreboard looming over the ice. I hold my breath and keep watching her. I want this win for her as much as I want it for myself.
A roar of approval fills the rink and Mom’s eyes widen. She stands with the rest of the crowd, hands flying to her mouth. My gaze flickers to the final results.
ANA-MARIE JIN: 68.58—1ST
I jump out of my seat as Alex rises and pulls me into another hug. I hug him back, bouncing in his arms. All those months of intense training, of sore muscles and hard falls, were worth it to get to this moment. My heart’s racing again, but this time it has wings. I’m soaring.
I look back to the stands and find Mom. I blink fast, and she smiles at me like she knows I’m trying to hold back tears, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
The announcer speaks again, and Alex catches me by the elbow. “Medal ceremony.” He nods toward the ice where a group of workers is setting up a podium.
We make it to the ice by the time the bronze medalist is announced. Silver comes next, her program music playing softly in the background as she takes the ice and curtsies to the crowd.
“Soak this all up. Enjoy every second.” Alex pats my shoulder. “Tomorrow we’ll fly home and get you back on your regular training schedule. Think you can top this next season?”
My program music plays, low at first, then strong and brassy. The other medalists already stand on the podium in sparkling dresses. The top spot is empty, waiting for me.
The announcer calls my name. I step onto the ice, then turn back to Alex. I give him a quick thumbs-up before gliding off to accept my gold medal.
“Definitely.”
JUNE
Chapter One
Sunlight glimmers across the ice through the San Francisco rink’s floor-to-ceiling windows. I squint, trying to find my best friend, Tamar. She’s on the far side of the rink, working on spiral positions, just like I’m supposed to be doing. I scan the ice, making sure Alex is nowhere in sight, then wave her over. She skids to a scratchy stop in front of me, brown curls bouncing in her loose ponytail.
Her skin is usually pale, but right now it’s flushed pink from the cold rink air. She twirls her index finger, brows raised. “You first.”
“I’m always first,” I shoot back, but Tamar doesn’t budge.
We’re supposed to be practicing Moves in the Field—exercises that focus on power, body alignment, and edge control—but there’s no one around to call us out for goofing off. Also, I never back down from a challenge. Swizzling a few feet away from Tamar to make sure my sharp blades don’t nick her, I raise both arms. I plant one toe in the ice, reach down, and perform a perfect cartwheel. Tamar applauds, and I bow like I’ve just skated my winning program at Nationals.
“Ana!” Alex calls.
I freeze mid-bow. Tamar’s eyes dart past me, up to Alex in the viewing stands. He’s right next to my mom.
Alex beckons to me. I look at Tamar for help, but she’s zipped away, back to her corner of the rink.
I grab my stuff and slide on my blade guards at the edge of the ice, then open my phone to the calendar app Mom and I share. There’s nothing about her visiting the rink over lunch today. She should definitely still be at work.
I climb the metal steps up to the stands. Mom pats the seat next to her and I sit down, waiting for her or Alex to lecture me about my cartwheel. I fiddle with my hair, trying to tuck it behind my ear. The strands are a little too short to stay put.
Shoulders tense, I glance toward the ice, but Tamar’s focused on twizzles. They’re supposed to look like mini–traveling spins, and most of hers do—until the last set. She hits her toe picks and loses her balance.
Alex clears his throat to get my attention. “Your mom and I wanted to discuss some things now that the new season is fast approaching. You’ve been showing progress all spring during the off-season, learning harder jumps and getting more consistent. And of course, we’re both proud of how you performed at Nationals a few months ago.”
Relaxing a little, I look between them. It doesn’t seem like I’m going to get in trouble for my cartwheel after all.
“You’ll definitely be moving up a level next season,” Alex continues. “You’ve got the skills to be competitive as an Intermediate lady.”
Competition announcers always call Juvenile skaters boys and girls, then it switches to ladies and men starting at Intermediate. I already knew this, but it still sounds weird.
“Even so, this will be a big leap for you. You only needed a free-skate program in
