“It’s your favorite, but you can’t even remember the exact words?” Tamar laughs and I shush her, glancing toward the kitchen table where Mom’s working from her laptop.
“But you liked the movie, right?”
“It was good.” I nod.
“My favorite quote is the ‘no crying’ one because you can use it for skating, too,” she says. “Everyone thinks skating’s this prissy sport. Especially hockey players. But we compete with blisters and have to do these complicated jumps. Plus, the spins twist our bodies into pretzels, and then we have to pretend we’re not exhausted after our programs? There’s no crying in skating!”
“Except in the Kiss and Cry area,” I point out.
“Okay, fair.” Tamar pulls up Google on her iPad. A screen of photos loads, all from high-level skating competitions. The skaters were caught on camera right after seeing their scores. Tamar enlarges an image. “I was looking for actual tears, but these are better.”
Their expressions range from angry to embarrassed. Somewhere between the ice dancer glaring at her guilty-looking partner and a glitzy Senior-level lady rolling her eyes directly at the camera, we dissolve into giggles.
“You two seem to be enjoying yourselves.” Mom watches us from the table with a tired smile.
“Are we being too loud, Mom?”
“Sorry, Ms. Jin,” Tamar chimes in.
“I’m just glad you’re spending time together. It’s been a busy summer for all of us.” Mom moves toward my bunk bed. “That said, Ana-Marie, you should head out if you still want your hair cut today. I checked you in at the salon a moment ago.” She pulls out her wallet as Tamar and I climb down the ladder. “How much did you spend yesterday?”
“Um.” My eyes dart to Tamar, cheeks flushing. “I think I have about eighteen dollars left. And my ten from Grandma.”
Mom hands me a new twenty and a five. “Keep what’s left after your haircut for emergencies. The ten doesn’t count. It belongs to you.”
“Thanks.” I pocket the money, then head for the door. I can feel Tamar’s eyes on me but can’t bring myself to look at her.
Halfway down the stairs to the ground floor, I sneak a peek at her. “Oh, dang. I forgot to look at your Intermediate Moves clips before we left.”
Tamar shrugs. “You can watch them when we get back.”
We exit the building and walk in silence. Tamar finally turns to me when we stop at a crosswalk. “What were you doing yesterday?”
I shuffle my feet. Tamar and Hayden feel like they’re part of two separate worlds. It was easier to tell Hayden about Tamar yesterday, because she has nothing to do with my secret. But if Tamar knows I hung out with Hayden, I’d probably have to explain how I never corrected him about my real name. The light turns green and we step into the crosswalk.
“I was in Oakland.” Tamar’s eyes stay on me. “… With a friend.”
“Oh.” Hurt flashes across her face.
“It’s my fault. I’ve been so busy lately I totally forgot we had plans. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine.” We stop in front of the hair salon, and Tamar nudges the strap of her messenger bag higher onto her shoulder. Bells jangle above the door as a customer exits. Tamar catches it with one hand. “Come on. Let’s find you the perfect look for your competition.”
I slip inside and make my way to the front counter. The hairstylist waves me back to her workstation. Tamar pulls her iPad out of her bag as I climb into a cushy chair in front of a big mirror.
“This is your first event at Intermediate, so you’ll want to look awesome.” Tamar pulls up an image on her iPad. “Good thing I found tons of cute options.”
She holds her iPad out while the stylist snaps a big black cape around my neck. The material billows in front of me, settling over my legs. I watch the stylist in the mirror’s reflection as she glances at Tamar beside me.
“Oh, that’s precious.” She looks down at me. “Are you a dancer, sweetie?”
My fingers ball up at my sides, tense shoulders making the cape rise a bit. “Figure skater.”
“I love ice-skating. I watch the Olympics every four years, like clockwork,” she gushes.
I aim a fake smile at her, look down at the iPad, then up at Tamar. “I’m not sure about bangs. They might get in my eyes when I’m spinning.”
“What about this?” She flicks to the next image. The model’s hair is curled into tight ringlets. She has more makeup on than I’ve ever worn. “It’d be perfect for your program. You could even clip in a tiara.”
My fingers squeeze tighter. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just shave it all off?”
Tamar’s expression clouds. “That’d be—I mean, don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”
“I’m joking.” Her expression relaxes, but now that it’s out there, I start to wonder what I’d look like with that short of a haircut.
“Hey, can I look at your iPad?”
As Tamar chats with my stylist about all things ice-skating, I pull up a new browser tab and search for boy haircuts. I had no idea there were so many, from short-cropped to complicated-looking longer styles. Gelled and formal to messy-on-purpose.
I scroll and scroll, studying each photo. I stop on one, and my heart performs a blur of twizzles.
“This one.”
Behind me, Tamar and the stylist stop talking and lean forward.
“That’s an interesting choice.” The stylist seems to be choosing her words carefully.
Tamar shakes her head fast. “That’s for boys.”
My cheeks felt hot after we left the apartment, but now my whole upper body heats up. “It doesn’t have to be. There’s no law that says girls can’t get boy haircuts.”
Tamar flinches like I slapped her.
“That’s right.” The stylist keeps her voice smooth as she reaches for an electric razor. “Hair is hair. You can cut it however you like.”
“Are you sure?” Tamar scrunches her brows. “I saved other pictures if you want to
