I nod to show I’m still following along.
“The plan is to convert your Juvenile free skate to an Intermediate short program. It’s a real showstopper the way you perform it.”
My chest swells at the thought of performing my program in front of a huge crowd again, and I share a look with Mom. The corners of her eyes crinkle, just like at Nationals.
“You’re also going to work with a choreographer to create an Intermediate free-skate program so it has a different feel and layout. The judges will want to see your range as a performer.”
My eyes widen. Alex has always been the one to choose my programs and map out where the steps, jumps, and spins will go. But all the best skaters have choreographers.
“Lastly, we’ve decided to move your home base to Oakland. Their management team has been asking me to coach there on a more full-time basis for quite some time, as you know.”
Mom nods.
“Plus, our offer was just accepted on a house in Temescal.”
“That’s a great neighborhood,” Mom says. “I know you and Myles have been searching for a new house for a while. Congratulations.”
“Congratulations,” I echo.
“Thanks.” Alex turns to me. “I’ll still be your main coach. There are changes going into effect next season that we’ll need to keep on top of. For example, in the past, medaling first at Regionals and then at Sectionals would qualify you to compete at Nationals—but starting this season, Nationals has been cut for all but the highest levels. Instead, top Intermediate skaters will attend a training camp to build skills and determine eligibility for international competitions down the road.”
No more Nationals? I listen carefully, trying to memorize as much of this new information as possible.
“Both your mom and I want to make sure you have room to grow. Oakland has two rinks. No more competing for ice with the hockey teams, which should give you plenty of practice time to get your skills even more consistent for Intermediate. Your mom has also signed you up for some great off-ice stretching and dance classes.”
“For real?” I look at Mom. She nods again, and I can hardly believe it.
“For real,” Alex confirms. “You’ll start your new training schedule next week. How’s that sound?”
“It sounds great. Like a dream come true, actually.” Beaming, I glance back toward the ice, first to the floor-to-ceiling windows, then to where Tamar’s practicing twizzles across a patch of sunlit ice. My hands tingle as I imagine telling her everything.
“I’m glad you’re excited.” Alex stands and looks down at me, one eyebrow arched as his expression gets serious. “Now, back to work on your Moves in the Field. No more cartwheels. Last time I checked, you were a figure skater, not a gymnast.”
Chapter Two
Tamar and I sit side by side on my bunk bed as the closing credits from The Mighty Ducks 2 play from her iPad. On the opposite end of our studio apartment, Mom sits at the kitchen table with her work laptop.
Tamar rests her head on my shoulder and sighs. “The rink is going to be so boring without you and Alex.”
“He’ll still be around for your synchro practices.”
I feel her nod. “For now, I guess. I’m having a tryout lesson with a coach he recommended tomorrow, too. Still, it’s going to be weird without you.”
“At least there’s less chance you’ll get in trouble for on-ice cartwheels?”
“Like I can even do them that well.” She laughs and leans past me to grab her iPad off its perch on my pillow. “I’m not multitalented like my BFF, the last national Juvenile champion in the history of ever.”
I roll my eyes. “There’ll still be national champions at Junior and Senior. I’ll just be trying to qualify for the national training camp at Intermediate instead.”
Tamar gestures to the wall, pointing at my gold medal. It hangs right beside a Michelle Kwan poster so old it’s curling at its yellowed corners. Michelle was the first Chinese American I ever saw skate, so she’ll always be my favorite.
“Last. Ever. Juvenile. Champion.”
Shaking my head, I can’t help smiling.
“But the camp does sound cool,” Tamar says as she scrolls through iPad notifications.
“Yeah. If I skate well there, I could get picked to compete internationally as a Novice-level skater the season after.”
At this, Tamar looks up. “Okay, that would be awesome.”
“Definitely awesome.”
All I’ve wanted since I started skating is to represent the United States in competitions around the world.
Tamar checks her texts. “Mom’s downstairs.” She scooches toward the ladder at the edge of my bed as I twist around to glance at my Nationals medal. It never gets old to look at. That’s when I notice the photo missing from its spot behind my poster.
“Hey,” I call to Tamar. “Do you see a picture down there?”
“I’ll check!”
Mom’s mattress squeaks below me as I scramble down the ladder.
“Found it!” She studies the photo before handing it back to me. “You look a lot like your dad.”
“Really?” I glance at the two teenagers in the picture. Mom’s hair was longer back then, but just as straight. Beside her, Dad’s graduation cap tilts above a mess of wavy, dark blond hair.
Tamar nods. “Same smile. And nose.”
“I guess.” It’s a super-old photo, from Mom and Dad’s high school graduation. They had me a couple of years later, but it’s just been me and Mom for as long as I can remember. Dad moved away when I was a baby.
A chair leg scrapes against the floor. I look past Tamar, over to Mom.
“How was the movie?” she asks. “It was that hockey one again, right? You two must be close to a record number of views by now.”
Tamar and I glance at each other. “Yeah, probably,” we say, totally in sync.
Tamar grabs her backpack from the foot of the bed. “I should head downstairs. Mom’s waiting.” She turns to me. “Walk me out?”
She waves to my
