I pull out my phone. Maybe things will be better the next time we see each other.
7:38 a.m.: Want to hang out next weekend?
7:38 a.m.: Saturday or Sunday, I can do either.
7:39 a.m.: And don’t forget to send me your Moves clips!
I switch over to Hayden’s texts.
7:39 a.m.: You’re lucky you get to sleep in. I’m sooooo tired today.
We file out in front of the rink. I wish I could “forget” my garment bag, but it’s hanging on top of two other dresses.
Hope soars through the doors, the argument in the car already forgotten. “Today’s going to be so much fun, like an ice show with all of us in costume!” I grimace, imagining Hayden watching me perform in my new dress. Hope stops at a table, unzips her bag, and peeks inside. “I wish we could put on our costumes and skate right now.”
“She would’ve worn hers straight to the rink if Mom had let her,” Faith tells me. She turns to Hope. “Come on. We don’t want to be late. You only have to wait an hour until freestyle.”
“An hour and fifteen minutes.” Hope sighs but scoops up her bag and follows Faith toward the stairs. This doesn’t stop her from making silly faces the moment Faith turns away. On any other day, I’d struggle to hold back laughter. But right now, my throat feels too tight to make a sound. I can’t even smile.
Hope and I fidget during stretching and off-ice dance. I bet she can’t wait for us to be done so she can change into her new dress.
I can.
She shoots out the door the second class ends. I check my phone before following a few steps behind Faith. No texts from Tamar yet, which is a little weird. I send her another text in case she missed my last three.
9:16 a.m.: Up yet? Or sleeping in because summer is awesome?
By the time we get downstairs, Hope’s already inside the bathroom. Faith enters next, leaving me alone at the entrance. I look over to the boys’ side, wondering if I’d feel more comfortable in there. But too many people here know me as Ana-Marie Jin, Juvenile girls champion. I enter the ladies’ room, choose a stall, and change into my costume.
This isn’t the first time I’ve worn my new dress. Mom had me try it on the day I got it. But that was quick, just to confirm it fit.
As I exit the bathroom stall, my gaze drifts to the mirror on the opposite wall. I don’t want to look, but I can’t help myself.
From the neck up, everything’s fine. My hair is shorter and spikes at new angles, but I’m still me. Everything below, though? From the sweetheart neckline to the long flowy skirt that tapers short in the front, it’s all wrong.
Now I see the missing piece of the puzzle. It’s not my body that makes me uncomfortable, or the shimmering, sparkling costume. It’s what other people will think when they see me wearing it: girl, princess, Intermediate lady.
Skin prickly and hot, I look away from the mirror and hurry out of the bathroom.
I sit down on the bench across from Faith as she stands, skates already laced. I slip into my warm-up coat and try to control my shallow breathing as I tie my laces.
I start my warm-up, shoulders rounded, trying to make myself smaller. I head for a corner of the ice to work on my footwork while Hope starts her lesson with Alex. She skates off in her new costume, chin up and confident. It’s dip-dyed pink with hints of white at the ends of long bell sleeves.
She smiles wide enough to reach the top row of her imaginary audience. Her music is a traditional Korean song with plucky string instruments.
I perform a turn, the tip of my skirt flitting and fluttering with every movement, and attempt to lose myself in the music.
This time last year, I practiced in my Nationals costume for the first time. I flew across the ice, adjusting to the feel of performing jumps in the black head-to-toe fabric. Mom had sewn strips of lightweight chiffon to my costume’s arms and legs. During spins, I was a blur of sleek black with red and gold accents. My run-through wasn’t perfect. I forgot a few steps that I hadn’t totally memorized yet, but I didn’t feel like fleeing the ice and hiding every time another skater looked at me.
Hope’s program ends, and another song begins. This one’s stronger, with piano chords that build on one another. A tall skater whips past me on his way toward one corner of the rink. He lands a huge double lutz right on the music’s crescendo.
Normally, I’d feel the song deep in my bones and let its rhythm carry me through my jumps. Now I hover by the boards, only venturing out to spin or jump when it looks like no one’s watching.
Once Hope’s lesson is done, Alex calls me over.
“How does your dress feel? I know you said wearing a skirt for your choreography lessons was an adjustment.”
“It’s fine.” I’m not lying. It’s a perfect fit. My discomfort is all in my head.
Alex stares—I can’t tell if he believes me, but it doesn’t matter. My competition is in less than two weeks. It’s too late to change anything.
“It’s fine,” I say again. “Easy to move in.”
“We’ll get started, then.” Alex doesn’t look fully convinced, but he gestures toward the music box. “Ready to do this?”
“Sure…”
Three minutes. It’ll be done before I know it.
Alex extends his hand. “Jacket off.”
I puff my cheeks, copying Hope, but shrug out of my coat. I shiver a
