Hayden hasn’t really talked about his past to me. Maybe it’s too private. Or maybe it’s because he thinks we’re both boys. My stomach clenches, but I have to know. I’ll never be able to figure out how to talk to Mom if I don’t.
4:09 p.m.: Can I ask u a question?
Across the room, Mom sighs. She doesn’t turn around, but I still delete u and replace it with you.
4:09 p.m.: Can I ask you a question?
That gives me time to figure out the rest.
I tap send. Hold my breath.
4:10 p.m.: Go for it
“All packed?”
I jump, nearly dropping my phone at Mom’s feet.
“Almost,” I mumble.
“It looks like you’re texting when you should be packing.” Mom smiles. She knows she’s caught me.
“I—um.” The phone is still warm in my clammy hands. “Sorry.”
I slide it into my pocket, then stare at the pile of unpacked clothes.
“Use a smaller bag to separate the street clothes from your skating outfits,” Mom prompts.
Whoops. I travel for competitions enough that I should’ve already done this. “Sorry,” I say again, before sprinting back to the closet.
“Is everything all right?” The lines in Mom’s forehead deepen.
“Yes.” I look down. “Why?”
“You seem distracted lately—and always on your phone.”
True. But what else could I possibly say? I’m sorry you spent thousands of dollars to get me the best choreography and costume, but I just found out I’m not a girl and don’t want to perform my princess program?
Not happening. I have to wait until after the competition. Maybe Mom will be so happy if I skate well enough to skip Regionals that it’ll be easier to tell her.
Her eyes stay on me as I return with a second bag. I swipe a pair of practice pants off the bed and shove them into my suitcase, still imagining that conversation between Hayden and his parents. All I can see is Dan. Smiling down at me from the porch in Berkeley. Looking so proud when Hayden talked about his cosplay costume.
“I think I left a pair of tights on my bed.” I climb a few rungs of my ladder. “I’ll start packing my suitcase after I grab them.”
“All right, then.” Mom doesn’t look convinced, but she nods and heads back toward the kitchen. “Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll start dinner.”
It’s no fun lying to Mom, but I tell myself it’s only for another few days as I look up at my Michelle Kwan poster. Michelle technically lied to her parents when she was my age, too, telling them her coach gave her permission to take the Senior free-skate test when he hadn’t.
When they found out, Michelle moved up a level, even though her coach didn’t think she was ready. But then she medaled at Nationals and became an alternate skater for the Olympic team.
I grab my tights, but my eyes keep drifting back to Michelle. I know lying is never okay, but maybe sometimes it’s necessary. Plus, now that I know there’s a word for how I feel, I should be able to perform my free program better. After LA, everything will be easier.
My gaze drops to my parents’ graduation photo, still pinned to the poster’s bottom left corner. Before I realize what I’m doing, I crawl across my bed and pluck it off its pin. I pull out my hongbao and slip the photo between my emergency money.
I still need to figure out some stuff before I ask Hayden coming-out questions.
I shoot him a text before climbing down my ladder to finish packing.
4:19 p.m.: Never mind! Mom started talking and I forgot what I wanted to ask.
I’ll get to the bottom of this on my own—after I skate well enough next week to skip Regionals.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Ana-Marie Jin.” The announcer’s voice trills over the sound system. “Your program music will start in thirty seconds.”
My name feels like a burn that stings long after the announcer goes quiet. I breathe in, then press my shoulders down and exhale as I skate to my starting position.
I’m in first place after this morning’s Intermediate short program. Tonight, skaters are allowed to run through their free programs once on practice ice. Tomorrow is the real deal. After the scores from both of my programs get added together, I’ll know if I performed well enough to skip Regionals.
I rise up on my toe picks. My shoulders are tense, arms rigid as I strain to hold the position.
My feet used to cramp in my skates when I was younger. We went through pair after pair, but nothing felt right. Our last resort was to buy expensive, custom-made boots. Mom started staying at the office later to work on extra projects and save up for them.
The first day I wore those skates, it was like inhaling deeply after holding my breath for a whole program. My jumps soared. My spins were fast, centered, and better than ever. All because I found something that finally fit.
That’s the exact way I feel about knowing I’m nonbinary. I’m already imagining how it’ll feel to come out to Mom and Alex, like finally stepping into the light after hiding someplace dark. I’m ready.
But first, I have to qualify for Sectionals.
My ears ring as my program’s first notes blare through the speaker. My throat vibrates. I glare in the direction of the music box, wishing they’d turn the volume down.
I force myself to smile as I set up my triple salchow. Turning backward, knee bent, I ride a steady inside edge, and prepare to—
Schwick.
For a split second, my arms flail, legs wide apart instead of tightly crossed. I land on two feet after a single rotation. The smile drops from my face.
I fly past Alex, knowing what he’d say: Don’t stop. Put it behind you.
My first spin feels slower than normal. The judges aren’t here tonight, but I imagine them taking away a ton of points. First, the popped salchow, then my
