I raise my arms as the music changes. The chorus of old voices drones over the speaker. Still too loud.
It’s hard to bend my knees with so much tension in my legs. This is no way to set up a triple jump. I turn but I don’t launch off my blade like usual. No rotation.
A hot surge of frustration fills my chest. My eyes water as I skip my next two solo jumps, then another jump combo. I refuse to look over at Alex.
One last spin is all that stands between me and the end of three minutes of embarrassment. I pivot hard.
Even this feels off. My positions aren’t crisp and my revolutions seem sluggish. I’m barely breathing hard when I hit my final pose.
Now there’s nothing left to do but face the music with Alex. I glide over and take a sip of water.
“What’s up, kiddo?”
His voice is quiet. Unlike Miss Lydia, Alex doesn’t believe in negative comments. If I were him, I’d definitely yell at me. I deserve it.
I thought discovering that I’m nonbinary would make it easier to skate my program, but I was so wrong. I might know who I am, but everyone else still believes I’m a girl—especially when my music’s on. This program doesn’t fit any better than my old skates.
I shrug, a sharp up and down of my shoulders.
“Are you tired from your short program this morning?”
“Yeah. Just tired.”
Alex squeezes my shoulder. “Let’s call it a day, then, so you can get plenty of rest.”
I trail behind him as he gestures to Faith. Our eyes meet. Her expression is hard to read but hot embarrassment sparks in my chest again. I duck my head and hop off the ice fast.
She follows me to the bench where we left our skate bags. Glancing toward the stands, she leans over to untie her skates. “I guess our moms are still up there talking.”
“Probably.”
“Are you nervous about tomorrow?”
I keep my eyes down. “A little.”
“Me too. I’ve been thinking about what you said back in the hockey rink. About telling my parents how I feel about the musical.”
I finally look up. “Oh yeah?”
She nods. “I think that’s why I’m so freaked out. I want to skate well so they’re in a good mood when I try to talk to them.”
I get that, even though Faith doesn’t know it. I want Mom to be in a super good mood when I come out to her and tell her I need a new free-skate program.
Hope appears at the bottom of the stands. Mom and Mrs. Park come next. I turn to Faith and give her the advice I hope to use myself. “Just focus on one thing at a time. First, skate awesome tomorrow. Then, figure out how you’ll tell your parents.”
She gives me a quick smile before heading off with Hope and her mom.
Mom and I meet Alex in the rink lobby. He uses his phone to hail a rideshare back to the hotel. When the car arrives, Alex sits behind the passenger seat. Mom waits for me to slide into the center, then takes the seat behind the driver.
We buckle up, and she reaches out to squeeze my hand. “We’ll get some dinner at the hotel, shower, and have an early night.”
“Okay.” I don’t look at her, don’t even feel like checking my phone. Mom rubs small, soothing circles in my palm with her thumb, but it only makes me feel worse.
“Are you upset about your practice?” she asks.
“No.” There’s no point telling her I’m worried about scoring well enough to qualify for Sectionals. She and Alex told me that’s not supposed to be my goal.
“It’s been an intense day.” Alex nudges my shoulder. “But you skated a stellar short program this morning.”
“It was wonderful, wasn’t it?” I can hear the warmth in Mom’s voice. “I’m glad you kept that music for one more season. It brought back so many good memories from Nationals.”
My fingers twitch. So much depends on me skating well tomorrow.
The car pulls up in front of our hotel.
“More great memories to come. Right, Ana?” Alex winks at me before getting out. I smile, but my face falls the moment he turns away.
We say goodbye to Alex in the hallway between our hotel rooms. I make a beeline for my bed, dropping my duffel on the floor next to it.
Mom sets her purse on the desk, then reaches for a leather folder with the word Menu printed across it in gold letters. “How would you feel about ordering room service tonight?”
She looks so hopeful that I force myself to say something. “That’d be good.”
We choose our food, and Mom calls in our order. “Do you want to take the first shower?”
“You can.” Now that I’m lying down, my legs feel impossibly heavy.
Mom heads for the bathroom. “Dinner should be here around the time I’m done.”
Twisting onto my stomach, I exhale hard through closed lips. My phone pokes my ribs through the pocket of my warm-up jacket. I pull it out, then sit up fast when I see Tamar’s text. We haven’t talked in ages.
8:39 p.m.: Hey, how’d your short go today?
No exclamation marks or emojis, but any text is better than nothing.
A wave of cold loneliness washes over me. If she can’t be here, at least I can call to hear her voice.
She picks up fast. “Hi.”
“Hey.” I sigh. “We just got back to the hotel. I can’t talk for long, but I wanted to say hi.”
“That’s okay. How’d you do?”
I switch to speakerphone. “First, by a couple of points.”
“Oh, congrats. That’s awesome.”
“Thanks.” My lips scrunch up to keep from frowning. Something feels off. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel like giving her a play-by-play of my short program. “What’s up with you?”
“Not a ton. Lots of skating and synchro practice.”
A new text pings in, with a picture attached to it. “Has synchro season officially started, or
