“August,” Tamar says as I tap on the new message.
8:52 p.m.: I brought in reinforcements!
Hayden’s snapped a picture of Dan in the middle of his bedroom. He holds a needle and thread, along with a strip of pant-shaped fabric. The waist looks half-hemmed, but Dan seems pretty pleased with himself.
My dad never even calls anymore.
“Ana?”
I startle, knocking a pillow onto the floor with my elbow. “Yeah?”
“Okay, you are still there. I thought the call dropped.”
“No, I’m here. Sorry.” I keep staring at Hayden’s photo. “What’d you say?”
“I was just wondering if you had a chance to look at my Intermediate Moves yet? I’m testing really soon.”
“Oh, yeah! I mean, some of them. I started looking at the first few clips and then got busy packing for this trip.”
“What’d you think of the ones you watched?”
I slide off the bed and snatch the pillow from the floor. My eyes return to Hayden’s photo. I can’t help thinking about how much time Dan spends with his family. My dad hasn’t sent me a letter in years. What would it be like if he came to my competitions? Maybe cosplay isn’t Dan’s thing, but he’s still there for Hayden. My hand reaches up, fingers tugging at the chain on my charm necklace.
“Hey, Tamar. I have to go. Mom’s done with her shower. Is it okay if I text you later?”
The line goes quiet. Now it’s my turn to wonder if the call dropped. Another beat of silence, then Tamar says, “Sure. Good luck tomorrow.” She hangs up.
I crouch down and grab my hongbao from my duffel bag, then pause, eyes darting toward the bathroom.
The shower’s still running.
I slip a finger between two bills, pulling out Mom and Dad’s graduation photo.
I’m not sure why I dug out this picture from a box at the back of our closet a couple of years ago. Maybe I was curious even back then. Mom doesn’t talk much about Dad. I don’t know what he’s like at all. Didn’t think I cared, either. It’s been Mom and me for as long as I can remember, and that never used to bother me.
All it took was one afternoon with the Lubecks.
Hayden’s whole family seems to support him. I wonder if this is always the way it’s been, or if there was a time when they struggled to accept him as a boy.
I sit on my bed, still studying the photo. I don’t have the kind of relationship with my dad that Hayden does with Dan. It’s Mom I’m most worried about telling I’m nonbinary. I know she loves me, but I can’t guess how she’ll react. One more day, and I’ll find out. My stomach lurches.
The bathroom door clicks open. I stuff the photo back into my hongbao as fast as possible as Mom pokes her head out.
“No food yet?”
“Not yet.”
She steps into the room, twisting a towel into place on her head. “Well, I’m sure it’ll get here soo—” She stops at her bed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. The sick feeling in my stomach must also show on my face.
“Something seems to be bothering you.” She takes a seat on the edge of her bed, across from me. “Was it your practice this evening?”
I shake my head and look down, toward the hongbao still clutched in my hands. I rub it, feeling the thick edge of the photo inside.
“Do you think Dad is proud of me?”
“Pardon?” Mom’s voice is higher than it was a second ago. Her towel tilts precariously on her head. She reaches up to steady it, then glances back at me with a puzzled expression.
“Dad,” I say again. “Does he know about my skating? Or care how I’m doing?”
A sharp series of knocks makes both of us jump.
“Room service!” a man calls through the door.
Mom looks at me a moment longer, then moves to open it. She trades a tip for a serving tray. My eyes follow her across the room to the desk. She turns and passes me a plate, plus utensils wrapped in a cloth napkin.
“Your grandmother tells Jake about your competition results when she sees him.” Mom’s reply is slow and careful. “Is that what you’re asking?”
But how much does Grandma Goldie even see him? She’s Mom’s mom, not Dad’s. She and my dad just happen to live in the same town. I look up at Mom, ready to ask. She sounds as unsteady as I feel when I rise to my toe picks at the start of my free program.
Swallowing down my question, I manage a quiet “Yes, thanks.”
I reach for my plate, stabbing a piece of lettuce with my fork. Mom sits at the desk and starts buttering a roll, occasionally glancing at me.
Twenty-four hours, I tell myself. Just one more day.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When I was little I had a pre-competition plan: Instead of anxiously waiting in the locker room for my event to begin, I’d make a beeline for the bathroom. My competitors would fill the locker room, sizing one another up with narrowed eyes and serious faces under layers of makeup. But safe inside the bathroom, I’d put the finishing touches on my hair and makeup, then chew a tab of ginger to calm my nerves.
Now that it’s almost time to perform my free program, I pause in front of the competition rink’s bathrooms. I don’t want to use the girls’ room, but the boys’ isn’t an option, either. I tug down the hem of my dress and decide to skip it. I don’t want to see myself in the mirror, looking like someone I’m not.
I head for the locker room, but that’s also sorted by gender. There’s no avoiding it.
Inside, two girls sit on a bench, removing their skates across from Faith, who has her headphones on. She looks up when I enter.
“Hi,” I mouth as I sit and spread out my supplies nearby. Across the room, one girl recaps her program for the other while she
