I close my eyes and run through every element, imagining each controlled takeoff, fast rotation, and solid landing. In my mind, I’m skating in silence. No music. Leggings instead of a dress and tights.
The girls change topics to which famous skaters they’ve spotted coaching up-and-comers. Normally, I love talking to other skaters, especially those I haven’t met before. But today is different. I need to stay completely focused if I want to score high.
I look down. Flesh-colored over-the-boot tights cover my feet instead of yesterday’s glossy black fabric. One side of my leg glitters with a sprinkle of crystals. Everything I’m wearing right now screams “girl.”
“Hellooooo!”
Hope appears with a flourish of sparkles and bouncy curls. The Pre-Juvenile girls skated hours ago, but her competition dress peeks out from under her jacket. She’s still wearing a yellow ribbon that displays her fourth-place medal. Two large fake flowers rest in her arms, the floral equivalent of stuffed animals.
Hope tosses Faith an oversize fabric rose, then skips her way to my bench.
“Milady.” Hope bows, offering me a blue flower. The word echoes in my head. I accept the gift but look away fast.
“You know we haven’t skated yet, right?” Faith’s headphones rest on her shoulders now.
“Duh.” Hope rolls her eyes. “But now you won’t have to wonder which one is from me when people throw them after your program, because you’ll already have it. You’re welcome.”
The two girls stand, eyeing Hope like she’s an alien before exiting the room. Hope whirls back to me, a tiny hurricane of glitter and hairspray. “Anyway. I just wanted to say good luck. Go, Team SF!”
Faith exchanges a look with me. “Team what?” she asks.
“SF! San Francisco. Alex said we’re a team, remember? We never picked out a name.”
“We’ve been a little busy with training,” Faith points out.
“So, I picked one for us. Unless you have a better idea.”
We both stay silent.
“Thought so.” Hope grins. “Have a great skate. Smile, sparkle, shine!”
She flits off, and a flurry of nerves shoots into my stomach. I lean down and pop a tab of ginger into my mouth. A spicy jolt tickles the back of my throat when I swallow.
When I look back up, Faith’s eyes are on me.
“Want one?” I hold out my supply.
“What is it?”
“Ginger tabs. They help settle your stomach when you’re nervous.”
Faith nods, then comes and sits beside me on my bench. “I feel like I need a whole bag of those today.”
“Me too.” I stand. “Let’s warm up. Maybe that’ll help.”
For the next ten minutes, we run in place, then move on to stretches. Faith leans forward, extending her leg into a spiral position. I reach for it, raising it high behind her. We switch, and I stretch while Faith lifts.
With only five minutes left before our on-ice warm-up, we sit down again and tie our skates. I wrap special tape around the top of my boots so my laces don’t come undone on the ice, while Faith does the same with her own roll.
“You ready?” she asks.
I nod. My skirt sways as I stand and I tug at it again.
We make our way from the locker area to the rink, where Alex waits. I check in with a volunteer, then take the ice.
Background music plays over the speakers, but I tune it out. Six minutes isn’t a long time to get my feet under me.
I turn backward and launch into a big, airy waltz jump. Faith and I whiz past each other as I run through my double jumps, then triples.
“Skaters,” the announcer’s voice booms over the speaker. “You have one minute remaining in your warm-up.”
I head back to Alex, who offers small corrections. Chin up. Right side strong. Check my left arm as I land each jump.
The warm-up ends. Skaters file off the ice.
“You look good.” Alex offers me water. “Calm.”
I am. This is the one part of my routine that’s always the same. The taste of ginger lingers in my mouth. My stomach no longer flip-flops.
The announcer welcomes the first skater. Keeping my back to the ice, I bounce my knees to keep limber.
I shrug out of my warm-up jacket and hand it to Alex as the girl finishes. A volunteer nods at me to take the ice. Gliding in little half circles by the door, I wait for the announcer to introduce me. Cold air prickles up my bare arms.
“She comes to us from San Francisco, California. Please give a warm welcome to Ana-Marie Jin.”
Between the “she” and “Marie,” two parts of that introduction feel wrong, but I paste on a wide smile. I head for center ice, arms raised to acknowledge the judges, then the audience.
I take my opening pose.
The first quiet notes tell me the music technician fixed the volume. This should calm me, but my legs still shake as I perform my opening choreography. Air whips against my thin tights as I pick up speed. People are watching.
This never used to bother me.
Come on. Focus.
I take a deep breath in through my nose. Release it out of my mouth. Three-turn with shoulders in position. Chin up. Ride my blade to a straight takeoff.
One, two, three rotations—
My left arm flies back on my landing. I flip forward, salchow over-rotated.
Tiny mistake. Keep going.
I sit low in my first spin. Glancing at the ice when I’m done, I spot the tight, coiled mark.
Good. Now, ankles loose on the step sequence.
I bend my knees, blades carving deep edges. My turns are crisp and controlled.
The violins fade out. For the last ninety seconds, it’s just me and my mortal enemies, the choir.
In the stands, a flash of short blond hair snags my gaze. It’s probably someone’s brother, maybe a competitor from one of the men’s events. But my mind transforms him into Hayden as I turn backward for my triple toe.
Hayden in the stands, watching. Hayden seeing me in a dress, discovering my lie.
There’s no
