It’s only a split-second hesitation, but I tilt in the air, one shoulder higher than the other. I come down sideways, hip smacking against the unforgiving ice. The sting travels down the rest of my leg.
I push up, rushing to get back on time with my music. My double flip comes next. Simple. Steady inside edge. Right leg behind my left before vaulting off my toe.
Thoughts of Hayden linger as I launch into the air. I pull in too tight for a double, too loose for a triple. Landing forward after two and a half rotations, I stumble onto my knees.
My breath hitches, the wind knocked out of me. The crystals on my dress twinkle under the overhead lights as the audience watches. A few offer claps of encouragement, but I know what they see: a princess, dethroned and weak.
I rise again and throw myself into a double axel. My landing leg quivers, and I turn into my final spin, finishing with a stiff arm position.
The audience applauds politely. No one stands up for me like they did at Nationals or throws stuffed animals.
I give the judges a quick bow, then leave the ice, neck hot. There’s a wet spot on my hip from one failed jump. My knees throb from my over-rotated flip. I brush past Alex before he can say anything. He has to stay for Faith’s program, anyway. I don’t bother grabbing my blade guards or stopping for a sip of water.
Mom appears, just as I pass the stairs that lead up into the stands. I pause and we lock eyes. Then I pick up my pace.
“Wait.” The rubber soles of Mom’s shoes squeak against the floor, but I don’t slow down. “Please, Ana-Marie—”
It’s all too much. My dress. Hope’s comment. My full name feels like a slap in the face. I whirl around.
“Don’t call me that.” The words burst out before I can stop myself.
Mom freezes, mouth half-open. I turn away fast, rushing into the locker room.
I drop onto my bench and wrap my arms around myself. Time passes by the changing of my competitors’ program music, first a dramatic ballad, then Faith’s elegant violin piece. The announcer calls the end of my event, but I don’t get up, not even when the Zamboni rumbles to life to resurface the ice.
When the door creaks open, I look up, expecting Mom.
“Ana?” Faith peeks in. “You forgot your blade guards. And your warm-up jacket.” She makes her way over and hands them to me.
“Thanks.” As Faith heads to the bench where she left her roller bag, I ask, “How’d you skate?”
“Okay, I think.” She doesn’t ask how my program went, probably because she saw how bad it was. “We should go. The scores will be posted soon.”
I want to get this dress off as fast as possible, but I push myself up. Faith and I head out of the rink and into the lobby, where a podium is set up. Printer paper flutters on the wall. At big competitions like Sectionals and Nationals, the announcer calls out your score in the Kiss and Cry area. At other events like this one, they get posted in writing. Faith and I squeeze through a crowd of skaters, coaches, and parents.
“Look.” Faith points as a volunteer tapes a new sheet to the wall. We inch closer.
“Congrats,” Faith says before I even spot my name. I scan the results.
Third. I dropped two places from the short program to my free skate. Faith moved up one, from sixth to fifth, just off the podium.
“Ana! Faith!” I turn and see Alex waving as he heads our way. Mrs. Park, Hope, and Mom follow him.
They read the results. Mom turns my way, but she doesn’t pull me into a hug like she usually does. “Are you all right?” She keeps her voice low, meant only for me. Her face pinches with concern.
“I’m fine.” I look away, cheeks burning, as Alex turns to Faith.
“Great job. I’m so proud of how much improvement you’ve shown this summer.
“And Ana.” He turns to me. “I know this wasn’t the performance you wanted, but you rotated your jumps and fought through your stumbles. A bronze at a new level during preseason is a fantastic accomplishment.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mom nod.
I don’t say anything, because I know they’re wrong.
“Congrats, Ana!” Hope skips with us as Alex guides me toward the medal podium. “Now we’ll both have medals.”
I glance back at Faith, but she doesn’t seem bothered by Hope’s comment. Stepping up onto my spot at the podium beside the girls in glittery dresses, I accept my award with a strained smile. For the second day in a row, my eyes water.
There’s no way my score will hold up and let me qualify directly for Sectionals. That means there’s not enough time to change my program, because I’m going to have to work twice as hard to get it ready for Regionals.
The camera flashes. I blink and find Mom in the crowd. She claps along with everyone else, but her jaw looks tight. I can relate. My jaw hurts, too, from all my fake smiles.
Chapter Twenty-Four
We hail a car to the airport just a few minutes after I hop off the podium. Alex sits up front. Mom and I take seats on opposite sides in the back of the car. She doesn’t reach for my hand this time, and I don’t offer it. I stare out the window as we zip across on the freeway, not seeing anything.
“Aside from the step-out on your salchow, the first half of your program looked strong,” Alex tells me. “There were just a few hiccups in the second part. Actually, your flip just looked like you were planning a triple and bailed out at the last minute.”
“Yeah.”
“That might’ve been my fault, since I’ve been focusing so much on it in the harness. You’re
