“Okay.” I should be excited. Nailing a triple flip would be a huge deal at Intermediate. It’ll definitely make me a contender for the national training camp if I land it at Sectionals.
If I qualify for Sectionals. I still have to get through Regionals now.
We hop out of the car and head into the airport, make it through security, then settle into seats in front of our gate. Mom pulls out her laptop, while Alex calls Myles to tell him when to pick us up from the San Francisco airport later tonight. I think about grabbing my phone, too, but I can’t imagine texting with Tamar or Hayden right now.
“Ana!”
I twist in my seat as Hope dashes in front of Mrs. Park and Faith, her pewter medal bouncing against her chest. She looks so proud wearing it around her neck. My bronze medal feels like a failure. It’s already packed deep in my suitcase.
Hope rubs her medal between both hands. “Are you on this flight, too?”
“Of course she is,” Faith answers. “Why else would she be at the same gate?”
Hope ignores her. “Want to come get snacks?”
I turn to Mom. “Is it okay if I go with them?”
“Of course.” Her voice sounds tired. “You still have some money left after your haircut, right?”
“And from Grandma Goldie.” I still haven’t spent my Chinese New Year money.
We check out a nearby kiosk, where Hope flits around, trying to convince Mrs. Park to buy her everything from gummy bears to Cracker Jacks. Meanwhile, I can’t help thinking about how I snapped at Mom. As Faith and I browse a magazine rack, I realize Mom and I didn’t even take a picture together. There’ll be nothing new to add to our collection on the refrigerator.
“Are you okay?” Faith keeps her eyes on a magazine featuring a celebrity wedding, but she doesn’t seem to be reading the headline. “You’ve been really quiet today.”
I could say yes, I’m fine, like I told Mom. She’d probably believe me if I said I was tired.
But, the only thing I’m tired of is lying.
“Did you see my performance?”
“Some of it. Your double axel was huge.” Her face fills with sympathy, which means she probably saw enough to know my axel was one of my only good elements.
We turn toward a wall of packaged snacks. Faith chooses a bag of nuts and dried cranberries while I grab the cheapest chewing gum I can find. This doesn’t feel like a good time to be spending all my money.
“The rest of my jumps were pretty terrible.”
“But you still medaled.”
“My short program score held me up,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
I remember that Faith placed fifth and look away, wishing I could disappear. I can’t say anything right today.
Passengers have started boarding by the time we return to the gate. We get in line with Mom and Alex. Hope turns to Mrs. Park. “Can Ana sit with me and Faith? Please?”
Mrs. Park looks at Mom, who nods and says, “It’s fine with me, if you don’t mind switching seats.”
“Yay! Now we can figure out a team name.” Hope bounces in place. “I call the window seat!”
As the gate agent scans Hope’s ticket, Faith turns to me. “I’ll sit in the middle so I can tell Hope to be quiet if she gets annoying.”
I smile a little. Hope really doesn’t bother me.
We find our seats, and Hope begins chattering immediately.
“Okay, so, I still think Team SF is the best choice, but if you really don’t like it, how about Team Regionals? Because we’ll all be competing there in October.”
I swallow hard. Every word Hope says drives the dagger of my failure deeper. Faith glances at me, then back at Hope. She shakes her head, and Hope’s mouth turns down in a pout.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s just one competition.” I’m glad Faith is explaining this, because I can’t form a single word. “Are you still going to want to be called Team Regionals once it’s over?”
“Oh.” Hope’s frown relaxes. “Well, I can’t think of anything else. I need some help.”
“We will help.” This time when Faith looks at me, I nod. “It’s just hard to come up with good names when we’re exhausted.”
The flight attendant’s voice crackles over the intercom. As I listen to the safety instructions, Hope yawns. By the time we take off, her eyelids droop.
I scroll through the entertainment options on the screen in front of me, but our flight’s not long enough to watch a full movie. I click on the trailers instead, not really watching any of them. Eventually, Faith turns on her overhead light, then leans forward and pulls a sheet of paper out of her bag. It looks like a list of jumps and spins with a breakdown of the judges’ marks.
I can’t help looking. “Is that your free-program protocol?”
She nods. “I landed my triple toe.”
“You did?” I lean over as she points to an element a few lines down the list. It reads 3T<.
“It got called for under-rotation.” Her finger stops at the less-than sign. “But I landed it. First time in a competition.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Thanks.” Hope turns in her seat, lashes fluttering, but her eyes stay closed. Faith clicks off the overhead light and our row floods with darkness. It wraps around me like a blanket, safe and comforting.
I wish I could be as happy about my medal as Faith is with her triple toe.
But earning a medal means nothing if I didn’t skate my best. It’s not even about a flawless program. I’ve skated imperfect programs that I’m still proud of. This time, I got distracted and made silly mistakes. Even if I had won, I’d still feel disappointed.
But Faith? She tried hard and landed her first triple toe in competition. Maybe fifth is great for her.
“Did you buy a video of your free skate?” I ask.
“Mom ordered one. They said they’d email us
