Chapter Twenty-Six
The next day, one of Corinne’s posters stares back from the off-ice studio door.
Faith pauses in front of it. “Hope loves your dress. She’s been talking about it almost nonstop since the seamstress sent it to us.”
Awesome.
Now everyone who hasn’t seen my dress yet can talk about it, too. I take a deep breath and try not to think about it at the beginning of stretching class. For a little over an hour, I push the poster out of my mind, focusing on the yoga mats, the instructor, and other skaters. My muscles relax as I sink into a deep stretch.
That’s the only break I get. Back downstairs after dance, I notice the posters everywhere, demanding my attention:
SKATE-SCHOOL RECITAL NIGHT
FEATURED PERFORMER: ANA-MARIE JIN
US JUVENILE GIRLS CHAMPION
Everywhere I look, there I am, stuck to walls and doors. There’s even a postcard-sized ad taped to the side of the concession stand’s napkin dispenser. In each picture I’m frozen in my opening pose with my chin lifted, eyes scanning a blurry crowd.
The photographer captured me moments before I choked. I still had a chance to qualify for Sectionals in that photo. Now I don’t. I keep my head down and lace up my skates next to Faith. We take the ice.
One of the posters hangs from the plexiglass by the rink entrance. It faces the benches, but my eyes still drift to the silhouette in the shape of my free-program dress every time I skate past.
I only have a few days left to figure out what to say to Hayden. Each passing freestyle session takes me closer to the moment when he’ll know I lied to him.
I flex my head from side to side. The muscles in my neck twinge in protest.
If Tamar were here, she’d roll her eyes and tell me I’m overreacting. Chill, Ana. It’s only a bit of boy trouble. Suddenly, Tamar’s absence is a physical ache.
I cast a quick glance toward Alex—he’s busy with another skater. I leave the ice five minutes before my freestyle session is supposed to end.
The second rink is quiet, lights dimmed. Hockey practice hasn’t started yet, and the smell of sweat mingles with disinfectant. I find a spot near the bottom steps of the bleachers and pull out my phone.
It takes her four rings to answer.
“Hi.” When Tamar doesn’t immediately reply, I lower the phone from my ear to check the signal. All good. “… It’s Ana.”
“Hey.” The word is flat.
“How’re you?” I ask, even though we usually skip questions like this.
“Fine.”
I wait for her to ask why I called, or at least say something about how I should be training right now.
She stays quiet, and a shiver climbs my spine. I balance my phone on my shoulder, pressing it against my ear. Mist rises to the ceiling from the rink surface.
“So, what’s up?” Tamar finally asks.
“A ton.” My thoughts immediately turn to Hayden. One thing at a time, though. I need to start from the beginning. “I totally bombed my free program at the LA competition. It dropped me from first to third.”
I wait for her to say something, but the line stays silent.
“Still there?”
“Yes.” There’s an edge to the word, a sharpness in her tone.
“The choreography’s all wrong for me.” I need to figure out the best way to tell her I’m nonbinary. First, she has to understand how miserable the last two months have been. “The dress is pretty, but it’s not right for me, either. Same for the music. It makes people think I’m a—um.” I try to swallow again and cough a little.
Just say it.
Another beat of silence.
“Is that all?” She didn’t even ask what I was going to say. It’s like she’s not even listening.
“Not really…”
“Well, that sucks.”
That’s it. No extra questions or helpful suggestions. This isn’t like Tamar.
“Is everything okay?”
“Oh, now you care?”
I shiver again, unsure if this chill is coming from the ice or through my phone.
“Yes?” I’m not sure what she’s getting at.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Tamar shoots back. “You’ve been flaky all summer.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
I shake my head. What is Tamar even talking about? “Okay, I know it’s been hard with me training in Oakland, but we’ve still met up. We still text and call each other to talk.”
“About what?”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what do we always talk about every time we meet up, and text, and call?”
The question throws me off. “Just… stuff. Skating, usually.”
Tamar scoffs. “Yeah, your skating.”
The line goes quiet again, but this time I know it’s not dead. My next words are softer, more timid. “And movies.”
“Yeah, like, once. You’ve been so focused on your new friends, working with a famous choreographer, chopping all your hair off, and whatever. But every time I try to talk to you about my life, you barely say a word. Or you promise to do something, and you don’t. You know what that makes you, Ana? Selfish.”
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. Is this how Mom felt when I snapped at her last week? My breath mists in front of me, but I don’t feel the rink’s chill anymore.
Tamar hangs up.
I return to the other side of the building in a daze. My eyes don’t snag on the recital posters for the first time all day.
It’s not my fault I’ve been busy. And I’m not selfish. Or flaky. My program is a huge problem. It’s not selfish to ask your best friend to listen when you need to talk.
Is it?
My temples throb as I spot Alex leaving the ice.
He mentions something about lunch. I nod, but it feels like someone else is in control of my motions.
We enter the coaches’ lounge. Alex talks some more, but his words don’t make sense.
Selfish, selfish, selfish.
The weight of his gaze finally jolts me out of my thoughts.
“Sorry, what?”
Alex opens his salad container. “You seem distracted today, Bean.”
Eyes down, I run my fingers along my duffel bag’s zipper but don’t
