The alarm finally goes off. “Time to get up, Ana-Marie.” Mom’s drowsy voice floats up from the lower bunk.
Mom takes the bathroom first and emerges in her freshly ironed work clothes. Then it’s my turn to get into a T-shirt and my comfiest stretchy leggings. Alex once told me the Iowa rink he trained at as a kid would make girls wear skirts or dresses to practice. I’m glad there are no rules like that at the rinks here.
We eat a quick breakfast and head out.
The Number 5 bus will take us to Mom’s office, but we only ride it on special occasions. Walking is free. Homeless people sleep or sit huddled under aged brick buildings, reminding me how lucky we are. I slip my hand into Mom’s. Even if our studio is small, it’s safe and comfortable.
As the Financial District looms closer, cars honk more often. The sidewalks get busier, too. We’re weaving our way around people dressed in business suits when a fluttering movement catches my eye. Rainbow flags line the sidewalk, but someone’s tied a second flag to this lamppost. White, blue, and pink stripes whip back and forth in the wind.
“Look.” I point it out to Mom.
“How pretty. I always love Pride month. It feels so festive.” Mom smiles. “Do you remember Alex and Myles’s wedding?”
“Kind of.” I was seven and it felt like the whole city was celebrating, because two women or two men could officially get married for the first time. “That’s when Alex and Myles started calling me Bean.”
“I almost forgot about that.” Mom laughs. “You would’ve danced all night if I’d let you.”
I grin.
Mom’s office is in a tall building downtown, complete with Samuel, the security guard. He always wears freshly pressed suits and keeps his hair trimmed so close to his brown skin that he looks like he’s ready to attend a wedding himself.
He waves to us. “Good morning, Ms. Jin.” I brace myself as Samuel turns to me. “Hi, Miss Ana-Marie.”
I wince at the Miss.
Looking up at Samuel, I remind myself he’s just being polite. “Morning, Samuel.”
“Big day today, right?”
I nod. My phone vibrates. There’s a 99 percent chance it’s Tamar, already checking in.
“But you’re not wearing a dress? On an important day like this?”
I tense. “Not to practice. Almost no one does.”
Before Samuel can respond, Mom steps toward the street, arm up. An SUV with tinted windows pulls to a stop at the curb in front of us.
Mrs. Park gets out of the driver’s side and shakes hands with Mom.
“Bag in the trunk,” says Mrs. Park. Her words are curt, like how my grandma Goldie talks. She grew up speaking Mandarin with her parents and didn’t learn English until she moved to Hawaii as a teenager.
The trunk already contains two designer skating bags. Skaters can sit on the hard frame while lacing up, plus the wheels sparkle when you roll them. My duffel bag looks drab next to them. I press my shoulders back and tell myself it doesn’t matter. It holds my skates just as well as any expensive bag.
“See you later.” Mom ruffles my hair. “Listen to Alex. Work hard and take lots of notes.”
“Okay,” I call, making my way around the SUV. I hop into the back seat and come face-to-face with a wide-eyed girl. Her dark hair is pulled back behind her ears in two pigtails. It’s been a couple of months since the last time I saw Faith Park, but this definitely isn’t her.
“Hi!”
“Hey,” I say back. As Mom’s building disappears behind us, I recognize the girl in the front seat. A ballerina bun holds her hair above her slender neck. Headphone cords snake down from her ears into the iPad that rests on her lap.
I can see only part of her face, but it’s enough to recognize Faith.
When we stop at a light, Mrs. Park glances back at us. “Introduce yourselves to Ana-Marie.”
“You can just call me Ana,” I say.
“Hi, Ana. I’m Hope.” The girl beside me waves. “I’m nine and a Pre-Juvenile, but I want to test up to Juvenile this summer so I can compete at real Regionals!”
Hope is practically bouncing. Behind her, rainbow flags zip by through the window, a blur of vivid colors. Hope looks from me to Faith, who still hasn’t said anything. She leans forward and pokes her on the shoulder.
Pulling one headphone speaker off her ear, Faith raises an eyebrow at Hope.
“Introductions. Your turn!”
“We already know each other.” Faith glances my way. Her headphones go back on after I confirm with a small nod.
Hope flops back against the leather seat and sighs. “Faith is competing Intermediate this season. She had to move up a level because she turned thirteen in April, even though she didn’t make it to Juvenile Nationals. You’re doing Intermediate, too, right?”
“Yes.”
Hope looks like she expects more of an explanation, but I’m not sure what to say. When I imagined how this morning would go, I assumed I’d be talking to Faith, not her little sister.
“And you take lessons from Alex?”
I nod.
“We just started with him last week.” Hope doesn’t give me a chance to respond before she chatters on. “I loved our old coach, but she retired and doesn’t teach anymore.”
We ascend a ramp onto the Bay Bridge, which connects San Francisco to the cities of the East Bay. If you hold your left hand up, palm toward your face, San Francisco would be at the tip of your thumb, Oakland at the crease where your index finger connects to the rest of your hand. The bay we’re driving across is the empty space between.
“What triples can you do?”
“Hope! Don’t pester.” Mrs. Park shoots her a look in the rearview mirror.
“Sorry,” Hope says, but she’s still smiling.
“It’s okay. I can do triple toes and salchows. My loop’s usually okay, but I cheat the landing sometimes. I’m still working on flip and lutz.”
“That’s
