Faith holds the studio door open for me. I slip past her, trying to ignore how much my skin prickles every time I’m near that poster.
We unroll our yoga mats. Around us, other skaters chat about Regionals and famous skaters’ coaching changes. Faith pulls out her iPad and makes more tweaks while we wait for the instructor to arrive. A couple of minutes later, she looks up at me, eyes sparkling.
“Got it!”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll have to listen to it with my headphones later, but I’m pretty sure.”
I wish I had as much control over my free-program music as Faith has over her sound clips. I sit on my mat, knees tucked up to my chest, while she stows her iPad back in her bag.
“Hey, Faith?” She looks over her shoulder at me. “Was it you or Miss Lydia who cut the music for your program?”
“Me.” Faith settles into a cross-legged position on her mat. “She sent me a few tracks before her visit. I picked the ones I liked and blended them so they sounded good together. Miss Lydia still had to approve them when she arrived, but yeah.”
An idea takes shape. I might be stuck with a program I hate this season, but maybe that could change next year.
“How hard was it to learn how to cut your music?”
“It takes a little time to learn how to use the app. And sometimes tracks don’t sound good together no matter how well you blend them. But it’s fun once you figure out how everything fits together.” As the instructor enters the room, Faith looks at me. “I could show you sometime. If you want.”
“That’d be awesome.”
“Okay.” She seems surprised but happy. “I’ll send you info on the app I use. What’s your number?”
“I actually forgot my phone at home today. Is it cool if I just add my number to your contacts? Then you can text me so I have yours.”
In the moments before stretching class starts, I add myself to her phone before passing it back to her. Then, I spend the next hour and fifteen minutes planning how I’ll tell Hayden the truth tomorrow.
There are recital posters everywhere. In the lobby. At concessions. All around the rink, from the vending machines to the plexiglass overlooking the ice. I can’t just wait for him to arrive and hope I catch him before he sees one.
But I could invite him to the diner across the street before his class and tell him everything.
Off-ice classes end, and I meet Alex on the ice. He runs me through my usual warm-up, then works on jumps for most of my lesson. I almost think I’m going to slide by without having to skate my program when he waves me toward the music box.
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. Ready to get back on the horse?”
Nope. But running a program I hate seems like nothing compared to the talk I’m about to have with Hayden. Before a competition, Alex always says to imagine a positive outcome by visualizing myself skating a clean program. I imagine Hayden with me at the diner now, forgiving me after I tell him my secret. I picture us laughing at how silly I look wearing a dress in the recital posters.
It’s a small, fluttering hope that I hold on to as I take my opening position.
The music starts. At least after a month of run-throughs, I have the choreography memorized, even if I’ll never be a fan of Miss Lydia’s arm flourishes.
I’m still imagining positive outcomes with Hayden as I glide into my triple salchow. I turn backward, bend my left knee, then snap it straight. My right leg swings through to help me rotate. Three quick twists in the air, and I return to the ice on a strong edge.
Finally, something done right.
I picture Hayden grinning as I enter my first spin. I whirl perfectly in place. Ankles loose and knees bent deep, my step sequence is controlled and edgy. I fly across the ice, timing my arm movements with the music.
I also sail through both jumps in my triple toe combo. Launch and land, launch and land. Take that! Lifting my chin, I feel more defiant than graceful.
One after another, I breeze through my elements. I complete my final blur of a spin, one arm rising as the music fades.
I skated a perfect free program to music for the first time all season. This is everything I’ve worked for since moving to Oakland.
My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath. As Alex claps from the music box, I feel a surge of warm triumph.
“That was fantastic,” Alex calls as I glide over to him. “Everything in its own time, right? Keep this up and you’ll be hard to beat at Regionals.”
Regionals, the competition I was supposed to be good enough to skip. My stomach twinges but I ignore it. Imagining a positive outcome with Hayden helped me skate a clean program. That has to be a good sign.
As Alex glides off to his next lesson, I return to my starting position, determined to nail it again. I take a breath and close my eyes, pretending I’m about to skate in front of an audience of royal subjects.
When I open them, aquamarine hair catches my eye.
I blink, eyes fixed on Cyn by the rink entrance.
Then I see Hayden.
My arms drop to my sides, sending a vibration up my shoulders. It travels into my neck before settling in my chest. Instead of dwindling as the seconds tick by, it thrums harder.
Why is he here today? He said he was coming to watch me skate on Thursday.
Hayden waves at me, then freezes as his gaze shifts away from the ice, toward the plexiglass where a poster hangs. His hand hovers in the air, then drops. The smile falls from his face.
My body goes hot, then cold.
Hayden turns back toward the exit with Cyn on his
