She studies me, and I suddenly know this is all wishful thinking. There’s no way she’ll let me skip more days of training. I’m obviously not sick.
To my surprise, Mom walks toward the SUV. Mrs. Park rolls down her window, but their conversation is too quiet to hear. I imagine Faith in her seat staring out at me through the tinted window.
As Mom walks back to the sidewalk, the SUV pulls away.
Unsure what’s happening, I look up at Mom, who’s stopped in front of me.
“Come.”
I follow her through the door Samuel holds open. Mom stays quiet until we enter the empty elevator. When the doors slide shut, I feel her eyes on me again, then her hand rubbing small circles on my back. “I’ll call Alex once we get to my office. If something’s going on that makes you want to miss practice, it would be good to discuss it with him.”
A cold chill travels through me. I’m not scared of Alex, but Mom and him asking me questions together?
I take a deep breath as the elevator opens, then release it in one heavy word that expresses all my feelings of failure.
“Okay.”
Chapter Thirty
Half an hour later, Mom requests a rideshare from her office to the San Francisco rink where Alex is currently coaching.
The whole way to the rink, I try to come up with a good reason for wanting to skip practice, but my mind stays as blank as the ice after a Zamboni resurface.
Alex is on the ice with two other coaches when we arrive. A group of girls stands in front of him in matching pants and jackets. I stop fast, eyes darting from synchro skater to synchro skater until I see Tamar. She’s between two girls with hair in identical blond buns.
Mom beckons to me. I walk toward her, eyes never leaving Tamar as she lifts her arms and connects with the girl on either side of her. Alex calls out, “Five-six-seven-eight,” and they’re off on the next count of one. Their back crossovers carve identical marks into the ice.
Mom and I walk to the stands, finding seats halfway up. As Alex makes his way off the ice, Tamar’s line stops on the opposite side of the rink. Her eyes follow Alex from the exit to the steps to the stands.
She sees me.
Our entire fight comes back all at once.
I clasp my hands tight. She looks away just as Alex reaches us.
“Hi, you two.”
Mom greets him quietly. “Thanks for meeting with us. We’re sorry to bother you.”
“It’s no problem at all. The team won’t miss me for a few minutes. In fact, they’ll probably be glad to move on from line drills.”
He offers a small smile, which neither of us returns.
“Your mom said you were upset this morning, and you don’t want to go to practice today?”
Below us, Tamar hooks arms with her partner, then skates toward another pair of girls, releasing her hold as they intersect. That move has improved since the video she showed me at the beginning of summer.
I’ve never been on a synchro team because of the high monthly fees. But Tamar and I always felt like a pair. We practiced together. Celebrated competition wins. Hung out, listening to music or watching movies on her iPad.
Things changed a lot this summer, and not just for me. Tamar got a new coach, she failed her Intermediate Moves test, and her parents have been fighting. And I’ve been too stuck in my head to remember to be a good friend and listen.
“Ana?” Alex’s voice is soft.
Tension makes my chest clench. I don’t want to skip practice for weeks on end, not even to avoid Hayden. I just want to love skating again, like I used to before things got complicated.
“I can’t do my free program anymore,” I blurt out. “It makes me feel awful.”
Mom and Alex exchange bewildered looks. They wait for me to continue, but I press my lips together.
“Why?” Mom finally asks. The word sounds high and sharp. It reminds me of Miss Lydia.
Alex leans in closer. “No one’s mad about how you skated at the competition, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
That’s not even close to what’s wrong.
I shake my head, but Alex doesn’t seem to notice. I squeeze my hands together in my lap so tightly the tips of my fingers turn red and my knuckles go white.
“You’ve been doing so well getting used to more challenging choreography, a longer program, harder jumps.…”
My head starts to pound. I can recite the definition of nonbinary by heart, but saying it out loud makes it real. What if this feeling changes after I’ve come out to everyone?
“Plus, a new training environment with a whole group of different skaters—”
Mom nods along with his words.
No, no, no! My breaths become shallow.
“I’m not a girl.” The words tumble out and the tension releases its grip, letting me breathe again.
Alex goes quiet. Beside him, Mom just looks confused. I’ve thrown them both for a loop.
“What do you mean?” Mom asks slowly.
“I’m not a girl,” I say again. The words come easier this time. “I’m nonbinary.”
Alex’s brows rise, but Mom’s expression doesn’t change. “I’m not sure I understand,” she says.
I take a long, deep breath. “Some people feel like girls and others feel like boys. Usually, I don’t feel like either. I was going to say something weeks ago. To both of you.” I glance at Alex before turning back to Mom. “But I wanted to qualify for Sectionals first.”
“What? Why?” Her gaze moves past me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alex shake his head. He looks just as confused as Mom.
“Because I wanted to change my free-skate program, and I thought we’d have more time if I got to skip Regionals. Plus, it’d save you money.” My voice gets quieter. “And
