Eli nods. “She’s in her room.”
He saunters off. I stare at my feet for a second, slide my shoes off, then head for the stairs.
I take them two at a time. Even after being gone most of the summer, I remember which creaky steps to avoid.
I pause in front of her door. What I do next will determine whether Tamar and I stay friends. My eyes drift up to the crown molding that snakes across the hallway ceiling.
Or she might decide she never wants to talk to me again.
No more stalling. I force my eyes away from the ceiling, then knock.
“Yeah?”
I crack the door a sliver, then push it open a little more. Tamar’s in bed on her stomach. Her eyes are fixed on her phone, legs crossed at the ankles.
“Hi,” I say, but don’t enter. My eyes travel her bedroom, coming to a stop on a new movie poster for A League of Their Own. I don’t even know when she got it.
Tamar goes still when she sees me. She glances at her phone again. “Did I miss a text about you coming over?”
“No.” Normally, I’d plop down in her purple armchair. I can’t imagine doing that now when I feel like an intruder. “I was in the neighborhood and wanted to say hi.”
Tamar raises an eyebrow. “Unless you’re a lost tourist, no one’s ever just ‘in the neighborhood.’”
It’s true. The hills keep most people away. I’ve barely started talking and already made a mistake.
“You looked good with your synchro team yesterday,” I try again. My voice quivers.
Tamar’s expression doesn’t change, but she sits up. She slides her legs off the edge of her bed. “What were you doing there, anyway?”
Posture stiff, her eyes narrow.
“I… um.” My gaze moves away, toward her closet, her desk, the window. I stop at the bulletin board covered in synchro photos. There’s a picture I never noticed before, nestled between two others.
My hair was longer then, held back with an elastic band. Tamar stood beside me, in front of Alex. We were both so short, he had to crouch to stay in the frame.
“I told Mom I wanted to skip skating practice, for the second week in a row. That’s why we were at the rink yesterday.” My words sound like they’re being said by someone else. And I can’t take my eyes off that photo.
“Why would you do that?”
“Because Mom wanted to discuss it with Alex.”
“That’s not what I was—” She stops, but I stay quiet. I remember watching the Winter Olympics together and the determined look on Tamar’s face when she told her parents she wanted to learn to skate. If she hadn’t insisted I go with her, I might not be a skater at all now. No national title. No pic of us grinning with Alex. When I started improving faster than her, Tamar never even got jealous. She was as excited about each new jump as I was.
That final thought buries itself deep in my chest. It pulses like a second heartbeat.
Selfish.
My eyes fill with tears.
“Sorry,” I whisper. Tamar doesn’t say anything. I drag my eyes away from the photo, but my vision’s too blurred to see her. I blink once. Twice. Tears trickle down my cheeks. “About being flaky all summer, and never giving you notes on your Moves videos. I’m so, so sorry about that. And about everything else.”
When Tamar stays quiet, I keep going. “I’ve been so busy training in Oakland and hating my program that I didn’t even notice how much I was ignoring you until you told me. I thought texting you and hanging out once in a while would be enough, but I was still distracted and focused on myself.”
“Just a little, yeah.” Tamar gives me a stiff nod.
“No, a lot. Almost every time you tried to talk to me, I blew you off.” I take a deep, shuddering breath. “You didn’t deserve that, no matter how much I had going on.”
“Come here.” Tamar pats her mattress.
I take a small step toward her, then another, until I’m close enough to sit at the edge of her bed. Her arms wrap around my shoulders. She pulls me closer.
“Why are you skipping so much practice?”
I sniffle, remembering the first day I missed freestyle. It was right after our last phone call, but that wasn’t Tamar’s fault. “I’ve just been really confused lately.”
“About…” Tamar leans back to look at me. “… your free program?”
“Yes. Kind of?”
Tamar waits for me to continue, but I can’t. “I know you said you didn’t like it, right?”
I wipe my eyes, then nod.
“So, what’s up? Is the choreography too hard, or what?”
I rub at tear streaks with the back of my hand but shake my head. “No, it’s bigger than that. I… told Mom I don’t think I’m a girl.”
Tamar’s eyes go wide.
“And Alex,” I add.
“But, what do you mean by that? Do you want to be a boy? Or…?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I think I’m somewhere in between a boy and a girl. Or neither, maybe?”
“So that’s why you didn’t want to skate to Sleeping Beauty music. One sec.” Tamar swipes a tissue box from her desk and hands it over. “And this is what’s been bothering you all summer?”
Dabbing the corners of my eyes with a tissue, I nod again. She fiddles with a curly strand of hair.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t tell anyone, but…” I hesitate. “Remember the day you showed me your team’s intersection video?”
Tamar looks at me blankly.
“We were eating cupcakes, and you said it’d be weird for someone to throw a party to let people know they’re a boy or a girl.” I look down.
“Oh, Ana.” Her voice drops to a whisper.
“Plus, I was so excited about getting to train in Oakland, and I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. I actually told you I didn’t like my program before I told Mom or Alex.”
“You
