The steps are starting to grow on me, too. It’s just the program’s theme that needs some tweaking. I explain my idea to Faith, giving her as much detail as possible. “Do you think that’d work?”
She’s already tapping on her music app, uploading the files. “Won’t know unless we try it, but it’s a cool idea.”
For the rest of lunch, she cuts and blends, explaining what she’s doing as she works. She puts on her headphones, listens, then does it again. Occasionally, I remind her to eat some ramen.
Finally, she sits back and passes me her headphones.
For three minutes, I listen, eyes closed. When the last note fades out, I slowly open them. Faith keeps her eyes on me. “What do you think?”
“It’s totally perfect.”
She beams.
“I also think we should come up with a new team name.”
Faith tilts her head. “Oh, you mean for Hope, you, and me?”
I nod. “Team SF doesn’t really work. We all live in San Francisco, but Alex moved to Oakland, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“I couldn’t think of anything skating related, either, because we’re all good at different things.” Faith takes a sip of her ramen broth. “But that makes us special. I can help you with triple toe loops because that’s what I’m good at, and you can help me with choreography poses and feeling the music. And we can both teach Hope how to land her double axel when she gets back from camp. So, I was thinking we should call ourselves Team Unique.”
“Okay, I love that.” Faith snaps the lid onto her ramen container. “We can double-check when Hope’s back, but I bet she will, too.”
Team Unique. Because we’re all good at different things.
We head downstairs to the freestyle rink and lace up for our afternoon session.
“Oh, Faith, I was thinking. Would you maybe want to come see the skate-school recital next week?”
She nods just like Hope when she’s excited. “I’ll check with Mom to see if we’re free. If the skate-school needs help with setup, I’m really good at that, too. Or music, obviously.”
I knot one skate, then the other. “I’ll check with Corinne tomorrow and let you know.”
We take the ice, stroking toward the boards to drop off our bags together. Faith skates off to warm up. I look around until I spot Alex.
“I’ve made a decision about my free program,” I announce as I glide to a stop in front of him. “I’m going to keep part of the music Miss Lydia chose and use a different piece for the end. But I want to change the program’s theme.”
“Okay,” Alex says. “Can you break that down for me?”
I can do better. I head to the music box and plug in my phone. The track starts with the same soft flute sounds. I skate back to Alex.
“You know the Disney version of Sleeping Beauty?” It’d been years since I last saw that movie, but Tamar watched it with me on Saturday while I took notes and we both munched on popcorn. I wait until Alex nods. “This part of the music plays when Princess Aurora is waltzing in the forest. And this”—I hold up a finger; the music switches to livelier brass instruments—“is when Prince Phillip enters the forest and first sees her.”
I study Alex’s face, but he gives nothing away, just nods again.
“I want to be Aurora in the first half of my program and then portray Prince Phillip after. That way, I can still use a lot of Miss Lydia’s choreography. We can change the arm movements to look stronger in the second half and more—you know—like a prince. What do you think?”
Alex takes his time, listening all the way through to the song’s final brassy pah-pah-pa-rahs. “Honestly? I wish I’d thought of this. It’s a solid idea, with a cohesive theme, and it’s something you can relate to, which will make your performance meaningful. With these tweaks, you’ll learn to perform as an actress—or actor—and not just a technically proficient skater.”
“I have ideas about the costume, too,” I continue. “Mom and I ordered some fabric online yesterday. We’ll start working on it soon, then I’ll show you.”
“You know I’m fine with whatever you wear, as long as it adheres to the rules.”
“Okay, and…” I hesitate on this one. “I decided I’m okay skating as an Intermediate lady this season with all these program changes. But I’d like to propose a meeting with you, me, and Mom after the national training camp—if I qualify, obviously—to talk about how I’m feeling and what I want to do next year.”
He’s quiet. I rehearsed what to say so many times over the weekend, but I never practiced how I’d react if Alex didn’t say anything.
“About if I want to stay competing with the girls or switch to boys’ events,” I rush on. “I don’t know if that’s even possible, but we should talk—I mean, I’d like to discuss it, if that’s okay?”
“You’re just full of good ideas today.” Now Alex smiles. “I think keeping the lines of communication open is crucial. If you decide you don’t want to compete in ladies’ events anymore, you should definitely say something. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it as a team. All three of us.”
Perfect.
Our lesson comes to an end. I skate back to the music box and grab my phone. As I glide toward the exit, I stare at a pair of new texts.
Hayden’s name appears at the top of each message, but I can’t bring myself to read them in such a public place. I zip off the ice and into the hockey rink.
It’s been three days since I texted him to ask if we could meet before class. Now that I have a response, my stomach swoops up into my throat.
1:43 p.m.: Ok
1:45 p.m.: Be there at 5:30 tomorrow
I reread them once, twice, three times
