A quiet laugh meets my ears. I glance up. It’s not a full grin, but Hayden half smiles at me.
“What?”
“This is probably the most you’ve said all summer. You’re usually so quiet.” His smile levels out. “The first thing I thought when I saw those posters was that you were pranking me. Some of my classmates made fun of me back in Minnesota when I started school with a new name and pronouns. That’s why I didn’t respond to your texts right away.” He shrugs, but there’s hurt in his voice, just like after he saw the recital posters.
“And I lied to you and your family,” I add.
“I mean, I get why you did, but yeah.”
For a breathless second, neither of us speaks. Below us, a hockey coach splits up players into two teams and a match begins.
“So, should I use ‘zie’ and ‘zir’ now with you?”
“I—no.” I look at Hayden out of the corner of my eye, suddenly shy. “I told my mom she could keep calling me Ana and use girl pronouns for now. You can call me Ana, too. But I was thinking”—I take a breath, trying to be brave—“it’d be cool if you and your family wanted to keep using boy pronouns. Just until I figure things out. Then I’ll tell everyone what I’ve decided all at once.”
“Sure.”
It’s the simplest word in the universe, but it makes my heart soar.
“I can do that. Anyway, it kinda sounds like we should start over.”
“Start over?”
“You know, with correct names, ages, and stuff like that. Whatever you want me to know.”
The tension I’ve been holding on to all day—all summer—releases. In skating, there are no do-overs at competitions, but Hayden is offering one for the two of us.
“Hey, guys! You’re going to be late if you don’t put these on, like, yesterday.” We both turn. Cyn waves a pair of rental skates, but her eyes are on Hayden. A quick look passes between them.
“We’ll be there in a sec,” Hayden calls, waving her away.
He turns back to me. I make a mental note to tell Tamar his eyes are blue.
“Hi. I’m Hayden.” He extends his hand. “I’m thirteen, about to start eighth grade, into cosplay, and just moved here from a small town in Minnesota you’ve definitely never heard of.”
I reach out and shake his hand.
“I’m Ana Jin. Twelve years old, and this year’s US Juvenile champion in the girls’ division. I’ll be in seventh grade soon, I’m homeschooled in San Francisco, and I definitely won’t be skating in a dress for the skate-school recital.”
“Cool. Let me know if you need help with a new costume?”
I nod as Hayden gets up. He takes a few steps down the stands, then turns back with a mischievous expression. “Hey, did you know ana means ‘I’ in another language?”
“Yes.” I’m all smiles now. “And someone even told me it’s gender-neutral.” I hop down a couple of steps and glance back at him. “Come on. Let’s go get our skates on.”
Breathe Out
“Those were your level five and six graduates, folks. Give them a round of applause for that fun number.”
Coach Jen’s voice booms over the loudspeaker as I tuck a lace into the tongue of my left skate. I hook an elastic stirrup strap, sewn to a pair of black pants, under my boot. The fabric’s a little long and bunches at my ankle, but I don’t mind. This makeshift costume wouldn’t exist at all without the help of three awesome people.
Applause filters to me through a velvety thick curtain. Corinne went all-out for the recital, with this curtain on one end of the rink, Jen’s announcing, and even spotlights. I’m glad she didn’t seem to mind my last-minute costume change. My new look isn’t anything close to what her posters advertised.
“Now, we have a special treat for you this evening. A local celebrity, who’s not just a talented athlete but also one of our very own skate-school assistants.”
My hands move to my waist, adjusting the belt that holds a boy’s dress shirt in place. It’s not the tunic I envisioned. That’ll come later, when the fabric Mom ordered arrives. For now, I’m grateful to Tamar for lending me a belt, and to Hayden and Dan for their quick sewing work. They modified one of Hayden’s old cosplay outfits for this performance. The shirt’s flaps look like a skirt under my belt—boy and girl clothes blended together. A perfect fit for my new program.
If anyone wants to see my princess costume, they only have to look for Hope. She scampers between the stands and curtain in a shimmer of powder blue, while Faith helps out Jen in the sound booth. I never would’ve thought to ask Mrs. Park if she wanted to buy my dress for Hope without Faith’s help. I can’t wait to attend Faith’s church musical next month and hear the songs she edited all summer on our drives to and from Oakland.
“We are thrilled to welcome…”
A hand on my back. I glance up and see Alex. We share an amused look. Jen is really drawing this out.
“… this year’s US Juvenile champion. The last one ever, in fact—”
I grin. That final part came straight from Tamar. Gliding out from behind the curtain, I raise my arms to the audience. I lift my leg in a one-foot glide, a skill Hayden nailed in his own group number only a few performances ago. We’ve both come a long way this summer.
“—Ana Jin!”
No “Miss” or gendered-anything tonight. Someday soon, I’ll find pronouns that feel right. Until then, Jen’s wording is perfect.
I slide to a stop at center ice. The spotlights obscure my view of the stands, but I know Mom, Tamar, and the
