“Do you still have those boot covers you got at Regionals last year?” Alex asks. I nod, mouth already full. “Bring them with you tomorrow, along with a warmer pair of pants. It gets cold fast when you’re teaching. The rink will provide an instructor coat.”
“O-tay,” I say, mouth full of bean paste filling.
Alex checks the clock on his phone. “I’ve got to head back to the ice. Watch the time, but feel free to stay here and finish your lunch. You’re officially a rink staff member. Between working with Lydia and assisting skate-school students, you’re going to have your hands full this summer. Think you can manage?”
“Definitely.” I polish off the last of my bao. “Oh, and, Alex,” I call in my sweetest, most innocent tone. He pauses, hand on the doorknob. “It’s Miss Lydia.”
He shakes his head but doesn’t hide his grin. Then he’s gone, leaving me to my dessert-first lunch.
For the first time today, my smile is 100 percent genuine.
Chapter Five
Later in the afternoon, the Parks drop me off in San Francisco. I wave to Samuel on my way into Mom’s office building. The elevator doors slide open, and I tap the button for the fourteenth floor. My stomach drops as the elevator zips up, like I’m riding a roller coaster in reverse.
The doors ping open, and I greet the receptionist as I head into Mom’s law office. Her desk sits in a maze of paralegal cubicles in the center of the room—two rights, one left. I poke my head around the corner of Mom’s desk.
“You made it back!” She looks up from her computer. “I can’t wait to hear all about your day. We can leave in about forty-five minutes. Do you have something to do while you wait?”
Normally, the Parks will drop me off at home so I can eat dinner and do chores while Mom’s still at work. But Mom asked Mrs. Park to drive me to her office today instead so we can walk home together and talk about my first day at the Oakland rink.
I nod, and Mom’s gaze moves back to her screen. “I’ll come get you as soon as I’m done.”
I’m off again, this time to a cubicle at the edge of the maze. It’s empty, except for a coffee mug that says I’d rather be skating in curly blue letters. It’s filled with pencils and pens Mom bought me when I started taking online homeschool classes last year.
I grab a pen, then pull out my notebook and phone from my skate bag.
I send a quick text to Tamar.
4:22 p.m.: Boo to your twizzles! Call you when I get home?
I turn to my notebook and flip to a clean page. I was really planning to do this earlier, but my thoughts kept spinning back to what Alex said during my lunch break.
Fifteen dollars per ice session, times four sessions a day, five days a week. That’s twelve hundred dollars saved a month. It could buy tons of groceries. Help with costs for flights and hotels at competitions. Maybe we could even save up enough to fly to Hawaii and surprise Grandma Goldie. Then I could skate well in Los Angeles and save us more by getting to skip Regionals.…
Focus!
I scribble a tip I learned in off-ice stretching class about breathing before deepening my splits. Faith sat in front of me today, legs long and straight, toes pointed. I jot down those details, too.
Looking up, I try to remember anything I could’ve forgotten. The office where Mom’s boss usually works is empty, lights off. Sun pours in through windows overlooking the Bay Bridge.
I twirl the pen in my hand, wishing I’d gotten to talk to Faith more today. But after the morning freestyle, then lunch in the coaches’ lounge with Alex, we both had lessons. Then, she put her headphones on the moment we climbed into Mrs. Park’s car, while Hope talked my ear off about team name ideas.
My phone screen blinks with a thumbs-up emoji from Tamar. I get back to my notes. By the time Mom’s ready to go, tips and diagrams fill my paper.
At street level, people crowd the sidewalks. Most make their way toward the BART subway station that will take them out of the city. Mom and I walk in the opposite direction.
Once we’re past the noisy crowd, I look up at her. “Are you tutoring the Millers tonight?”
“Just the oldest boy. The younger is away at a sports camp.”
That reminds me of the national training camp I’ll be trying to qualify for later this season. I wonder how much a Team USA jacket costs, or if you get one for free at the camp. Do they pay to send you to international events, or is that something else Mom’ll have to figure out?
We stop at a street corner, and I look up at Mom. At least this year, I know how to help. I slip my hand into hers. “Alex told me about how I can get free ice-time.”
“Oh, good,” Mom says as the light turns. “What did you think about his idea?”
“I think it’s awesome. I can skate as many freestyle sessions as I need. Plus, it’ll be fun to help teach other people to skate.”
“I bet you’ll be a wonderful assistant.” Mom smiles. “How was the rest of your day?”
“Good. I liked my off-ice classes and got used to the ice pretty quickly on freestyle.”
“That’s wonderful.” Mom squeezes my hand.
The walk sign flickers on. I take a step forward, but Mom pulls me back as a car whips past.
“Careful!” She doesn’t loosen her grip, even after other people move into the crosswalk. “These drivers, sometimes.”
She shakes her head, lips pursing into a thin line. It reminds me of Miss Lydia this morning.
Should I tell Mom about needing a skirt?
As we reach the gate at
