Ana on the Edge

Chapter One

Sunlight glimmers across the ice through the San Francisco rink’s floor-to-ceiling windows. I squint, trying to find my best friend, Tamar. She’s on the far side of the rink, working on spiral positions, just like I’m supposed to be doing. I scan the ice, making sure Alex is nowhere in sight, then wave her over. She skids to a scratchy stop in front of me, brown curls bouncing in her loose ponytail.

Her skin is usually pale, but right now it’s flushed pink from the cold rink air. She twirls her index finger, brows raised. “You first.”

“I’m always first,” I shoot back, but Tamar doesn’t budge.

We’re supposed to be practicing Moves in the Field—exercises that focus on power, body alignment, and edge control—but there’s no one around to call us out for goofing off. Also, I never back down from a challenge. Swizzling a few feet away from Tamar to make sure my sharp blades don’t nick her, I raise both arms. I plant one toe in the ice, reach down, and perform a perfect cartwheel. Tamar applauds, and I bow like I’ve just skated my winning program at Nationals.

“Ana!” Alex calls.

I freeze mid-bow. Tamar’s eyes dart past me, up to Alex in the viewing stands. He’s right next to my mom.

Alex beckons to me. I look at Tamar for help, but she’s zipped away, back to her corner of the rink.

I grab my stuff and slide on my blade guards at the edge of the ice, then open my phone to the calendar app Mom and I share. There’s nothing about her visiting the rink over lunch today. She should definitely still be at work.

I climb the metal steps up to the stands. Mom pats the seat next to her and I sit down, waiting for her or Alex to lecture me about my cartwheel. I fiddle with my hair, trying to tuck it behind my ear. The strands are a little too short to stay put.

Shoulders tense, I glance toward the ice, but Tamar’s focused on twizzles. They’re supposed to look like mini–traveling spins, and most of hers do—until the last set. She hits her toe picks and loses her balance.

Alex clears his throat to get my attention. “Your mom and I wanted to discuss some things now that the new season is fast approaching. You’ve been showing progress all spring during the off-season, learning harder jumps and getting more consistent. And of course, we’re both proud of how you performed at Nationals a few months ago.”

Relaxing a little, I look between them. It doesn’t seem like I’m going to get in trouble for my cartwheel after all.

“You’ll definitely be moving up a level next season,” Alex continues. “You’ve got the skills to be competitive as an Intermediate lady.”

Competition announcers always call Juvenile skaters boys and girls, then it switches to ladies and men starting at Intermediate. I already knew this, but it still sounds weird.

“Even so, this will be a big leap for you. You only needed a free-skate program in Juvenile, but Intermediate also requires a short program, with very specific jump and spin requirements.”

I nod to show I’m still following along.

“The plan is to convert your Juvenile free skate to an Intermediate short program. It’s a real showstopper the way you perform it.”

My chest swells at the thought of performing my program in front of a huge crowd again, and I share a look with Mom. The corners of her eyes crinkle, just like at Nationals.

“You’re also going to work with a choreographer to create an Intermediate free-skate program so it has a different feel and layout. The judges will want to see your range as a performer.”

My eyes widen. Alex has always been the one to choose my programs and map out where the steps, jumps, and spins will go. But all the best skaters have choreographers.

“Lastly, we’ve decided to move your home base to Oakland. Their management team has been asking me to coach there on a more full-time basis for quite some time, as you know.”

Mom nods.

“Plus, our offer was just accepted on a house in Temescal.”

“That’s a great neighborhood,” Mom says. “I know you and Myles have been searching for a new house for a while. Congratulations.”

“Congratulations,” I echo.

“Thanks.” Alex turns to me. “I’ll still be your main coach. There are changes going into effect next season that we’ll need to keep on top of. For example, in the past, medaling first at Regionals and then at Sectionals would qualify you to compete at Nationals—but starting this season, Nationals has been cut for all but the highest levels. Instead, top Intermediate skaters will attend a training camp to build skills and determine eligibility for international competitions down the road.”

No more Nationals? I listen carefully, trying to memorize as much of this new information as possible.

“Both your mom and I want to make sure you have room to grow. Oakland has two rinks. No more competing for ice with the hockey teams, which should give you plenty of practice time to get your skills even more consistent for Intermediate. Your mom has also signed you up for some great off-ice stretching and dance classes.”

“For real?” I look at Mom. She nods again, and I can hardly believe it.

“For real,” Alex confirms. “You’ll start your new training schedule next week. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds great. Like a dream come true, actually.” Beaming, I glance back toward the ice, first to the floor-to-ceiling windows, then to where Tamar’s practicing twizzles across a patch of sunlit ice. My hands tingle as I imagine telling her everything.

“I’m glad you’re excited.” Alex stands and looks down at me, one eyebrow arched as his expression gets serious. “Now, back to work on your Moves in the Field. No more cartwheels. Last time I checked, you were a figure skater, not a gymnast.”

Chapter Two

Tamar and I sit side by side on my bunk bed as the closing credits from The Mighty Ducks 2 play from her iPad. On the opposite end of our studio apartment, Mom sits at the kitchen table with her work laptop.

Tamar rests her head on my shoulder and sighs. “The rink is going to be so boring without you and Alex.”

“He’ll still be around for your synchro practices.”

I feel her nod. “For now, I guess. I’m having a tryout lesson with a coach he recommended tomorrow, too. Still, it’s going to be weird without you.”

“At least there’s less chance you’ll get in trouble for on-ice cartwheels?”

“Like I can even do them that well.” She laughs and leans past me to grab her iPad off its perch on my pillow. “I’m not multitalented like my BFF, the last national Juvenile champion in the history of ever.”

I roll my eyes. “There’ll still be national champions at Junior and Senior. I’ll just be trying to qualify for the national training camp at Intermediate instead.”

Tamar gestures to the wall, pointing at my gold medal. It hangs right beside a Michelle Kwan poster so old it’s curling at its yellowed corners. Michelle was the first Chinese American I ever saw skate, so she’ll always be my favorite.

“Last. Ever. Juvenile. Champion.”

Shaking my head, I can’t help smiling.

“But the camp does sound cool,” Tamar says as she scrolls through iPad notifications.

“Yeah. If I skate well there, I could get picked to compete internationally as a Novice-level skater the season after.”

At this, Tamar looks up. “Okay, that would be awesome.”

“Definitely awesome.”

All I’ve wanted since I started skating is to represent the United States in competitions around the world.

Tamar checks her texts. “Mom’s downstairs.” She scooches toward the ladder at the edge of my bed as I twist around to glance at my Nationals medal. It never gets old to look at. That’s when I notice the photo missing from its spot behind my poster.

“Hey,” I call to Tamar. “Do you see a picture down there?”

“I’ll check!”

Mom’s mattress squeaks below me as I scramble down the ladder.

“Found it!” She studies the photo before handing it back to me. “You look a lot like your dad.”

“Really?” I glance at the two teenagers in the picture. Mom’s hair was longer back then, but just as straight. Beside her, Dad’s graduation cap tilts above a mess of wavy, dark blond hair.

Tamar nods. “Same smile. And nose.”

“I guess.” It’s a super-old photo, from Mom and Dad’s high school graduation. They had me a couple of years later, but it’s just been me and Mom for as long as I can remember. Dad moved away when I was a baby.

A chair leg scrapes against the floor. I look past Tamar, over to Mom.

“How was the movie?” she asks. “It was that hockey one again, right? You two must be close to a record number of views by now.”

Tamar and I glance at each other. “Yeah, probably,” we say, totally in sync.

Tamar grabs her backpack from the foot of the bed. “I should head downstairs. Mom’s waiting.” She turns to me. “Walk me out?”

She waves to my mom, then grabs her shoes from a rack near the door.

Outside, we give each other our usual goodbye hug. “Let me know how it goes with the trial coach?”

She takes a few steps away, walking backward. “Only if you let me know all about your first day in Oakland.”

My stomach twists at the reminder that we won’t be skating together anymore, but I push away the feeling. “Deal!”

Mom’s in the kitchen when I return. “I thought we’d have a special treat before your big first day.” She waves me over. “Help me mix the batter?”

Soon, the griddle’s hissing. I stand next to Mom, collecting plates and silverware for dinner.

“I’ve set the alarm for six tomorrow.” She nudges her spatula under the first pancake, then flips it. “Alex arranged a car pool with a family who just started taking lessons with him. Mrs. Park drives to Oakland every day with her daughters, Faith and Hope. They’ll pick you up at seven thirty in front of my office.”

“I know Faith. She competed against me a few times last year.”

“That’s wonderful.” Mom covers her mouth to yawn, but it’s not because she’s bored with our conversation. She works all day, plus teaches Mandarin to private school students on weekends and evenings. Nowadays, she’s almost always tired.

Flipping the final pancake, she turns to me. “Start setting the table, Ana-Marie, please?”

I look down so Mom can’t see my frown. I wish she’d just call me Ana like Alex and Tamar do, but I’m not sure how to tell her. We spend a lot of time apart now. Talking to her doesn’t feel as easy as it did last year.

“Are you excited about tomorrow?” Mom asks.

My eyes dart over to her, then back to the plates in my hands. My stomach was a little fluttery with Tamar in the hall, but now it feels like it’s performing somersaults.

“Yes.” I head for the table.

“Nervous?”

I chew on the inside of my lip and lay out two place settings. “A little.”

Okay, a lot. It’s weird how you can want something so much but still be all jittery when you finally get it.

We sit down across the table from each other, under our apartment’s only window. A light breeze makes me shiver. Hot days are rare in San Francisco, even in June. For me, summer is less about warmer weather, more about being done with my online homeschool classes until the fall, plus skating lots with Tamar. It’s also when Alex puts together my new program before Regionals in October.

Except now I’ll be at a different rink and have a choreographer.

My stomach flips again and I fidget, rubbing the charm on the necklace I always wear. My phone chimes in my pocket. Mom looks at me.

“Sorry.” I silence it.

“Would you like to say the blessing tonight?” she asks.

“Sure.”

We never used to recite a blessing before meals, but I started practicing prayers in Hebrew school a few months ago to prepare for my bat mitzvah. Mom thought it’d be a good idea to recite some at home, too.

As soon as I’m done, Mom picks up where she left off. “Alex will arrive in Oakland by midmorning, after your off-ice classes.”

I take a bite of my pancake.

“I’m sure Faith and Hope will help you get settled in beforehand.”

Swallowing hard, I try to imagine tomorrow. New skaters. Different rink. A choreographer I’ve never met. I overheard Alex tell Mom on the phone that she’s flying in from Florida. Mom turned off the speakerphone when he mentioned her choreography fee, but not before I heard we’ll be splitting her travel costs with the other skaters who hired her.

I glance past Mom, beyond the kitchen, and to our bunk beds on the opposite side of the apartment. Our entire studio could fit into Tamar’s living room.

“How are we going to pay for everything?”

I can’t help asking, even though she’ll probably just tell me that it’s her job to pay for things and mine to focus on training. But I know a low-income families sports voucher made it possible for me to learn to skate, and that she split Alex’s coaching fee with Tamar’s parents for a year after we passed all the levels in our skate-school.

Mom looks at me like she’s trying to decide something. “Do you remember that big case I helped out with last April?”

“When I stayed at Tamar’s house for, like, a week?”

“Yes, exactly. Work just won a large settlement. My boss gave me a bonus to thank me for my help.”

“Seriously?” I lean forward. “That’s awesome!”

Mom doesn’t smile. “This doesn’t make us rich, Ana-Marie. Far from it. I’m only sharing this with you because you’re old enough to understand the costs of your training, and I don’t want you to worry. Focus on your skating, and train hard this summer.”

“Okay.” I sit up a little taller. “I’ll train hard. Hard squared.”

“I know you will.” Mom keeps her eyes on me, pausing long enough to make me wonder what’s going on. “Now I have a question for you: If you had the chance to help pay for your skating, would you be willing?”

“Yes.” I don’t even have to think about it.

“Good.” Mom nods, as if she’s made a decision. “I’ve already paid for your practice ice tomorrow. Alex will explain more later.”

“Explain what?” How am I possibly going to get any sleep between my current nerves and this new mystery?

Mom smiles a little, and I know she’s amused by my impatience.

“Eat, Ana-Marie” is all she says. “It’s almost time for bed, and you’ll need your rest. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”

Chapter Three

I wake up an hour before my alarm is set to go off. Closing my eyes, I steady my breaths and roll from my back to my side, but sleep feels out of reach. My head swirls with thoughts.

Nationals. The Oakland rink. Cars honking on the street. The high-pitched whine of bus brakes. Money. New choreography.

For a while, I stare at my Michelle Kwan poster. Eventually my eyes drop lower, to my parents’ photo. Mom and Dad both smile back.

The alarm finally goes off. “Time to get up, Ana-Marie.” Mom’s drowsy voice floats up from the lower bunk.

Mom takes the bathroom first and emerges in her freshly ironed work clothes. Then it’s my turn to get into a T-shirt and my comfiest stretchy leggings. Alex once told me the Iowa rink he trained at as a kid would make girls wear skirts or dresses to practice. I’m glad there are no rules like that at the rinks here.

We eat a quick breakfast and head out.

The Number 5 bus will take us to Mom’s office, but we only ride it on special occasions. Walking is free. Homeless people sleep or sit huddled under aged brick buildings, reminding me how lucky we are. I slip my hand into Mom’s. Even if our studio is small, it’s safe and comfortable.

As the Financial District looms closer, cars honk more often. The sidewalks get busier, too. We’re weaving our way around people dressed in business suits when a fluttering movement catches my eye. Rainbow flags line the sidewalk, but someone’s tied a second flag to this lamppost. White, blue, and pink stripes whip back and forth in the wind.

“Look.” I point it out to Mom.

“How pretty. I always love Pride month. It feels so festive.” Mom smiles. “Do you remember Alex and Myles’s wedding?”

“Kind of.” I was seven and it felt like the whole city was celebrating, because two women or two men could officially get married for the first time. “That’s when Alex and Myles started calling me Bean.”

“I almost forgot about that.” Mom laughs. “You would’ve danced all night if I’d let you.”

I grin.

Mom’s office is in a tall building downtown, complete with Samuel, the security guard. He always wears freshly pressed suits and keeps his hair trimmed so close to his brown skin that he looks like he’s ready to attend a wedding himself.

He waves to us. “Good morning, Ms. Jin.” I brace myself as Samuel turns to me. “Hi, Miss Ana-Marie.”

I wince at the Miss.

Looking up at Samuel, I remind myself he’s just being polite. “Morning, Samuel.”

“Big day today, right?”

I nod. My phone vibrates. There’s a 99 percent chance it’s Tamar, already checking in.

“But you’re not wearing a dress? On an important day like this?”

I tense. “Not to practice. Almost no one does.”

Before Samuel can respond, Mom steps toward the street, arm up. An SUV with tinted windows pulls to a stop at the curb in front of us.

Mrs. Park gets out of the driver’s side and shakes hands with Mom.

“Bag in the trunk,” says Mrs. Park. Her words are curt, like how my grandma Goldie talks. She grew up speaking Mandarin with her parents and didn’t learn English until she moved to Hawaii as a teenager.

The trunk already contains two designer skating bags. Skaters can sit on the hard frame while lacing up, plus the wheels sparkle when you roll them. My duffel bag looks drab next to them. I press my shoulders back and tell myself it doesn’t matter. It holds my skates just as well as any expensive bag.

“See you later.” Mom ruffles my hair. “Listen to Alex. Work hard and take lots of notes.”