Britches Get Stitches

by Elicia Hyder

  The hinges of the heavy metal door creaked as Monica pulled it open. Inside, the room was loud with chatter echoing off the concrete walls and floor. Our teammates were seated in the bleachers rather than gearing up for practice. I looked at Monica. “What’s going on?”

  “Britches Get Stitches, over here!” someone shouted.

  Monica tapped my arm.

  “Oh, that’s me.” I looked around. Shamrocker, one of our Fresh Meat coaches, was waving from a folding table piled with bundled shirts. Her pixie cut was dyed a pale blue, and she wore a unicorn T-shirt. Monica and I walked over. “Sorry, the derby-name thing is going to take a while to get used to.”

  “I feel ya, girl.” She handed me a stack of black-and-teal tank tops. “Britches Get Stitches, number 6-ft-2. Correct?”

  “Yeah. What are these?”

  She smiled up at me. “Your practice jerseys. Welcome to the team.”

  “Practice jerseys? Should I change?”

  “Not unless you want to. They’re for scrimmages,” she said.

  I held the shirts to my chest. “I kinda want to wear it now.”

  Shamrocker laughed. “By all means then.”

  “When do we get our bout-day jerseys?” Monica asked.

  “We’ll order those in January to be here for the preseason doubleheader in late February.”

  “Thanks, Shamrocker.”

  She winked.

  “Come on.” Monica nudged me forward. “Lucy is saving us seats.”

  Lucy held up her jersey as we approached. The back of it read: Lights Out Lucy, #L0L. “Isn’t this great? It finally feels official.”

  Monica held hers up by the collar displaying her derby name and actual name, Dr. Hooker, $100. I pointed to it. “You were smart, Monica. You’re going to know when people are calling your name.”

  “Smart? My legal name is Dr. Hooker. I changed my name voluntarily when I got married. There’s nothing smart about that.”

  I laughed as we sat down on the left side of Lucy. “Valid point. Speaking of, I have some very important marriage advice for you, Lucy.”

  Monica frowned and rolled her eyes. “Excellent. Advice from the week-old divorcée to the girl in a week-old relationship.”

  “This is important, and you would tell her the same thing,” I said.

  She lifted an eyebrow.

  I looked at Lucy. “Don’t change your name when you get married.”

  “Oh!” Monica put her hand on my arm and leaned across me. “For sure, listen to that advice. Especially if you marry a guy named Hooker.”

  We all laughed.

  “West’s last name is Adler.” Lucy blushed. “Not that I’m thinking about marriage or anything.”

  “Whatever his name is, legally changing your name is a pain the ass. I thought it was bad the first time, but changing my name back this week was even worse.”

  “You took your maiden name back?” Lucy asked.

  “Yep. I’m Grace Evans once again.”

  “How does that feel?” Monica asked.

  I groaned. “It feels like a lot of paperwork.”

  The girls giggled.

  “What happened with the dog last night?” Lucy asked.

  Monica leaned forward to look across me. “Grace almost went to jail.”

  “Really?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No. Not really.”

  Someone up front whistled, saving me from the awkward conversation. It was Midnight Maven, the only one in the room already on her skates. It was obvious from the sweat glistening on her chiseled abs that she’d been hard at work already that morning. We were all slackers by comparison to her and the skaters standing next to her: our former team captain, Medusa, and Susan, the league president.

  Maven cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled. “Listen up, bitches!” The room instantly fell silent. “We’ve got some housekeeping business this morning before we start practice, so the sooner you all shut up and pay attention, the sooner we can get geared up and out on the track.”

  God, I loved Maven. Hated her sometimes too, but only when it was her turn to lead our workouts. Maven had a thing for burpees. Reason enough to occasionally hate anyone.

  She turned toward Susan. “Madam President.”

  Susan stepped forward. “Good morning, everyone. For those of you who are new, typically, our monthly league meeting is held on Monday night in the auditorium at MacKay University.” She lowered her voice and smiled. “Because they have cushioned seats.”

  “And they a have a bar next door,” Medusa added.

  Everyone laughed.

  “But we were notified yesterday that someone tripped the sprinkler system in the auditorium. That means we won’t have our meeting space while they repair the damage. So we’ve decided to have an abbreviated meeting this morning and reconvene as scheduled in December.

  “If this is your first league meeting, this is when we handle all the business for the team. As president, I preside over the meetings. I’ll try to make this as quick as possible. I know everyone here is anxious to run some suicides with Maven.”

  Everyone laughed. Someone behind me made a puking sound.

  Susan continued. “Our first order of business is for me to introduce you to our new team captain.” She gestured toward the front row of the bleachers. “Everybody, give it up for Riveter Styx!”

  Monica, Lucy, and I exchanged a surprised smile. “Did you know?” I asked Lucy. Since she lived with Olivia, Styx’s current girlfriend, Lucy should’ve known if any of us did.

  “I had no idea.” She made a sour face. “Things with the two of them have been a little tenser than Olivia let on last night.”

  Styx stood up in front of the group. Her short dark hair was freshly cut, spiked in the back, long in the front. Her bangs had bright red streaks and were tucked behind her left ear. She wore black booty shorts and had a large tattoo on her thigh of a skull formed out of black roses. Styx’s cheeks looked a little pink while we clapped with the rest of the room.

  She waved and everyone began to quiet down. “Thanks, everyone. I’m honored to have been voted in. I certainly have big skates to fill.” She flashed a smile over at Medusa.

  “Bet your ass you do,” Medusa said with a wink.

  Styx laughed and turned back to all of us. “I’m really honored to have been elected. I’ll do my very best for you guys this season.”

  Everyone cheered.

  “We know you’re going to be amazing,” Susan said as Styx returned to her seat. “Now, we have some other skaters to recognize today. All of us on the board of directors have agreed, we’ve just seen one of the best Fresh Meat groups come through training. We’re so excited to have you all as part of this league. So if you just passed your skills test and this is your first practice as a team member, please stand up!”

  Monica and I stood, and I pulled Lucy up by her arm. The other newbies popped up on the benches around us: Roxsee Rolls, 5 Scar Jeneral, Electra Cal, Goldie Knocks, and Slugs Bunny. It was a little sad I had an easier time remembering their names than my own when it was called.

  All the veteran skaters around us were clapping. Medusa gave a loud, “Woohoo!”

  Not gonna lie, my chest puffed out a little. We’d busted our asses (literally, a few times) to make the team, and it felt amazing to stand there among these women I’d admired so many times from the grandstands.

  I gave a little wave and sank back onto my seat.

  When the room settled back down, Susan continued. “For all you newbies, each team member is required to serve on a committee or hold a position on the board, so I’m going to run through all the available committees where you can get plugged in. Committee leaders, when I call your name, please stand up so they know who you are.”

  She looked down at the paper in her hand. “If you’d like to be involved on the marketing committee, please see our marketing coordinator, eL’s Bells.”

  A girl with blue hair stood on our right side.

>   I nudged Lucy with my elbow. “That’s your team. You know that, right?”

  She smiled. “Of course. I can’t wait.”

  “If you’d like to help out with merchandising, please see Bad News Baroness. If you’re interested in event and bout-day coordination, please see our gaming director, Black-Eye Candy. For community outreach, please see Midnight Maven. For recruiting and Fresh Meat training, see Shamrocker. For fundraising and sponsor relations, see Medusa.

  “We also have a director’s position and a coaching position coming open for the juniors’ team now that Full Metal Jackie is retiring. If anyone is interested in those jobs, please talk to me after practice. The sooner you get plugged into a committee, the better, but if you’re not involved by the start of the season, you will not be allowed to play on game day. We are a volunteer-run organization, and everyone has to carry their weight.”

  I looked at Monica. “What are you going to do?”

  She just shrugged.

  “Now, we’ve had some good news and some bad news this week,” Susan continued. “The good news is the Rising Rollers have been invited to participate in Bleeding Heartland’s B-Cup Tournament in Bloomington, Indiana.”

  Most of the girls clapped. Some of them cheered.

  I raised my hand. “What tournament?”

  “It’s an invitational tournament just for roller derby B-teams. They base their selections on stats from the prior season,” Susan said.

  Black-Eye Candy turned around in the row in front of us. “It’s a lot of fun. The winner wins a golden-bra trophy.”

  “The tournament is being held very early next year as a preseason kickoff event.” Susan looked down at her notes. “It’s scheduled for the third weekend of March. Saturday and Sunday. If you are a Rising Roller and want to be rostered, please let me know after practice.”

  Looking down the line at Lucy and Monica, they were both nodding with wide smiles.

  I pulled out my phone to check my calendar. There was a missed call and a text from my mother. Just checking to see how you’re holding up this week. Call when you can. Maybe we can do lunch? xoxo

  I swiped the message to bring up her text thread. At practice. Call you later. Love you.

  Then I pulled up my calendar and swiped to the weekend in March for the tournament. No conflicts, as usual.

  “Listen up, newbies!” Susan shouted. “The B-Cup Tournament is the fastest way for you to make the chartered team. The All-Stars is our travel team that competes in sanctioned games at the international level. We have a tradition, whenever we’re invited to the B-Cup, that the MVP for the Rising Rollers automatically qualifies for a spot on the All-Stars. So this is your chance! Are you ready to work hard and prove that you’re ready to skate with the best of the best?”

  I responded “Yes!” at the same time Monica said a drawn-out “Nooo.” She was shaking her head beside me.

  The girls in front of us looked back and laughed.

  “Mon?” I asked.

  With a horrified look, she gestured toward the front of the room. “You’ve lost your mind if you think I’m ready to skate with Maven or Medusa.”

  “I’m with Monica,” Lucy agreed quietly. “But you’ve got a real shot at it, Grace.”

  We’ll see.

  “What’s the bad news?” someone down front asked.

  We all looked up.

  Susan sighed. “The Rising Rollers are now officially without a coach until a replacement is found.”

  Whispers rippled through the room.

  “What happened to Hale Damage?” someone else asked.

  “Hale Damage resigned for personal reasons,” Susan said, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the paper in front of her.

  Monica, Lucy, and I exchanged a knowing glance. The coach resigned because of Olivia and Styx. It was a full-blown roller derby love triangle.

  Susan raised her voice over the noise of speculation flying around the room. “We’ve got some leads on a new coach already, but until we choose a permanent replacement, chartered team members will take turns leading the Rising Rollers. Are there any more questions?”

  About twenty hands shot into the air.

  Susan frowned. “Any questions that aren’t related to the reasons why Hale Damage left?” All hands but one went down. “Doc Carnage?” Susan asked, pointing to her.

  “Are you going to be tapping current skaters for the permanent position?” Doc Carnage asked. She was a real-life neurologist.

  “We haven’t had time to make any decisions, but if you or anyone is interested, come talk to me or any of the other board members when we’re done here,” Susan said. “Anyone else?”

  No one else spoke, so Susan moved on. “On to a happier subject, who’s excited about the Slammy Awards?”

  The room erupted with excitement.

  Susan held up a hand to quiet everyone back down. “The celebration is Friday, December second, at seven o’clock. This year, it will be at The Drunken Nun in East Nashville. Please plan to Uber home or have a designated driver. The Slammy Awards are a lot of fun, but we want everyone to be responsible.

  “Another incentive to not overindulge is everyone has to be up bright and early the next day for the Nashville Christmas Parade. This is a mandatory event for all team members. The juniors will be skating with us, and we’ll all be handing out flyers and swag. If you don’t have a game-day jersey, please wear a Rollers hoodie or T-shirt.”

  Monica squealed quietly beside me. “I can’t wait for the parade,” she whispered.

  I smiled and looked back at Susan.

  “The final thing we need to discuss is our holiday schedule. Starting the week of Thanksgiving, we won’t have Saturday practices again until the new year. Mondays and Wednesdays will continue as scheduled, and you must attend fifty percent of practices each month.”

  Princess Die, another veteran skater, raised her hand. “Will we scrimmage on Wednesday nights?”

  “Yes. Our weekday practice plans will stay the same.” Susan pulled her phone out of her pocket and held it up. “You can find all the information on the team app. Newbies, if you don’t have the Music City Rollers app, you can download it from any app store. Our password to access the information is NOBALLSREQUIRED. All caps. No spaces.”

  I chuckled as I navigated the app store on my phone. When the app loaded, I entered the hilarious password. There was a section for team news, the schedule, events, a chat message board, and more. I tapped on the button that said “Rising Rollers.” A flashing post at the top read, “Welcome to our new skaters: 5 Scar Jeneral, Britches Get Stitches, Electra Cal…”

  I smiled.

  Suddenly, everyone around me was clapping, and because I’d been distracted by my phone, I had no idea why. I looked up in time to see the league’s head coach, The Duchess, entering from the locker room.

  She raised her arms in question. “Why are you all still sitting down? Did you come here to talk or to skate?”

  Susan grinned. “You heard her, ladies. Gear up and get on the track!”

  “The Duchess is leading practice?” I asked no one in particular as we all got up.

  “She usually leads at least once a week,” Black-Eye Candy answered as we walked down the bleachers. “She took some time off while Medusa was leading practice after nationals.”

  “How are her practices?” Monica asked. “Are they tough?”

  Candy smiled.

  “They can’t be worse than Medusa’s,” I said.

  Candy’s head tilted. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll find out today.”

  “Great,” Lucy muttered behind me.

  By the end of the “warm-up,” the trashcan was looking like a probable receptacle of my morning coffee. We started with five laps of skating while doing squats. I was plenty warm enough after those, but it was only the beginning.

  Squat-skating was followed by more laps filled with toe-touches (Lucy fell twice), lunges (I may have pulled my groin), and jogging on our skates (M
onica tripped over her wheels and crashed into Maven). We did so many laps of “sticky skates” that I lost count, and then did “drunken crossovers” until I actually felt drunk.

  Near the end of the drills, Candy skated past me while I was doubled over, gripping my knees, and trying not to vomit on the track. She just grinned. I shot her the bird.

  The Duchess blew her godforsaken whistle, then shouted with her gravelly voice, “Who’s ready for some endurance trials?”

  Oh, the grumbling and murmuring that ignited.

  The Duchess laughed. “Just teasing. Get some water and divide up in teams. We scrimmage in ten!”

  After practice and a quick and healthy lunch with Monica, I drove back through downtown Nashville. It was a trek that grew more difficult with each new day as tourists and transplants flocked to middle Tennessee. I read somewhere that a hundred people a day were moving to Nashville, and judging from the traffic on Twenty-First Avenue, I believed it.

  It was a Saturday, for god’s sake.

  The only upside to the traffic was the ample time motorists would spend staring at the backlit, glittery rose-pink sign above my shop’s front window displays. Sparkled Pink, my custom children’s clothing boutique, had become my baby when I couldn’t have a real one.

  The shop began by accident, really. Sure, my mother taught me how to sew before she taught me how to write, and I did have a fancy degree in fashion design from the best program in the Southeast. But neither of those things had been the springboard into the fashion world that I thought they would be. In fact, as many people with fancy degrees would probably attest, I ended up in a completely unrelated field for the better part of a decade: hotel management.

  I’d taken a job as a front-desk clerk at the Belle Meade Hotel and Spa my sophomore year of college. About the same time I met Clay at a frat party. The job was only supposed to be temporary to help fund my inevitable move to New York, Paris, or Milan.

  Then Clay and I started dating.

  Then he proposed.

  Then we got married.

  Then we bought a house.

  Then we wanted to have a baby.

  Fashion just never made sense.

  Fortunately, even though I hated it, I was good at the hotel business, and my last promotion to Director of Hospitality came with a hefty pay bump and a nice corporate office.