by April Ryder
"Owie," I whimpered as I tried to get out of bed. This usually simple act felt more like I'd attempted to raise myself from the dead.
The phone decided to get in on it and happily taunted me with its trilling tone. "Gotta get up! Gotta get up!" it sung. If I could have thrown something at it, I would have.
"If that's my mother…"
I finally managed to push my aching body out of bed, and with straight unbending legs waddled to the answer the phone. Whoever was on the other end was greeted with my eloquent morning grunt. How was I going get to work?
"Oh sweetie. You are not a morning person but you sound worse than usual."
It was Adam. I suddenly remembered that I was going to kill him but at the moment I was too dead to care.
"Are you a ghost?" I asked as I toddled toward the bathroom and stared morosely at the toilet.
"What? No. Why?" he asked carefully.
Nuts, he was suspicious. That'd make it harder for me to kill him.
"Because only a dead person would miss supporting their best friend in their time of need," I told him, laying it on thick as I used one hand to pull down my pants and attempted to sit.
"In my defence, I was there. I even had a sign. It said: Go Hayley! But then that little blonde girl said there were more gays on the boys team and I…"
"You what?" I asked through gritted teeth while my leg muscles screamed at me that they were on strike.
"I kind of signed up and tried out for the inline hockey team."
All he got was silence from my end of the line. Yeah, I'm a bad friend but I couldn't help it right now. I needed to get my butt to land on the toilet. I really needed to pee.
"Well anyway, I got on the team." Adam continued, probably mistaking my silence for evil glaring over the phone. "Hayley, are you okay?"
"I want to pee so bad but I can't sit down because my body hates me," I whimpered.
Adam laughed before offering me a solution to my current predicament. "Do it in the shower."
I gasped at the blasphemous suggestion. "But I can't do that to Shawn!"
"It's no worse than what you already do to him, sweetie. Now go pee in the shower."
I sighed. I knew he was right, but I wasn't about to tell Adam that I often peed in the shower. Even my bestie didn't need to know that Shawn had a pee fetish. Don't look at me like that. It made sense to me, and I wasn't about to judge my showers kinks.
"If you can be ready in ten minutes, I can take you to work. Any later than that and you'll have to take the train. Traffic is going to be a biatch if I miss this window. Oh, and one more thing."
"Yeah?" I asked, naively hopeful that he would offer to take me to pancakes.
"Congrats on getting on the team, Skid Marks!"
I ran—more like shuffled like a zombie—into work, the backs of my sandals slapping at my heels announcing to all that I was late.
"You're late," my least favourite boss unnecessarily pointed out as I wrenched open my junk drawer and threw my bag in. She didn't wait for me to beg for forgiveness or offer an excuse. Instead, she thrust the most hated diary in the world at me and watched like the vulture she is—I wondered if she might be related to my mother, that might explain a lot—as I logged into the computer, printed off her stupid calendar, cut it carefully with scissors and glued the blasted thing in. Hey, I can't complain—at least not out loud. It was the only thing she trusted me with.
"Jim's had a mountain biking accident and won't be coming in," she told me and snorted. "You'll need to courier his laptop to him at home."
My two managers didn't get along, which was mostly her problem though, not his. Jim was loved by all. Constantly in meetings yet somehow he got shit done. I'd like to think I play a small part in him getting the shit done. I was the one who taped a large sign on his door that read: Jim is protected by his guard PA. See her to get an appointment. I used to include the next available slot on the poster but seeing the date was usually two months out, people would barge into his office for impromptu meetings with him. Thus it would fuck up the rest of his—and my—day.
"And the guy down south has up and quit so I'll be flying down there—" on her broom probably "—to take over for the next couple of months. Until they find a replacement."
I waited for her to continue, already knowing I wouldn't be booking her flights or anything. The only cue I had that I should say something was her preening. Realising her temporary role would mean a temporary promotion, I hurriedly congratulated her. Anything to get her to leave already, which she did.
As I collapsed in my chair, Trish, the other PA on the floor, stopped by.
"Ding-dong, the witch is gone," she whispered with a cheeky grin.
I couldn't agree more. But with Jim gone as well that meant I had nothing to do, other than cancel all his meetings for the next week. I'm too nice though, and offered to help Trish with her workload. Unlike me, both of her managers trusted her and they were also normal, well-adjusted human beings.
We sat in companionable silence as we stuffed letters into envelopes. So much for the digital age. From the corner of my eye I caught Trish looking at me oddly. I couldn't take it anymore.
"What?" I demanded.
"You don't look so good. Are you all right?"
I snorted. The understatement of the year. "The first rule of Fight Club…" I said, trying to be funny.
Trish gasped. "For reals?"
"Calm down, Trish. I tried out for a roller derby team last night."
"The Wicked B*tches of West Auckland?" she asked hopefully. The sadistic glint in her eyes made me wary.
"No, we're playing them next, though. I'm with the Selby Slammers."
Trish looked at me sadly.
"What?"
"I'll be cheering for the B*tches. I have a friend on that team," she said. "You don't know it yet, but you're in for a world of pain."
Neither of us would ever guess how much pain that would be. Never in a million years.
* * *
This time I used the correct changing room. I double checked before going in. I was so not making the same mistake again. Although a room full of naked men did appeal, I feared I would embarrass myself in front of that much manly flesh. And the last thing I needed was another run-in with Rick the Dick.
Two other girls from the tryouts had made it on the team, so I didn't feel so alone. Thank God. The team captain Pretty Vicious had settled down a lot since we had last seen her. Word on the street—team—was that she had caught her girlfriend with a man before the tryouts and—you guessed it—her ex-girlfriend had been a Slammer. And, as it turned out, she caught her with one of the hockey players!
I could totally sympathise with her, although I'd not caught Paul making the beast with two backs with the supposed blonde stick insect, Pretty probably felt just as betrayed as I did. Well, not quite, as Paul's sexuality had never been called into question.
The men's inline hockey team were on the next rink over also practicing for their upcoming game. It seemed the hockey games and derby matches were often played back to back in the same venues, which would give me plenty of opportunities to ogle Jake.
A helpless figure flailed from one end of the rink toward me and I was surprised to see it was my bestie.
"Adam?" I asked, stunned.
Adam had played field hockey when he was younger so I thought he'd be really good at inline hockey. As it turns out, he's good at hockey, just not the inline part. He did, however, manage to fumble his way to me while making unintentional jazz hands.
"You suck," I told him. I'm nothing but honest. Besides, he wouldn't appreciate it if I lied to him.
"Gee thanks," he drawled.
I took a step back on my skates, worried he would take me out when his arms pinwheeled violently.
"Double thanks," he said noticing my attempt to put a safe zone between us. "Uh oh, here comes the feminazi."
"What did I say about dicks on the rink?" Pretty demanded, planting cute little f
ists on her dainty non-child-bearing hips.
Adam puffed his chest out and declared: "I'll have you know my dick is one hundred percent gay."
"A dick is still a dick," Pretty pointed out matter-of-factly. With a flick of her wrist, she dismissed the owner of said dick from her rink.
Adam left with as much dignity as he could manage—read that to mean he only fell over twice—on his way back to the dick-friendly rink. Probably not as dick friendly as Adam was hoping though.
Pretty tossed her perfect ringlets over her shoulder and herded me back to the group so the torture could begin. All three new pieces of fresh meat were put through the wringer. If I had thought the tryouts were tough, they were nothing compared to this practice. We were told that we had to earn our way up to the role of jammer, a coveted position held by at least half a dozen of the girls. Coveted mostly because they were allowed first dibs on dicks from the inline hockey team. Now that—aside from pancakes—is the most brilliant motivator I have ever heard.
I decided right then and there that I was going to become a jammer and get me some dick. I mean…I was going to have fun and be part of a team and stuff. I had Shawn and for now he provided enough satisfaction for me. Probably the last thing I needed right now was what would be attached to a dick. Besides, I could barely talk to Jake as it was. How on Earth would I ask him out, let alone ask to get into his pants? I think I've said dick way too many times for it to be healthy. People will think I've got dick on the brain!
I almost died—twice—before practice ended. The silver lining was the male mirage that sailed before me and Pretty couldn't complain about the other gender skating on her rink. The eyes of every hot-blooded heterosexual female tracked Jake's graceful, yet masculine body as he skated closer. He grinned at Pretty Vicious and after they exchanged a few words, our much-loved captain spoke.
"The dicks—I mean, boys—from the inline hockey team want to invite us to drinks with them. I don't recommend drinking so close to a game, but I'm not your mother. Is anyone interested?"
Pick-me arms shot into the air like rockets. No one was stupid enough to turn down an invitation made by Jake, except for Pretty. She seemed to loathe him. Both of my arms went up as if I had scored a goal. I hate sports yet I use the analogies, go figure. I sheepishly lowered one arm before anyone noticed. The girls were too busy salivating over the fine specimen of the male species, so I hadn't embarrassed myself again in front of my derby peers. However, Rick the Dick's intense glare told me he had seen it.
The girls showered, changed, primped, and preened in record time. Pretty claimed Jake the Shower so I missed out. I let it go as I wouldn't have had time to reacquaint myself with his attachment, not with this many people in here. I'm loud but not that proud about my sexual shower shenanigans, so I hovered behind the girls who hogged the mirrors as they put their faces on. I didn't wear makeup; it made me feel claustrophobic. Instead, I spent the time strangling my damp hair into submission.
I was excited for drinks, until I heard the jammers start arguing over who had dibs on Jake. Well, I was going to be shit out of luck there it seemed. I was fresh meat. A newb. The team had a code and because I was one of the last women on the totem pole, I would not see dick tonight.
I noticed Hello Kilty as she struggled with a bottle of something and was about to offer my help—I'm an expert jar opener, Paul had nothing on me—when whatever it was suddenly burst open and exploded everywhere. Girls screamed as whatever it was rained down on us. We looked at each other, stunned to find glitter—the herpes of the arts and crafts world—covered our hair and shoulders. We had been glitter bombed.
"Oops, my bad," Kilty called out.
"But I don't want to sparkle," I complained. I wasn't happy to sparkle like a Twilight vampire. I'd much rather be the bloodsucking bat-turning-into kind, thank you very much.
"Suck it up buttercup," Pretty informed me. She was the only one to have escaped the glittery ejaculation. I was so envious of her just because of that. It would take weeks to get rid of it all. Glitter was evil. Evil.
Both genders mixed easily at the bar down the road from the sports centre. I watched Jake as he expertly divided his time with each jammer. It was like he was in on the deal they had made. He also bought several rounds of drinks, even splurging for a Long Island iced tea that Kilty had wide-eyed and innocently asked for.
I spluttered into my third lemon lime and bitters when Jake looked my way. Not only was he good looking and practically perfect in every way—didn't need no spoonful of sugar to make me go down on him—he was rich.
Adam plonked his butt down on the seat next to me and groaned. I knew from personal experience what that groan meant. I gave him a sad panda face to show I empathised with him and glanced questioningly at his drink.
"An umbrella and a cherry?"
"Don't forget the monkey," he said and gestured to the small plastic monkey perched on the lip of the glass.
"How could I forget the monkey," I deadpanned.
Adam scowled and took a sip of his colourful cocktail. "I needed that."
"How many times did you fall over?"
"They said they lost count somewhere after fifty-five," he grumbled. "But said by the end I wasn't doing too bad. They still have hope for me, but I'll be sitting on the bench for Friday's game."
"That's good," I replied distractedly. Jake had walked past, within sniffing range.
I inhaled and almost choked on air when the object of my crush claimed the chair across from me. Adam unhelpfully slapped me on the back and suggested I have a sip of drink. He of course meant my drink and not his, which I accidentally picked up in my panic, and then accidentally stabbed myself in the eye with the stupid umbrella.
"Argh," I complained, my eye all squinty. "Ew, is that pineapple?"
I blinked rapidly. When I could see again I found Adam had mysteriously swapped places with Jake, who now rubbed his hand on my back. I just about swallowed my tongue in shock but managed to somehow keep my wits about me for a change.
"You okay, Princess?" he asked, concern evident on his face. Behind him I caught sight of the still-glaring Rick. He really wasn't a happy man. And wait, was that a black eye?
Jake glanced over to see what had my attention. "I didn't expect him to come."
"You invited him?"
"Well he is on the team. He doesn't usually come out for drinks. So I didn't think he would, not after last week."
"What happened last week?" I asked, curious.
"Nothing much," was all he said before he changed the topic. "So why the roller derby?"
I looked to Adam, who shrugged, the kind most would mistake for I don't know. I knew better, though. He did know. It was Adam's faux don't know shrug. Interrogating him would have to wait though. Right now my lady bits demanded I pay attention to the sweet morsel of manliness that still had his hand on me. Squee! Wait, hadn't the morsel asked me a question?
I licked my lips as I decided what to say. His gaze zeroed in on my mouth. One point in his favour. He wasn't looking at my tits. I was tempted to do it again but decided not to push my luck.
"It wasn't my idea," I told him. I wanted to make that perfectly clear. "But alcohol was involved and hot guys and—"
"Girl power!" Adam helpfully added from the sidelines.
"And girl power played a part."
Jake smiled, revealing his celebrity-perfect teeth. "Sounds interesting. What I want to know is, should I be jealous of the hot guy part?"
Adam snorted and I kicked him under the table. Hard. He knew it was coming though and had moved his legs out of the way. Instead of kicking him, I kicked the table and stubbed my toe. Bastard. He knew that I knew that he would have let slip about Jake being one of the above-mentioned hot guys. Wait…he knew…I knew. Was I drunk?
"Ow."
"Are you okay?" Jake asked, concerned again. He probably thought I was the most accident-prone girl ever and regretted talking with me. I knew I would. Well, if I were a guy
and I was in his place talking with me and that me was as bad as the real me, then yeah. Maybe I was drunk.
"Fine," I said through gritted teeth.
Jake didn't look convinced but let it go. "Let me get you another drink," he offered and before I could politely decline, he was already at the bar.
"Ow," I said to Adam once Jake was out of earshot. "What the hell?"
"What the hell what?" Adam asked, and then decided to distract me. "Did you see what's left of Rick's shiner?"
"Yeah," I said not sure where this was going but really interested to find out. I suddenly remembered that I'd smacked him in the head last week when he had tried to steal my knickers. "Did I do that?"
"What?" he said. "How would you h—never mind. Anyway, Jake gave it to him."
"What?!"
Adam leaned in conspiratorially and said, "I'm not one to gossip—" yeah right "—and I don't know all the details, but they got into some kind of fight in the changing room and Jake hit him."
I sat back and blinked. What would two men fight about in a changing room? Who stole their towel? Who got to use the coveted disabled shower?
Adam interrupted my thoughts on the subtleties of male changing room etiquette. "One of the guys said it was about a girl!"
"Who, what, when, where, why?"
Amused by my hyper curiosity, Adam helpfully reminded me. "You forgot how. But seriously sweetie, I think it was over you."
"Me? Me, Jake and Rick?"
He nodded.
"Rick and Jake and me?" Now there was a fantasy waiting to happen.
Another nod.
I opened my mouth to repeat their names again. In what order this time I'll never know because Jake returned with my drink.
"A drink fit for a princess," he declared with a flourish.
I made a face. I couldn't help it. It slipped out when I wasn't looking. There was a reason why I drank lemon lime and bitters. I actually liked the taste. Everything else tasted blech. Some beer was acceptable. But wine might as well be vinegar. That's what every wine I had ever tried tasted like.