by Elicia Hyder
I offered a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring the file down when I bring last week’s online-activity report. Or I can email it unless you’re sure you want it in print. I’ve got it all in digital files.”
“Print is perfect. I’m going to courier it over their office, sign on delivery.”
I grinned. “That’s one way to shut them up.”
She laughed, well, almost. “Let’s hope. Thank you, Lily.”
I didn’t correct her. Again. “You’re welcome.”
On my way out of her office, I pulled the door closed behind me. Peter was walking down the hall on his way back from the direction of the bathrooms. His step was brisk, and his bald head still flushed with anger.
“You OK?” I asked, stepping away from Audrey’s door.
He blew out a sigh that puffed out his cheeks.
“Follow me,” I said, jerking my head toward my office. “I’m offering safe harbor to refugees today.”
Peter cracked a smile as he fell in step beside me, then he collapsed into one of my office chairs when we were safely inside. “Some days I don’t know why I put up with her,” he said with a groan.
I put my stuff down behind my desk and unbuttoned my coat. “I’ve only been here a couple of months, and I completely feel you.”
He leaned on the armrest. “I swear, if it weren’t for Ava, I’d have been gone years ago.”
“She’s always like this?” I asked, sitting down at my computer.
“Lately,” he said. “Since the whole Ava-Lawson debacle.”
“I almost hate I wasn’t here when all that went down. What happened?” I asked quietly.
He wagged a finger at me. “Count your blessings you weren’t here, honey. And no one really knows what happened, but whatever it was, was so severe that we now have a clause in our employee handbook stating we’re not allowed to be romantically involved with clients.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. “The only reason I took this job was to get close to Jake Barrett.”
He laughed. “Didn’t we all?”
My phone buzzed on my desk. It was an email from Audrey. I read it out loud. “When shall I expect those files? Please advise. Audrey.”
Peter stood as he laughed. “You know what she means when she says, ‘please advise,’ don’t you?”
“Please give her an update?” I asked, confused.
“Oh, Lucy.”
“What then?”
He paused in my doorway and lowered his voice. “‘Please advise’ is bitch-speak for ‘What the…’” Then he mouthed the F-word and left.
After work, I drove to practice, stopping on the way for a fast-food cheeseburger. The moment I lugged my bag inside the practice arena, I was swarmed by Shamrocker, Styx, and Maven, all asking different versions of the same question.
“Where’s your friend?”
“Is she coming back to practice?”
“Where’s Olivia?”
No, “Hello.”
No, “We’re so glad you’re sticking with it!”
Just, “Where’s your superstar friend?”
If I didn’t know it before, I knew it then: in the world of Nashville roller derby, I would forever be Jar Jar Binks to Olivia’s Obi-Wan Kenobi.
It stung a little, but I steeled my face, strapped on my skates, and stuck my correctly fitted mouthguard into place before skating onto the track for warm-ups. Today will be better, I thought as I rounded the oval. Look how much better you’ve gotten in just the span of a few days. You’ve got this, Lucy. You can do it.
Because talking to oneself is a true sign of confidence and good things to come.
A whistle blasted, and I executed a very staccato T-stop, narrowly stopping right before I plowed into the back of the Jolly Green Giant. She turned and cocked an eyebrow. I mouthed the word, “Sorry.”
Midnight Maven skated to the center of the track. She was wearing black tights with white stars all over them. “Tonight we’re doing our first team warm-up. We will do these before every practice. Most of the time we’ll warm up on the track, but always bring a pair of tennis shoes in case we’re working off skates. First, we’re going to start with a free skate.”
My brain flashed back to middle school at the Waynesboro Roller Rink, and *NSYNC flooded my thoughts. I wondered if we’d have a roller-skate limbo contest too.
After a few easy laps around the track—all of which I stayed on my skates for, thank you very much—we started doing squats. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. After only one lap, my thighs revolted and sweat beaded across my forehead. Toe-touches and lunges came next. My thighs screamed, and I wanted to die, but I didn’t fall. Then we did “Rocking Horses,” rocking from one skate at a time to the next, and I fell four times. We ended the warm-up with an exercise called “Sticky Skates,” where we skated laps without picking up our wheels at all.
Shamrocker blew her stupid whistle. “Take two minutes to get water!” she called out.
I collapsed on the floor.
“That was brutal,” Jolly Green Giant said, plopping down onto her knee pads next to me.
“And it was only the warm-up,” her friend said, joining us.
I glanced over at them. “This is only day two, girls. We’re in trouble.”
The giant gave me a pointed look. “We’re stupid is what we are.”
The three of us laughed. “I’m Lucy,” I said, unscrewing the cap on my water bottle.
“Grace,” the giant said, panting.
The other girl raised her hand. “I’m Monica. Where’s your friend?”
“The Stephen Hawking of the skating world?” I asked. “She’s at work.”
“Is she going to come back?” Grace asked.
I shrugged. “It’s a popular question.”
Olivia wasn’t the only skater missing. Not including the coaches and the few veteran skaters I recognized, I only counted nineteen newbies.
Across the room, Zoey was talking to Styx and Maven. She paused to use her inhaler, but she was laughing.
“Hey, do you guys know Zoey?” I asked, pointing her out.
Monica looked over. “Yeah, she’s really sweet.”
I nodded. “She is, but I kind of worry about her. Do you know what the deal is? Is she sick?”
Grace shrugged. “I’m not sure. She hasn’t said.”
The whistle sounded, evoking a collective groan from our group as we all struggled to our feet. I was glad I wasn’t the only one. Shamrocker skated out in front of us. “Today, we’re working on track movement. In order to block, execute hits, and maneuver around blockers if you’re the jammer, you need to be able to quickly move across the track. This includes lateral movement, skating backward, and jumping over obstacles.”
My hands flopped against my thighs. “Great. Today I’m going to die.”
Beside me, Monica snickered.
“First, just try walking on your skates to the right,” Styx said as she demonstrated.
The sound of wheels clacking against the concrete as we all stepped sideways echoed off the walls.
“Now back to the left,” Styx said.
We all walked left.
“I feel like we should bust out the Electric Slide,” I said.
Grace began humming the song and everyone in earshot laughed.
“Good job. Faster this time!” Styx called out.
We all hopped to the right. It was surprisingly easier than I expected. Then I shifted to come back left, and my skates got tangled and I tripped, taking Monica down with me. My left thigh came down hard on her wheels. “Yeowch!” I screeched.
Monica cringed, for me because she was fine. “You OK?”
“I’m alive,” I forced through clenched teeth.
Grace offered me a hand up, then pulled up Monica as well. Everyone was staring, of course.
“All right, again!” Styx shouted.
I stayed on my skates for the rest of that drill and only fell twice during the weaving exercises we did around
lines of cones on the floor. But skating backward was a nightmare. Once I finally got my skates moving at all, they flew out from under me each time, like I was part of a live-action Wile E. Coyote reboot. The last time, I stayed down. “I quit,” I announced, dropping my hands onto my lap.
“What are you doing, Lucy?” Shamrocker asked, skating over.
“I’m just going to stay here and be one of the obstacles everyone has to skate around or jump over during the hopping drill that’s probably coming next.”
She smiled and offered me a hand. I stood and dusted off my ass as we skated off the track.
“What seems to be the problem?” she asked.
“I move. I bust my ass. That about sums it up.”
“Show me what you’re doing,” she said.
I sighed and turned around, stepping carefully with my wheels. I pushed off my toe stop, and as soon as all my wheels were on the ground, they slipped forward.
Shamrocker reached out and grabbed my arm to steady me. “Easy fix, Lucy. All you have to do is point your toes in, keep both skates flat on the floor, and move your skates apart. Then bring them back in. Sort of like a figure eight. Watch me.” Her skates pushed out and slowly came back together, propelling her backward away from me.
I pointed at her feet. “Oh. I wasn’t doing that.”
“Try it. Keep all your wheels down, then in and out. In and out.”
I pushed my feet apart and magically rolled backward. “Hey! I did it.”
She clapped her hands. “Congratulations. Eventually, you’ll cross your skates as you go back and even pick up the rear skate for more reach and—Lucy, look out!”
I slammed ass-first into Midnight Maven.
She snarled at me before pushing me off her.
Shamrocker doubled over laughing.
“I—I’m sorry, Maven,” I said before skating away.
“That was hilarious,” Shamrocker said when I reached her. “But you did well. Keep practicing.”
I smiled, my cheeks still hot with humiliation. “Thank you.”
The rest of practice couldn’t have gotten much worse, and thankfully, it didn’t. I was terrible at jumping. No surprise there. But I was getting better at popping back up quickly. Styx said that was a good thing. I suspected she might be stretching for a compliment, but whatever the reason, I appreciated the encouragement.
“We’ll see you Wednesday?” she asked, lifting her brow and pointing at me.
I smiled and pulled off my helmet. “I’ll be here.”
“Good. And tell your friend we want to see her too.”
“I promise, I will.”
Seven
The burning and tightness in my muscles subsided by Wednesday, but by the end of that practice, I had developed two sets of sensational blisters on the insides and outsides of both my ankles. When I showed them to Shamrocker, she suggested blister bandages, corn pads, and ankle protector socks I could buy at Asphalt Beach.
Then she asked again if Olivia would ever be returning to practice.
Olivia did return on Saturday. We left early from our apartment that morning to stop by the skate shop and pick up some skates for her and some blister protection for me. I was excited to prove to Steve, the guy who’d helped me, that I was still alive and hadn’t dropped out. Unfortunately, it was Steve’s day off, and a portly hipster wearing a Bob Ross T-shirt helped us instead.
When we walked into the Rollers’ Sweatshop an hour later, I did a quick headcount of the diminished group of newbies. Less than half the skaters who’d shown up the week before remained. I’ll admit, my chest puffed out a bit.
All the remaining eyes were on my roommate as we crossed the room with Olivia carrying her new gear in the bright yellow bags scrawled with Asphalt Beach across the fronts. The coaches noticed and skated over to where we plopped down to put on our pads and skates.
“This is a good sign,” Styx said with a wry smile as she pointed to the bags.
“Does this mean you’re sticking around?” Midnight Maven asked Olivia.
Olivia smiled up at them as she pulled the skates from the new box. “Maybe. I stay pretty busy with my job though, so don’t get your hopes up too high.”
“Where do you work?” Shamrocker asked.
“Lettuce Eat,” Olivia answered.
“She’s the owner,” I added.
Grace, the Jolly Green Giant, was sitting in front of us, tightening a lime green wheel on her skate. She spun around on the floor to join our conversation. “Oh my god, I love that place. You guys have the best salads in East Nashville.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said. “My name’s Olivia.”
“I’m Grace.”
Shamrocker looked at the other coaches. “Lettuce Eat…is that where Medusa was a bartender?”
Styx shook her head. “Medusa worked at The Drunken Nun. It’s a little further up Woodland.”
“How’s she doing?” Grace asked with a grimace.
Maven gave a noncommittal shrug. “We haven’t really heard from her. I called a few days ago, and she says she’s OK, but…”
“What happened?” I asked as I ripped open the paper around a blister bandage.
“Her mom was in a car accident a couple of weeks ago,” Styx said.
Maven’s face fell. “She didn’t make it.”
My hands dropped onto my lap. “Are you serious?”
Shamrocker nodded. “Yeah. Medusa’s up in New York with her family.”
A vice gripped my throat. As a card-carrying member of The Dead Mothers Club, my heart hurt for this girl I’d never actually met. “Is there anything we can do?” I asked.
“The team sent flowers to the funeral,” Styx said. “I don’t know what else would help, especially not till she gets back.”
I stared at the sticky bandage in my hand.
“Well, you guys get geared up,” Shamrocker said, pushing through the awkward silence that settled over us. “Start warming up on the track when you’re done. We’ve got a lot of work to do today.”
Styx looked at Olivia. “It’s good to have you back.”
I didn’t miss the quirky grin on Olivia’s face as our coaches skated away.
Monica and Zoey were already on the track warming up when the three of us joined them. Monica skated backward to look at us. “Zoey and I were talking about going to lunch after practice if anyone wants to join,” she said.
Grace nodded. “You know I’m in.”
I raised my hand. “Me too.”
Olivia looked up at the ceiling. “I can come for a little while. I don’t have to be at work until five.”
Zoey clapped, a little ball of wheezy sunshine. “Great!”
Shamrocker blasted her whistle. “Bring it in, girls! We have a special treat for you today!”
“Somehow I doubt my idea of a treat and Shamrocker’s idea is the same,” Grace said.
“Today we’re doing 27 in 5s,” Shamrocker announced.
I looked at all the girls around me because everyone seemed to know more about roller derby than I did. This time, everyone seemed equally puzzled.
Shamrocker continued. “This is your first endurance test. In order to pass your skills test in October, you’ll have to complete a minimum of twenty-seven laps in five minutes. Today’s test will be your benchmark to set the baseline for measuring your improvement over the next few weeks.”
“Twenty-seven laps?” I asked under my breath. “On our skates?”
Olivia scowled over at me. “Really?”
I did the math in my head. Five minutes wasn’t long enough. I would have to complete almost five-and-a-half laps per minute. That was approaching warp speed. “Right,” I said with a laugh.
“We’re going to do this in groups of five at a time. If you’re not skating, then you need to be counting or cheering on your teammates,” Styx said.
“Who wants to go first?” Shamrocker asked.
If I could have sat on my hands, I would have. Olivia raised hers,
of course. So did Grace. Monica and Zoey stayed back with me, my sisters in lethargy. I thought about linking arms with them to show our solidarity. Then Monica raised her hand and skated forward. Traitor. I looked at Zoey. “Don’t you leave me,” I said.
She smiled and nodded her head.
Two other girls, pretty sure their names were Beth and Cassie, skated to the track and lined up beside our friends.
“I’m glad at least a few of you have balls!” Maven teased, holding a clipboard to her chest. “What’s the matter with you other bitches?”
The question was rhetorical, but I felt like I should raise my hand to answer. No balls, right here.
“Girls on the track, pick a partner to count your laps for you!” Shamrocker said.
Olivia spun around and pointed at me. “Lucy!”
I gave her a thumbs-up. Counting I could do. Twenty-seven laps, however…perhaps I should’ve quit then.
“Remember to work your crossovers,” Styx said. “Push as hard and as long as you can with that left skate to make your strides as long as possible. This will conserve your energy and make you faster.”
Shamrocker held her whistle up to her lips and looked at those of us on the sidelines. “Counters ready?”
“Ready!” we echoed back.
“Skaters, on your mark!” she shouted. Then the sharp blast of the whistle bounced around the concrete room.
Olivia quickly blew past the other skaters and charged into the first turn a car length in front of Grace, the closest skater behind her. She sailed by me at the starting line. “One!” I screamed loud enough for her to hear.
By her third pass, she was already a full lap ahead of everyone else. The coaches were watching no one else. “Four!” I screamed.
“Five!”
“Six!”
“Seven!”
“Eight!”
“Nine!”
“Ten!”
“Eleven!”
“Twelve!”
“Thirteen!”
Just after she passed me the thirteenth time, Shamrocker held up her stopwatch. “That’s halfway, girls. Pick up the pace!”
Olivia’s face was blotchy and shining with sweat. Her cheeks were puffing in and out with labored breaths. Her determined eyes, however, were set straight ahead.
“Fourteen!” I yelled.