Demon Derby

by Carrie Harris

  “I’m sorry.” Rachel stood up. “I can’t take this anymore.”

  “What?” Mom asked.

  “You’re going to make her sick. The dessert thing is a fun idea, but you don’t stop to think things through. She’s been eating like a bird ever since she got out of the hospital. How do you think her system is going to handle all this crap?”

  “If Casey doesn’t want the dessert, we’ll make her a sandwich,” Dad said mildly, but Rachel didn’t back down. She grunted and shoved her plate away. “So what are you really upset about?” he continued. “I don’t think this is about the cake.”

  “I’m just sick of it. You guys do this stuff all the time. Like the derby thing.” She turned to me. Her face was all splotchy, the way it always got when she was upset. “I love you, Casey, but you haven’t been out of the hospital for long, and you just got hurt yesterday. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you sneaking painkillers. Derby tryouts aren’t a good idea for you right now, but our parents aren’t going to say that because they’re nuts. You know I love derby. I think it’s totally awesome. But it’s too dangerous for you, and the whole idea makes me sick to my stomach. We almost lost you once. I don’t want to go through that again.”

  “Rachel,” Dad said, glowering, “sit down right now. You’re making Casey feel bad.”

  “I’m making her feel bad by telling her I care about her well-being? I’m making a mistake by being concerned because she got mugged, and now she’s having hallucinations—”

  “Rachel!” I yelled. She wasn’t supposed to tell our parents about that. It had been bad enough having to tell them about the attack in the first place.

  “Hallucinations?” Mom blinked, looking at me.

  “It’s nothing, Mom.” I forced a smile. “Rachel’s not thinking clearly right now because she’s upset.”

  “No, Casey. I’m thinking just fine. You’re the one who’s a little confused,” Rachel said. “I don’t mean to nag, but you really need to tell—”

  “Shut up!” I snapped. Sometimes it felt like I’d suffocate under the weight of all the protection. I appreciated that they cared; really I did. But I’d survived. Plenty of kids from the cancer ward hadn’t. And now it felt like everyone wanted me to just be satisfied with survival—they wouldn’t allow me to live. My frustration over it all came out in a long, uncontrollable burst. “Can’t you chill out and be happy that I’ve found something I want to do instead of sitting around on the couch by myself all the time? This is supposed to be my big celebration, don’t you remember? It’s like you don’t give a crap what I want; you’re too busy trying to smother out all the life I’ve got left!”

  I threw my fork down; it skittered across the table and landed on the rug. Mom went pale and dashed into the kitchen, and after shooting a disapproving look in my direction, Dad followed.

  Rachel and I stared at each other across the table. The silence got uncomfortable fast.

  “That’s not fair,” she said quietly, standing up from the table and turning her back on me.

  “Yeah, well, it wasn’t very fair of you to decide what I ought to be doing without even asking me. I’m not stupid, Rachel.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  She shoved the door open and stalked away down the hall. I knew I should run after her and apologize, but I was still pissed. She of all people should have known how much I hated being railroaded. So I got up, picked the fork up off the floor, and waited in lonely silence for my parents to bring in the next dessert.

  I threw myself into skating practice for the next couple of weeks, partly because I needed the training but also because it gave me a handy excuse to avoid my family. After Rachel went back to school, my parents started speaking to me again, but it was that strained kind of talk full of things we weren’t saying. Derby was the ideal distraction, and it made me feel more like my old self than I had in ages. Words were cheap; my family would understand once they saw me in action.

  With that motivation in mind, I skated even harder, working out every day. Kyle wasn’t fully on board with the derby thing either, but he didn’t protest too much as long as I didn’t go airborne, so we spent some much-needed time together at the skate park. At first, I couldn’t skate for more than a few minutes without stopping, but it got better. I’d always been naturally athletic, and I had to concede that maybe I wasn’t quite as out of shape as I’d thought. I was good with speed drills and plow stops—anything that required short bursts of energy—but my endurance was still pretty crappy. I tried not to let it get me down. I’d made a lot of progress, and I was determined that it would be enough. The derby team manager would have to see my potential; I’d only get better as I got stronger. And best yet, skating gave me that feeling of elation I hadn’t recaptured in freerunning—probably because I was still too scared to try it again.

  By the day of the tryouts, my toes were shredded from all the practice. My feet weren’t used to the rough treatment anymore. It would take a while before I built up calluses again.

  I’d just finished bandaging my feet when Darcy rang the bell. The moment I opened the door, she leapt into the car like we were twenty minutes late, but I knew we were early, so I followed at a more sedate pace. By the time I closed the car door, she was revving the engine and squirming in anticipation.

  “Are you ready?” she chattered. “Yeah, you’re ready. Okay, let’s go! This is so exciting that I could totally throw up.”

  “I’m not so sure about the puking, but yeah, I’m psyched. I’ve been practicing ever since you told me about tryouts.”

  “So, what position do you think you’ll get at first? I was telling my mom that I was worried I’d be a blocker, and she was all, ‘What’s a blocker?’ Which seems pretty obvious, right? Like, a blocker is a person who blocks, duh. So then I was telling her that the jammers score all the points, and she’s all, ‘Then why don’t they call them scorers?’ ” She snorted. “Moms.”

  “Well, she does have a point.”

  “And then she kept asking what kind of ball we use. I’m like, ‘Mom, there is no ball,’ but she still didn’t get it. I tried to explain the rules, like, five times.”

  “It’s not like they’re complicated. Tell her the jammer scores points by passing players from the other team. The blockers try to help their jammer and block the other team’s jammer. It’s not rocket science.”

  “Dude, can you write that down for my mom? Because she just wasn’t vibing me at all.”

  “Sure, I guess.”

  She paused thoughtfully. “I want to be a jammer so bad. I’ll cry if I don’t get to be one. I’m meant to score lots of points. I’m not a defensive kind of girl.”

  “Then you should give it a shot. It’s worth a try, right?”

  “Right. What about you? You’d make a really good jammer.”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it. I just want to play.”

  “Well, you should think about it. Because they’ll ask you what position you want, and then you won’t know what to say, which would be really embarrassing, you know? But then you could tell them you just got out of the hospital and they’d understand. Not that I think you should use that as an excuse or anything, or that you need to. Gosh, I wasn’t saying that at all. You’re not offended, are you?”

  Darcy’s eyes rolled like she was a nervous horse, and the car swerved as she waited breathlessly for a response. The tires scraped against the curb, a long, drawn-out squeal that made me wince.

  “Hey, it’s okay. I’m used to it,” I said hastily, watching a fire hydrant grow inexorably closer to the passenger-side door. “Um …”

  “Oh, good.”

  The car veered back onto the road, passing so close to the hydrant that I could have rolled down the window and touched it with my hand. Darcy just kept on going as if this kind of vehicular near-death experience were commonplace.

  “So are you renting skates or did you buy some already?” I asked, white-knuckling the armrest. I was us
ed to Rachel’s speeding, but she wasn’t overly dangerous. I’d defied death enough lately, thank you very much.

  “Renting. I already picked out the skates I want, though. Most of them are so totally lacking in style, but I found a hot-pink pair that’s cool. I love pink, just like the color you’ve got on your head. Is it a tattoo?”

  “Not a tattoo,” I mumbled, covering my hands with my face. Darcy’s driving was scarier than a spinal tap.

  The car skidded into the parking lot of the Skate Lake, one of the few indoor rinks that hadn’t gone out of business yet. We had plenty of outdoor skate parks in town, but only one indoor track. It made most of its money from Mackinaw’s derby leagues. Both the junior and senior teams held their practices there. Bouts were held at the university convention center; they almost always sold out, especially during the spring, when all the tourists rolled into town. Nothing says “family vacation” more than watching a bunch of girls on wheels beat the crap out of each other.

  When we pulled into a spot next to a rusted-out El Camino, I heard the strangest noise. It sounded like a pterodactyl was about to dive-bomb the car. I stepped out, looking around in confusion. It didn’t take long to locate the source of the noise: a derby girl was scuffling with what looked like a homeless vagrant girl against the wall of the building, and the vagrant kept letting out these animalistic screeches. As I watched, the vagrant grabbed the derby girl by the collar and started punching her in the face. Strangely, the derby girl just took the abuse. She didn’t even raise her arms to defend herself.

  That was totally uncool. I took a step forward and yelled “Hey!” before I even had a chance to evaluate whether this was a wise course of action. The two combatants froze and then turned twin glares on me like I’d interrupted something important. I put up my hands; if they wanted to thrash each other, it wasn’t my business. But I couldn’t help asking, “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  No answer. Not the most welcoming of experiences, but I wasn’t going to let it ruin my tryout. I turned to Darcy, who stood uncertainly by the trunk.

  “Should I get our stuff out?” she asked, glancing nervously at the pair of crazies.

  “Yeah, thanks,” I said.

  She handed over my bag and leaned back into the car to collect a few things that had spilled out of her open knapsack and scattered all over the trunk. I was waiting patiently when someone shoved me hard from behind, catching me completely off guard. I stumbled into a pothole so huge that our entire town house would probably have fit inside. Mud-swirled lukewarm water seeped into my shoes.

  I whirled around, letting the momentum swing my backpack off my shoulder. It flew right into the chest of the vagrant, whose expression of triumph faded when she got knocked back a step. She was younger than I’d realized, definitely not out of high school, and too clean to have been out on the street long. But the wild-eyed expression combined with the white crust of drool at the corners of her mouth suggested that she’d been into some illegal substances.

  “What the heck is your problem?” I demanded, falling into a defensive posture.

  She leaned toward me, her foul breath enveloping my head. Her pupils flickered red as if a flash had just gone off and I’d missed it. It reminded me of the guy in the alley, and not in a good way. My hand went instinctively to my lucky necklace, hanging on a new silver chain. Her eyes tracked the movement, and she immediately backed off, her hands in front of her face as if she expected me to stab her with a sterling silver pendant. I might have if I’d thought it would do any good.

  “It burns!” she squealed, cowering away from me. “It hurts!”

  Then she turned tail and ran, the kind of flailing chaotic flight that doesn’t get you anywhere fast and manages to make you knock over everything in your path. She took out a snack bar sign and an empty garbage bin before disappearing around the corner.

  “You okay?” Darcy asked.

  I jumped; I’d forgotten she was standing behind me. “Yeah. You all right?” I shouted to the derby girl. She turned wordlessly and went into the building. “You’re welcome!” I yelled after her.

  “Weird.” Darcy picked up her knapsack. “We should get inside.”

  “That’s it?” I was more than a little shocked. It seemed to me that the situation warranted a bigger reaction, but Darcy was too obsessed with getting to the tryout before she turned into a pumpkin. And really, what was I going to say? I wasn’t going to win points by observing that the crack addict’s glowing eyes had reminded me a little of the guy who’d mugged me the other day.

  “What?” she asked. She honestly seemed to have blocked out the weird almost-attack. Maybe I’d imagined it. “Oh my God. Look at your shoes!”

  The once-white canvas was a murky brown, and pieces of unidentifiable muck clung to one toe. “Eeew.” I stomped my feet, but the only result was a wet sucking sound from my insoles.

  “Oh, yuck!” Darcy exclaimed, putting her hands to her mouth. “You want me to see if I have any extra socks? I might have some. I mean, not like I usually carry socks in my pockets, but—”

  “It’s okay,” I said, resigned. “I’ll live.”

  “Well, yeah, of course.”

  Darcy linked her arm with mine and tugged me toward the front doors, a trip that required multiple detours to avoid further exploratory pothole expeditions. When we finally made it into the rink, a blast of supercooled air slapped me in the face. It was so cold that my arms broke out in gooseflesh. I should have brought a hoodie.

  A girl skated toward us, and I instinctively stepped back. I wasn’t a coward. During my black belt test, I’d faced down two shidoshi—senior black belts—all alone. But just because I knew how to fight didn’t mean I wanted to. This girl, on the other hand, projected a distinct aura of aggression, like the kind of person who picked fights because she thought bleeding was really fun. She wore a typically campy roller derby uniform: a yellow jersey imprinted with the number one, a pair of short purple shorts over black-and-white striped tights, and shiny silver skates. Her hair was done in two long braids and tinted an aggressive red, and heavy makeup ringed both eyes.

  “You’re late,” she said, frowning.

  I squinted at her. The attitude was totally different, but I could swear this was the derby girl I’d just saved from being throttled. “Um … yeah. Weren’t you the one we just saw out—”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she interrupted. But from the tightness of her face, she did know and just didn’t want to admit it. I was fine with not spilling her business all over the room, but to blame us for it was ridiculous. “Are you ready to get schooled?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Darcy said with a gap-toothed grin and a lot of nodding. “I’m so excited! I didn’t want to be late, but I had to wait at Casey’s house, and we lost a few minutes, and then there was that thing in the parking lot, although that wasn’t really our fault, but—”

  “Well, you’re here now.” The girl gave me a blatant once-over and then tried to stare me down. “Hi.” She thrust her hand toward me as if it were a weapon and squeezed my fingers hard on the shake. “I’m RJ, but in Derbyland, I’m known as Ruthanasia. I’m the team captain.”

  “Yeah, Ruthanasia is totally cool—” Darcy said. She would have added more, but Ruthanasia interrupted her.

  “Whatever.” Ruthanasia pointed to the table clearly marked REGISTRATION. “Don’t forget to sign in.” Then she turned to me. “Moral support seating is over there.”

  “Actually, I’d like to try out.”

  She laughed right in my face. “Very funny, kid.”

  She did not just call me “kid.” I folded my arms and tried to keep from scowling. I couldn’t believe she’d write me off like that. Especially after I’d just gone to her rescue without even a thank-you. “I’m not joking. I can pass any skills test you throw at me. My sister was a Hotsie. I used to train with them all the time.”

  “How nice for your sister.” Her eyes flicked up to my head
. “But the answer’s still no.”

  “So you’re turning me down because I’m bald?” I demanded. This wasn’t happening; she had to let me in. “That’s not fair—”

  “It wouldn’t be so bad if she just tried out, right, Ruthanasia?” Darcy bleated nervously. “If she’s no good, she won’t get in. She’ll sign the release form. Won’t you, Casey?”

  “Sure.”

  “Look, it has nothing to do with your head,” Ruthanasia said haughtily. “Although I like the swirls. But you missed training camp. No camp, no spot on the team.”

  I took a deep breath. Obviously, I’d pissed her off; maybe she hadn’t liked my seeing her so vulnerable in the parking lot, so she was trying to reestablish dominance. Antagonizing her further was only going to make matters worse, so I swallowed the angry retort I wanted to say and went for logic instead. But even though I did my best, it might have come out a little snippier than I’d intended. “The point of training is to teach me the skills. I respect that. But I’ve gone through skills camp before. With the Hotsies.”

  “Whatever,” she said. “When we break you, don’t come crying to me.”

  All my self-control went out the window. I could handle the witchy attitude, but calling me a baby? Writing me off as a wimp? Maybe I should have let her get pummeled after all. “Thanks. But you can drop the attitude. We can tell you’re a badass from the way you’re dressed.”

  “Really?” Ruthanasia glared at me. “Then maybe you shouldn’t piss me off.”

  “I don’t think it’ll be a problem.” I leaned against the registration table in a blatant display of casual disregard. “I’m a badass too. I just don’t feel the need to shove it down people’s throats two seconds after they walk through the door.”

  “We’ll just go fill out that paperwork now,” Darcy interjected, looking fearfully between the two of us. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “Whatever.” Ruthanasia shot me an intense frown. I felt this urge to push things a little further just to see what would happen, but I shut my mouth instead. I needed to make this team, and taking the bait wasn’t going to make it happen; I shouldn’t have let her get to me in the first place. I knew I couldn’t put all the blame for that argument on her, but recognizing that there was a chip on my shoulder didn’t make it go away.