Demon Derby

by Carrie Harris

  Kyle needed to cool off, and I needed time to think about what a mess I’d made of things and how on earth I was ever going to make it right. Because at this point, there wasn’t anyone in my life who I hadn’t neglected or pissed off or both. I’d dumped all my friends and shoved my family away. And now that I stopped to think about it, I couldn’t believe how I’d bitten Michael’s head off. Maybe he was nuts and maybe not, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d trusted me, and I’d leapt down his throat. I had some serious work to do if I was going to fix it all. And I could start by watching Kyle skate like I’d promised to.

  He paused at the edge of the ramp, his eyes flicking in my direction. Neither of us spoke, but he knew I was watching. My mind threatened to wander—there was so much I needed to think about—but I forced myself to focus as he took off from the top of the ramp, building up speed in ever-widening loops. Then he launched himself into the air, spun, and flipped the board over his foot like it was a freaking baton and he was a sequin-covered chick in a parade. For a heart-stopping second, I thought he was going to fall, but the board continued to spin, and he landed on it smoothly and rolled down the ramp with an expression of triumph.

  “Wooo!” I launched to my feet, holding my arms up over my head. “That was awesome! Do it again!”

  His face split into a reluctant grin, transforming him back into the friend I’d lost. “You sure?” he asked. “Don’t you need to skate?”

  “This is more important,” I said emphatically. “I’ll skate later.”

  “Cool.” It didn’t feel like everything was over, but maybe we were on the right track. At least he could look at me again. Then he added tentatively, “You know, if you wanted, I might be able to watch you skate in a while. Give you some pointers.”

  “That would be awesome.”

  We stayed there most of the afternoon. Every time his feet left the board, my heart stopped, and I waited for him to splatter on the pavement. And every time, he landed without a hitch. The irony of our switched positions didn’t escape me. It was my turn to feel overprotective, not to mention sheepish because I’d always gotten so upset when he did the same thing to me.

  We didn’t talk much on the ride home; in this case I think our actions spoke more than words ever could have. Besides, I was preoccupied with the whole existence of demons and soul jars shaped like bobbleheads, and he was blasting music so loud that we couldn’t have carried on a conversation anyway. But I made sure to give him a hug before he left. Neither of us could stay mad at the other for very long. And trust me, we’d both tried at one time or another.

  The house was empty. Mom was catching up on things at the office, and Dad was directing a production of Romeo and Juliet, only all the actors were dressed like people from the Civil War, and Juliet’s family had slaves and Romeo’s didn’t. I’d seen a couple of the rehearsals, and I had to admit that it actually worked.

  Enough was enough. I was done hiding. And I was determined to prove it, to myself just as much as everybody else. So I went back to the one place I’d sworn I’d never go again.

  The smell of the hospital hit me when I was two steps out of the elevator—bleach, air freshener, and metal. Air so sharp, it felt like it might cut your nose. That smell was associated with long days that ran into each other until they were one big blur of waiting for my cell counts to go up or a certain test result to go down. For ages, the quality of my day was predicated on a series of numbers on a piece of paper. One whiff of the fourth floor of Mackinaw University Children’s Hospital, and my stomach started to churn.

  This was not a place I wanted to be. What did I think I was proving? I leaned against the wall next to the circus mural with the dog that looked like it had hip dysplasia. I’d always hated the mural. Little Casey and I had once tried to draw a mustache on the dog, but the nurses caught us first.

  “Big Casey!” Phoebe, one of the day shift nurses, spotted me against the wall. Her shiny face broke out into a wide grin, and her name tag pressed into my cheek as she folded me into a hug. “We haven’t seen you in forever, girl. What’s up?”

  “Honestly?” I shuffled my feet. “I don’t really know what I’m doing here. Maybe I should just go.”

  She tilted her head, her mouth twisting into one of those smiles that isn’t really a smile. The corners of her mouth turned up, but her eyes were sad. “It’s okay, baby girl. Sometimes our kids come back one last time to close the door on things. I’ll give you a chance to look around. Just make sure to stop by the nurses’ station before you go, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  She hustled past me into room 402, which in my day had been occupied by a steady stream of short-termers. I’d never really gotten to know any of them.

  I continued on to 409. My old room was now occupied by a baby in a bassinet dwarfed by a jungle of monitors. A man slept on the foldout, drool puddling under his cheek. It would have been wrong to disturb them by going into the room, so I moved on without feeling like I’d chickened out. I didn’t want to go into that room ever again.

  Little Casey’s name was back up on the nameplate, door, and wall surrounding 411. It had become a thing—she had signs and posters and caricatures all printed with her name. Inside her room, the walls were covered with them. At least, they had been.

  The fact that she was back after all this time did not bode well. The question was not whether she’d be in bad shape, but how bad it would be. And if not for my blind luck, this would have been my fate too. It wasn’t fair. If I could have changed places with her, I would have.

  I wanted to leave. But I pushed open the door.

  Little Casey stood beside the bed in her street clothes, shoving sketches and posters into a large cardboard box. She was taller than I remembered, and there was color in her cheeks. She turned to face the door with a smile.

  “Oh my God! Big Casey!” she exclaimed, running and throwing herself into my arms. “Did you come to see me off?”

  “Um … not exactly?” I rested my cheek against the smooth dome of her head. “Are you leaving?”

  “Yep,” she said proudly. “I’m back in remission. The docs gave me this super-secret experimental treatment that turned my pee pink. Isn’t that the coolest thing?”

  “Yeah! The recovery part, anyway. I’m not so sure about the pee.” I grinned.

  “Anyway, I’m outta here, and I’m never coming back.” She pulled a decorative license plate that said CASEY #1 off the wall and tossed it into the box. “Want to give me a hand?”

  “Sure.” I took down a poster and started to roll it. “So, what are you going to do first?”

  We’d played this game a lot—coming up with the most atrocious things to do on our first day out of the hospital. I’d say I was planning to build a glider out of papier-mâché and fly to Kansas; she’d say she was going to kidnap a sea turtle from the zoo and hide it in her bathtub, and we’d keep going and going until our creativity—or our energy—was exhausted. But when I’d first gotten home, all I’d done was sleep.

  “I think we’re going to stop at McDonald’s,” she said.

  “Do they have sea turtles there?” I joked, but she didn’t crack a smile. “What’s up?”

  “My mom’s not doing so good,” she said. “She hasn’t come to see me in, like, a month. Dad says she won’t even get out of bed. You’d think she’d be happy that I’m better, right?”

  Her lip quivered, and I couldn’t keep from hugging her. “Maybe she’s sick. Like mono or something. That makes people really tired.”

  “Isn’t mono from kissing?” She wrinkled her nose.

  “Yeah.”

  “Eeeeew.”

  I chuckled. “Either way, I’m sure once she sees you at home, she’ll perk right up.”

  “Yeah, prolly.”

  “So whatever happened to Malachi?” I asked, and we started running down the list—who’d gone home, and who’d died, who’d gone on a Make-A-Wish trip and whose parents had shaved their heads in solid
arity. It didn’t take us long to get the rest of the stuff off the walls; I’d just perched on the end of the bed when I noticed something on the nightstand.

  I froze. “What’s that?”

  “It’s Edward Cullen, duh.”

  She picked up the little figure and held it out for my inspection. The head jiggled back and forth as she thrust it at me.

  I didn’t want to take the bobblehead. Maybe it was from that factory. Maybe it was evil. Maybe Little Casey’s recovery didn’t have anything to do with that pink-pee drug. Maybe her mom didn’t have mono. People would sell their soul for a lot of things. My parents would have done it for me in an instant.

  Now I felt really horrible for laughing at Michael. Because either it was my imagination or this thing was evil. I couldn’t see the black cloak around it, but I swore I could feel it.

  “What’s wrong?” Little Casey grinned. “Are you scared of vampires now?”

  “Nah.” I laughed it off weakly. “Just remembered there’s somewhere I need to go, is all. I’m late.”

  “Awww.” She hugged me. “Well, I’ll Facebook you sometime, okay?”

  “Of course you will,” I said, but we both knew we’d talk once or twice at the most before we fell out of touch again. We needed to look forward, not back. Although, when I got to the door, I couldn’t help myself. I looked back at that bobblehead.

  After I left the hospital, I had dinner with my parents. It seemed like the least I could do after pretty much ignoring them all this time. I had every intention of calling Darcy and trying to hunt down Michael, but I actually fell asleep on my plate, and Dad had to carry me up to my bed. The last time I’d done that, I was seven. But I had to admit, this time I’d probably earned the exhaustion.

  The next day crawled. I messaged Kyle with a bunch of derby videos and texted Darcy, with no response from either of them, since they were both at school. I didn’t have Michael’s number, which felt like a major oversight on my part. So I worked my way through a chapter on the Reformation and took the exam online before going back to bed. My body craved sleep; I’d been pushing it awfully hard, and it wasn’t happy. At least I didn’t hurt quite so bad anymore. I was beginning to think I might be over the hump.

  I set my alarm to wake me up just in time for derby practice, because it was the only way I could think of to get in touch with Michael. Dad made me have some pizza before he agreed to drop me off. This time, I missed all the potholes on my way in, and no one tried to beat me up. I fully expected to meet Ruthanasia at the door and get thrown out on the street, since I technically wasn’t supposed to be here, but for once things turned out in my favor. Barbageddon saw me first. One minute I was scanning the rink for Michael, and the next I was smothered in dreadlocks as she gave me a hug.

  “Casey!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad to see you! How are you?”

  “Fine,” I said, but that sounded really abrupt, so I added, “Thanks. Do you know where Michael is?”

  “Not here yet, as far as I know.” She slung an arm over my shoulder. With most people, the gesture would have felt fake, but Barbageddon was friendly to everybody and probably didn’t have a poser bone in her body. “Hey, I know you’re not on the team, but before we start, would you show me those tricks you did at tryouts? I’ve jumped fallen skaters before, but it wasn’t half as fancy as those.”

  If I didn’t find a way to distract myself until Michael showed up, the pressure would drive me mad, so I said, “Sure. We can start with the front tuck. That one’s easy, and it should be legit to use in bouts. Some of the others aren’t.”

  I sat down, pulled off my shoes, and put on my gear. Pretty soon, I had about half the team leaping over each other. The jump itself wasn’t tough once you figured out how to handle the skates, but when you started adding defenders and turns, it got difficult quickly. Ragnarocker sent me flying twice, and the second time, I skidded right into the nubby carpet-covered wall with my head.

  There was a shocked silence.

  I leapt to my feet, whipped off my helmet, and exclaimed, “That was so cool! Let’s do it again—”

  But a voice interrupted from behind me. “Not now.”

  I whirled around. “Mike! I need to talk to you.”

  “Mike?” The corners of his mouth started to twitch, although he did a pretty good job of keeping them under control. “Really?”

  I edged closer and said in a quiet voice, “It could have been worse. I almost called you Mikey.”

  He laughed out loud, and I swear I felt lighter.

  “Let’s talk after practice,” he said, and I nodded. I needed the time to get my emotions under control. I felt like I might cry at any second. After an eternity of feeling guilty over things I’d done or said, it seemed like I might finally be free.

  “It’s nice of you to visit us, Kent, but those of us who are actually on the team really need to get to work. Can we start practice now?” Ruthanasia said, skating right past me like I’d suddenly developed a serious case of invisibility, and practically batting her lashes at Michael. “That bout with the Tilt-a-Girls is at the beginning of December, and I want to make sure we’re ready.”

  “We will be,” Michael said. “Now, before we start, I think we need a team vote. Casey’s been coming to practice even though she didn’t make the team, and it’s pretty obvious she has valuable skills that could benefit us—”

  Ruthanasia didn’t even give him a chance to finish. “Even if that were true, we don’t have any space on the roster. This conversation is totally useless.”

  “She could be an alternate,” he persisted. “Her aerial skills alone would be worth the paperwork.”

  She just snorted, turning her back on all of us like she couldn’t stand our faces any longer. I scanned the rest of the crowd, seeing expressions that were varyingly forbidding, approving, and something in between.

  “Let’s vote,” Michael said. “Majority rules.”

  “Wait.” I held up a hand. “Let me say something?” He nodded, and I continued. “I know I might seem high-maintenance. But I swear I’ll play it smart. I just want to be a part of a team again. Heck, I’d dress up as your mascot if that’s what it took.”

  Some of the girls giggled, and a few quit scowling at me quite so hard. I wasn’t sure if it would be enough, but at least I’d tried.

  “All right,” Michael said. “Let’s vote. Anyone who wants Casey Kent to be admitted to the team as an alternate in case of injury or absence, please raise your hand.”

  Darcy’s shot right up into the air, followed only a moment later by Ragnarocker’s and Barbageddon’s. A few other hands went up, some more reluctantly than others. Ruthanasia, naturally, didn’t budge.

  Michael’s lips moved as he counted up the votes. “Six … seven … eight. That’s eight out of sixteen. Which means we need a tiebreaker.”

  “We already know how you’re going to vote, Michael.” Ruthanasia sounded beaten. As a knee-jerk reaction, I wanted to celebrate, but I squashed the feeling firmly. We could be an unbeatable team if we’d only work together. And right now I needed a victory.

  He smiled at me. “That does it, then. Casey is our new alternate.”

  I grinned, and the girls broke out into uneven, scattered applause. But I didn’t care. I’d win them over eventually, even Ruthanasia.

  “Thank you so much,” I gushed. “Let’s start training before you all come to your senses.”

  Finally things were looking up.

  I couldn’t believe how tough practice was; the Hotsies had never worked me this hard. I was the newest, but there were two other Fresh Meat—Darcy and a chick named Monique, who looked more like a librarian than a derby girl. The Fresh Meat usually worked on basics separate from the rest of the team, but since it was already the middle of the season, we jumped right in with everybody else. First we did speed drills. This time, I easily outpaced Darcy, who didn’t seem like herself. She’d barely said a word to anyone and was skating at about half the speed she�
��d skated at tryouts.

  I edged up to her during our first water break. “You okay? I was hoping to ask you if we could hang out later, but you look like crap. I mean … Oh, heck. You know what I mean, right?”

  She nodded, flopping onto a bench coated in peeling yellow paint.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look so hot.”

  “My throat hurts,” she said, and it did sound a little scratchy. “I’ve got a cold or something.”

  Eventually Michael split us into groups. Some of the girls worked with Ragnarocker on booty blocking. It was a heck-load of fun. If only I’d had more booty to block with. But I couldn’t complain too much, because my no-curve boyish figure was good for acrobatic stunts. Even though I was having fun, it was still a relief when Michael pulled me, Ruthanasia, and Barbageddon aside to work on jammer stuff.

  “You do know what a jammer is, don’t you?” Ruthanasia said, and elbowed me.

  “Yes, Casey knows,” I said in a stupid voice. “Casey not idiot. Casey’s sister skate for Hotsies. Casey wish you would give it a rest already.”

  “Hey.” Barbageddon waggled a finger at us. “We’re all on the same team now, right?”

  “I guess,” Ruthanasia said, and then she really surprised me by holding out a fist for me to bump. “I’m not going to make it a secret that I still don’t think you belong here, and I don’t like your attitude. But on the rink, I’ve got your back. All right?”

  “Fair enough,” I said, touching my knuckles to hers. “I don’t like your attitude either, so I guess we’re even.”

  A faint smile touched her lips. “Touché. Let’s get to work.”

  The three of us made a good jamming team. We took turns trying to pass the defenders without going out of bounds. Ruthanasia was an aggressive skater; she barreled into people and sent them sprawling more times than I could count. Barbageddon was faster and had a knack for spotting the weak points in a defense. And I could squeeze through tiny spaces without losing my balance, even on one skate. We each had skills the other two could learn from, and a half hour passed without anyone making a single nasty comment.