One Skid Mark

by April Ryder

  Not long into the game I noticed some of the roller derby girls slip out of their changing room and join the front row of the audience to watch the men play. I didn't blame them, especially not at half-time when they retired to their respective corners and removed their helmets.

  "Who knew men wearing so many clothes could be so hot," Adam said in my ear and I blushed. Who, indeed.

  I stuck a finger in my cowl neck and tried to shake some air in there. It wasn't the temperature that had me overheating, but the right wing. He was like a god and I caught myself thinking thoughts I'd never thought about Paul.

  "Love at first sight?" Adam asked.

  I shook my head. "Maybe a crush."

  He laughed, put an arm around me and pulled me close. "Nice choice," he said.

  Number 7, my crush, was nimble. He zipped around the members of the opposing team and scored practically every time he reached the goal. Even I could see he was good. That didn't mean the rest of his team weren't good as well. Another player received just as much appreciation from the crowd as number 7. 13, one of the backs. He was big, but that could have been the bulky protective padding he wore, and almost as quick on his skates as 7. Where other backs shied away from tackling the forwards that hooned toward them, he showed no fear. In fact, it was the other team that felt fear. No one wanted to be tackled by 13. He made it clear what would happen to them when the first to attempt it got body slammed and dropped to the floor. 13 quickly flicked the puck to 7 who scored another goal. After that they tried to avoid 13, which disappointed me. I wasn't a violent person. I hadn't hit anyone before in my life, at least not on purpose. But there was something so primally satisfying watching 13. Still 7 had a cheeky finesse about him, not to mention those stunning facial features and ruffled black hair now hidden under his helmet.

  I sighed in appreciation of such a gorgeous example of the opposite sex. I could look, but I knew I'd never be able to touch. Not a man like that. He was so far out of reach. He probably dated the roller derby girls. They were strong, confident and so sexy looking in their outfits. My eyes flicked to them and sure enough they were leaning over the barrier, hollering lewd suggestions to number 7. My crush laughed, waved and thrust his groin in their direction. Totally out of my league.

  "He's gay," Adam said, interrupting my depressing thoughts.

  "What?"

  "He's gotta be gay. He's putting too much effort into it."

  "He can't be gay," I argued and when Adam looked at me I blushed furiously. "I mean, he's checking those roller derby girls out."

  Adam stared at me, number 7, then the girls in question. "Here finish this, while I get us more beer," he said.

  I accepted Adam's half-empty cup and watched him head toward the counter. The game was almost over by the time he returned. 7 had scored another four goals and someone had the misfortune to be confronted by 13. The poor guy figuratively peed his pants as he backtracked and tried to go around 13. When that didn't work he blindly passed the puck to save himself. 7 easily intercepted and another goal was claimed right before the final buzzer.

  "Where were you?" I asked when Adam reappeared with more beer.

  His smile worried me, especially when he didn't answer. I was too close to drunk though to notice the warning signs. Stupid me.

  * * *

  You know how sometimes you wake up after a night out and while lying on the cold floor of your bathroom you vow, never again? Yeah, that's where and what I was now doing. Adam had come in and teased me as I rested my head against the toilet seat. He stopped when I started ralphing again and ended up joining in at the basin.

  Adam had spent the night on my couch. He had chatted up the derby referee after the hockey game, but he was a true friend. Instead of ditching me for the hottie, he'd made sure I'd gotten home safely and that I wasn't alone when the crying started. Which was good because it really hit me at 3am in the morning. Paul was gone. For good. He had a job and a new girlfriend and wouldn't be back. The sooner I accepted it the sooner I could pick myself up—like a derby girl—and get on with my life.

  Adam came up for air and turned on the cold tap. "I think we should have lunch," he said.

  "Not breakfast?"

  He gave me an amused yet hungover stare. "You missed breakfast. It's the afternoon now, sweetie."

  I groaned. Weekend breakfasts were my favourite meal. "Worst. Hangover. Ever," I told him.

  Adam agreed by puking one last time in my basin. The porcelain in my bathroom would need an extra cleaning. Thank god Shawn didn't mind what time of the day it was. Sadly Adam wouldn't let me stay in long enough to take advantage of all Shawn could offer a woman.

  He dragged me off to the Fat Cat Cafe. Life started to look better when I learned they served all-day breakfasts. My new favourite cafe!

  "Pancakes!" I announced brightly to the waitress when she approached and moaned at the loudness of my own voice.

  Adam winced in shared pain. "Coffee," he ordered. "Lots and lots of strong, black coffee."

  The waitress looked at me again to see if I wanted something to drink. I wasn't a coffee drinker. "Hot chocolate. Lots and lots of hot chocolate. With marshmallows. Please."

  Once she had left to fill our orders, Adam dropped the bombshell I should have known was coming.

  "You what?" I demanded as I pushed back my chair and jumped to my feet.

  Adam caught my chair before it crashed to the floor and caused even more of a scene than I was already.

  "Sit down," he said.

  I waited a full twenty seconds before I eventually gave in and did as he said. It was then that I noticed the other patrons of the cafe staring at me.

  "I signed you up for try outs for the Selby Slammers," he explained quietly.

  "W-why would you do that? I don't skate. I don't wear fishnet stockings," I said my voice creeping louder and higher with each word. "My skin clashes with tartan!"

  "Hayley, calm down," he said and pinched my arm.

  Ow, I thought, that hurt.

  "Ow," I said out loud. Sometimes my internal monologue slipped through to the external, especially when pinching was involved.

  "First, you can skate," he said and glared at me as if daring me to contradict him. I couldn't, so he continued. "You've never tried to wear fishnets. Now's the time to try. And you don't have to wear tartan. That's Hello Kilty's thing, not yours."

  Hello Kilty? Oh, yeah the kilt wearing derby girl. Now I remembered. "What is my thing?" I asked.

  He opened his mouth to answer but the waitress got in first.

  "Pancakes!" she announced.

  Adam and I almost fell out of our chairs laughing.

  "That is so you," he said between guffaws.

  I smacked him in the shoulder but couldn't argue. He had me there. I really did love pancakes. He sipped his coffee as I chowed down on the maple-flavoured syrupy goodness.

  "I think you should go to the tryouts. You have everything to gain and nothing to lose."

  My disbelieving eyebrow must have tipped him off, because he continued to try and talk me into it.

  "Number 7 is totally hot for derby girls."

  I ratcheted disbelieving eyebrow up to a disbelieving snort. "Even fat ones?" I asked.

  "Not that I think you're fat but if you hadn't noticed, there were bigger girls than you in that team."

  My pancake laden fork paused near my mouth. He was right. Now that I thought about it, the girls were all different shapes, colours and sizes, and all were confident and sexy. I relieved the fork of its burden and chewed as I digested what he had said. Could I wear fishnet stockings, use my body to block others and do it all in front of so many people?

  Adam watched as I debated with myself. "All you've had since I've known you is Paul and work. You need to get out, do new things and meet people. Roller derby ticks all of those boxes, Hayley."

  Why did Adam have to use logic? His arguments always made sense. Mine never did. Mine started emotional but dwindled to nothing
when faced with Adam's logic. Adam was right. When was the last time I did something that didn't revolve around Paul or work?

  I wiped up the last of the syrup with the remaining bite of pancake and sighed. "When is it?"

  A smug grin spread over Adam's face and I felt a need to bring him down a peg or two.

  "I'll go and see what it's like. It doesn't mean I'll try out. I don't even have skates or anything."

  Adam brushed my concern away with a wave of his hand. "No worries. I ordered a fresh meat pack for you. Size 8, right?"

  My eyebrows flew off the top of my head. "Fresh meat pack?!"

  "Yeah. They call newbies fresh meat."

  I gulped, already regretting agreeing to turn up.

  * * *

  The fresh meat pack arrived the day before the try outs, which meant I had very little opportunity to practice. Again I wondered how I had let Adam talk me into this. I didn't fall over though, so that was promising. But when the time came and I stood in the doorway watching the real derby girls zipping around the rink, I wasn't so sure not falling over would be good enough. As it turned out, arriving early to sneak in more practice before the try outs wasn't an original idea. A few others took to the rink and in seconds they had boosted my confidence. Not one stayed upright.

  A derby girl spotted me. I had no choice now. Hello Kilty had me in her sights. She skated up, took my hand and said, "Hi. Changing room is this way. Oh so you don't freak, we have one transgender girl on the team. I think I saw her go in just before. You won't freak, will you?"

  I shook my head. How could I freak out about anything else when I was already busy freaking out about the try outs?

  "Good girl," she said and nodded.

  "Thanks," I told her and forced a smile to show I meant it. Not that I knew if I did or not. After a moment's hesitation, I pushed open the unmarked door and stepped inside. There was no escaping now. Someone laughed outside and I frowned at the door as it closed. I wondered if that had been directed at me or some other poor unfortunate who had landed on her arse.

  I shook it off and focused on getting changed. The sooner I did that, the sooner I could get this over with. Part of me actually wanted to get on the team. The game last week had excited me. Awakened something in me that wanted to be a part of what looked like something so exhilarating and fun. Another part feared the rejection. What if I wasn't good enough, sexy enough or anything enough? Obviously I hadn't been for Paul.

  "Stupid Paul," I muttered and scuffed my foot on the floor.

  Someone—or something—growled. And that got my attention.

  "I'm not Paul," a deep voice said. Possibly the growler.

  I slowly turned on my heel and stared. No, he definitely wasn't Paul. Paul did not have wide shoulders, muscled arms or abs. In fact, Paul didn't have a single ab. I never found muscle bound men attractive, but I found myself making an exception for this guy.

  My eyes bugged out when he noticed me staring. Wait, he? Oh my god, was this the trans derby girl? She had just caught me ogling her naked and very manly top half.

  I groaned and spun away. "And I promised I wouldn't freak."

  He—she—swore. "Fresh meat?" she asked.

  "Ah yeah," I replied without looking.

  "You're in the wrong changing room."

  "Sorry?" I asked, confused by her harshly made statement. "They said there was—"

  "A trans player?" she asked and followed that up rather eloquently with angry cursing. "They do this every year."

  I glanced over my shoulder wondering what the hell he/she was talking about just as the gears in my mind slowly clicked into place. The inline skate on the bench in front of him cinched it. Shit.

  "I'm in the wrong changing room."

  He didn't reply. Didn't even point out he'd already told me that, which was nice of him. Although going by the pissed off look on his face, speaking might release the angry beast locked inside him.

  "I'll just…"

  His fiery eyes tracked me as I backed toward—what I now realised to be—a suspiciously unmarked door. I reached for the handle and whimpered when it smacked into my hand. The door opened and I jumped when someone else entered.

  A dark-haired man smiled down at me. I was too spooked to register the interested up-and-down look he gave my body—it did hit me later though, don't worry about that!

  "Sorry," I gasped, and then did a double take when I realised who he was. "Number 7! Oh my god. Oh. My. God!"

  His grin expanded across his face and I'm pretty sure I burst into flames right there in front of him. Before he could say anything, I bolted. Horrified and embarrassed, I managed to find the right changing rooms and locked myself into a toilet stall.

  "Oh my fucking god."

  * * *

  I was one of the last pieces of meat to leave the changing rooms and join the crowd that gathered around Hello Kilty and the team captain, Pretty Vicious. We soon found out that the latter had been aptly named. Imagine the prettiest little girl you've ever seen with long blonde ringlets and large baby-blue eyes. Standing at a hair over five foot two, Pretty Vicious was not only cute, she was vicious. She also yelled and cursed—a lot.

  "All right you fat pieces of shit—I mean—fresh meat," she said going from grizzled sailor to sweet and feminine in one sentence.

  Us fresh meat / fat pieces of shit, didn't complain. None of us wanted to be singled out in a room full of strangers while our newfound idols stood nearby and the hotties lazily skated past on the other rink. No, definitely not making a scene.

  "Let's get one thing straight," she said, figuratively pulling up her big girl pants. "I'm the only lesbian on this team. So all you wannabe lesbos and those who think they're bicurious, can fuck off if that's why you're here. Roller derby is a serious sport ladies. We are not here to fuck in the showers. We're here to skate and crush the opposition!"

  The derby girls applauded. Some yelled their support and one whistled, attracting the curious stares of the men.

  "But remember. I'm the only lesbo. There are more gays in the men's inline hockey team than there are here. So if you were here hoping to suck on my cunt, you can leave now."

  Her ultimatum was met with uncomfortable silence. Talk about awkward. Fortunately for us Hello Kilty quickly led us in a rousing warm up that had us skating around the rink in a large oval. At random intervals she yelled out new instructions. Clockwise, faster, slower, backwards, walking on stoppers—you get the idea.

  I was in the middle of searching for Adam, who said he would be here to cheer me on, when she yelled for us to skid on our knees. I hadn't realised I had veered off course. So when I dropped to my knees I didn't see the inline skater until after I had skittled him.

  "Sorry!" I cried as I tried to extricate my limbs from his. Gosh, he was big—I mean—he was a large man. It was a wonder he hadn't crushed me on his way down.

  The familiar cursing clued me in. Of all the players to knock over, it had to be him. Feeling his, hard masculine body on mine was punishment enough. But just to pour more salt in the wound, Number 7 turned to a stop next to us.

  "You look like you need a hand, Princess," he said and offered me his.

  My face burned beet red, but I accepted his offer. The man who had collapsed on me hadn't been any help. He was still swearing up a storm. That was one angry man. Then—without warning and with everyone looking—he decided to use words that shouldn't be heard in public. Ever.

  "Skid marks!" he yelled.

  I dropped 7's hand and clutched my backside in horror. For the second time this evening, I incinerated on the spot. I would definitely have to leave and never come back. This was shame at level infinity! Why did he have to be so dammed loud when he pointed it out?

  Trying to save face—or was that arse?—I spun away to hide the offending marks. It took me a moment to realise he wasn't pointing at my big behind but at the bright pink marks on the rink. The exact same shade as the pink on my knee pads.

  Relief flooded
through me. I didn't have poop stains on my butt at all. I had marked the rink. I shouldn't have let my guard down, though.

  He shoved his face in mine and I felt his angry breath heat my skin as he told me to: "Get rid of those cheap pads and invest in better protection," before he stormed off.

  "Don't worry about Rick," 7 told me as he took me by the elbow and rolled me to the relative safety of my own kind—females.

  "Rick the dick," I said, not realising I had spoken my thoughts out loud.

  7 chuckled and my face blossomed once more. I was on a roll.

  "Yeah, that's him. He's high strung—or something."

  "Or something all right."

  "I'm Jake, by the way. What about you?"

  I managed to mumble out that I was Hayley. He was talking to me. Number 7—Jake—wanted to know my name. I also remembered he had checked me out during that other unfortunate incident in the men's changing rooms. It was a wonder I was still capable of speech!

  "That's a beautiful name, Princess."

  "Oi!" Pretty yelled, interrupting us before I could think of flirting back. "No dicks on this rink."

  "That's my cue to leave," he said and with a mischievous grin returned to the other rink. I admired his backside. I couldn't help it. He pointed it right at me!

  Fingers snapped in front of me blocking my view of perfection. I glanced down and found Pretty Vicious looking well, pretty vicious.

  "Men are a weakness of all straight girls. Learn to ignore distractions of the manly flesh or you will be a liability to the team—if selected," she told me before throwing her glorious curls over her shoulder and sailing away across the rink.

  I sighed. She was right. But damn her for having an advantage. She was cute, assertive, born to skate and not attracted to that manly flesh she had mentioned. I stole another glance at Jake and smiled when he winked at me. Damn his flesh for being so manly and attractive. Rick, who stood next to Jake, glared back at me. Now him I could ignore, although as I remembered his shirtless body in the wrong changing room, I amended that to include: as long as he was fully clothed.