by Elicia Hyder
My nose wrinkled. “Nothing good. The car is probably totaled. I should find out for sure on Monday.”
He put his hand on my shoulder. “That sucks. I’m sorry to hear it. Are you able to get around without it?”
I nodded. “My insurance company got me a rental car. How’s your bumper?”
“Replaceable.” He glanced at the empty plastic cup in Olivia’s hand. “I’m going to get another drink. Can I buy you ladies a round?”
“Thank you,” she said.
“What are you drinking?” he asked.
“Three Leprechauns Red Ale.”
“Diet Coke,” I answered.
He winked as he stood. “Coming right up.”
When he was gone, Olivia nodded her head. “I admire a man who buys the booze. He’s a keeper.”
“He’s cute, too, huh?”
“Yeah, he’s cute. Is he single?”
I shrugged. “He doesn’t wear a wedding band, and I found him on a list of most eligible bachelors, so I hope so.”
Just then, one of Nashville’s blockers cut sideways toward Richmond’s jammer, 6VI6. The same skater who’d leveled Medusa. With a loud grunt that echoed around the room, the blocker plowed into 6VI6’s rib cage with her shoulder. The jammer lost control and careened into the crowd sitting on the floor at about a thousand miles per hour.
Whistles blew, the horn from the scoreboard blasted, and emergency workers ran across the gym. I realized I was on my feet with the rest of the crowd and didn’t even remember standing.
“And that’s why we call them the suicide seats, folks! They’re not for the faint of heart!” Daddy Ho’maker said into the microphone.
The jammer stood back up on her skates, aided by the fans she’d just mowed down. When she turned in our direction, I saw blood pouring from her nose into her mouth. She pulled her jersey over her head and pressed it to her face before slapping high fives with the fans around her legs. Everyone cheered, including Medusa and the rest of Nashville’s players, as she skated back to her team’s bench in her sports bra.
I exhaled, gripping my chest. “Thank God no one was hurt.”
Olivia held her fists up. “That was awesome. I want more blood!”
I laughed and smacked her on the back of the head. Out on the track, 6VI6 was escorted back to the locker room by two men in khakis and polo shirts.
West returned a few minutes later balancing three drinks between his two hands. He sidled his way across the row again and reclaimed his seat at our backs. “Three Leprechauns,” he said, handing a beer to Olivia.
She held it up like a toast. “Thanks.”
“And a Diet Coke,” he said, passing me the only cup with a lid and straw.
“Thank you, West.”
He leaned toward me. “Now you owe me a bumper, a ride, and a drink, Lucille.”
I silently cursed myself for not having a witty comeback.
He gestured toward my cup. “You know, if you’re going to hang out on the derby scene, you’re going to have to learn how to drink.”
“I’m trying to be kind to my liver since I’m taking a lot of pain meds. And I’ve got to drive home later,” I said.
He cringed. “Is you driving sober supposed to make us feel safer?”
My mouth dropped open. Olivia burst out laughing and showered the row in front of us with a light spray of beer from her lips. Thankfully, no one noticed. She slapped my knee. “Oh, I like him.”
I turned my eyes back to the track, shaking my head, trying not to laugh.
He nudged my shoulder with his leg. “I’m only teasing.”
“You’re not funny,” I said with forced indignation.
He held up his index finger and thumb with a millimeter of space between them. “I’m a little funny.”
I laughed and sipped my drink.
“Power jam!” Daddy Ho’maker yelled over the speakers.
The whole crowd cheered.
Out on the track, Medusa was flying past every member of her team and Richmond’s. Two of Richmond’s players were in the penalty box, including their jammer who’d replaced 6VI6 in the game. After a fourth pass, everyone was on their feet, including us, and West was cheering loud over our heads. She passed everyone again.
“That’s twenty-five!” West yelled.
She passed again.
“Thirty! She’s going to run out of time,” someone said.
“Run out of time for what?” I asked.
The man in front of us looked back at me. “To break the world record.”
“Thirty-five!”
Medusa’s knees were bent as she stepped, right skate over left, pushing her legs out hard around the corners. The Nashville blockers kept Richmond’s blockers out of her way as she sailed past them again. The crowd began counting down.
“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four!”
“That’s forty-five!” West shouted.
“Three! Two! One!”
EARRRRRRNGGGGG! The buzzer and the crowd were so loud I covered my ears. West made up half the decibels all by himself.
Out on the track, Medusa’s entire upper body was heaving with heavy breaths as she slowed and her team ran on their skates out from the bench to catch her in their arms.
Someone turned up the volume on Daddy Ho’maker’s mic so he could be heard over the fans. “Forty-five points in that power jam, and our captain reminds us all why she wears that star! Give it up for Medusa!”
Even the Richmond team was standing and clapping as Medusa skated a wide circle around the track, waving to everyone. She slid to a stop near the home team’s bench, and the coach walked over and hugged her. Someone handed her a bottle of water.
“That was intense,” Olivia said as we sat back down.
“What’s the world record?” I asked.
“Fifty points,” the man in front of us said.
West leaned down. “Medusa held the record at forty-five points for two years, but she lost it to a skater in Colorado who got fifty. The fifty-point jam even made it into the Guinness Book of World Records.”
“Ouch,” I said.
“And to make matters worse,” Styx’s dad added, “they’ve changed the rules since then.”
West nodded. “A power jam is when the opposing jammer is in the penalty box. It used to be that penalties lasted a full minute. Now they’re only thirty seconds.”
“So it’s even harder to collect that many points,” I said.
“Impossible, if you ask me,” the old man said.
West laughed. “Tell that to Medusa.”
Styx’s dad pointed at West. “She’s the only one who’s come close. I gotta give her that.” He looked at me and Olivia. “Only a handful of skaters in the whole world can break forty.”
Olivia sipped her beer. “The whole world? I had no idea this was that big of a sport.”
“They’re talking about adding it to the Olympics,” West said.
“Really?” I asked, watching Medusa, who was shouting at her players from the bench.
“Yep.” He pointed to the track. “And when it does, Nashville will have a local on the team.”
Just then, the buzzer blared through the arena again. The bout was over.
Music City had won.
I’d hoped West would invite us out for drinks or a late-night dinner after the bout. He didn’t. He did, however, give me a hug that lasted a total of two Mississippis, and he promised we’d talk more soon. I swear I felt the literal tear of my heart from my chest as he walked away.
Olivia looped her arm through mine as we followed the crowd into the hall. “That was more fun than I thought it would be. Thanks for bringing me,” she said, leaning with the weight of three beers on my arm.
It hurt to be her crutch, but I patted her hand. “Thanks for coming with me. I haven’t had that much fun in a really long time.” And it was true, right up until the end.
She looked at me sideways, then reached over and stuck her finger in the di
mple on my cheek, pushing it up. “No frowning. No being sad.”
I hadn’t even realized I was sulking. I wrinkled my nose. “I’m just a little disappointed.”
“Because he didn’t ask you out?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
She sighed. “Give it time. It’s clear he likes you.”
“You think so?” I asked, my face brightening with a slight smile.
She turned her palm up. “Did you see how much beer he bought me?”
“Maybe he likes you instead.”
“Not a chance.”
In the hall, a girl shouting to my right caught my attention. I looked over as she thrust a flyer in my face. “Fresh Meat, Derby 101! Newbies welcome! Next Saturday at the Rollers’ Sweatshop!”
I grabbed the slip of paper as the crowd pushed us through the door to the lobby. On the front was a cartoon logo with a raw T-bone steak and a meat cleaver. The title said, NOW RECRUITING FRESH MEAT. I read the page as we walked.
*
Tired of watching life from the sidelines? Want to see what you’re made of? The Music City Rollers WANT YOU! Join us for the next informational meeting and orientation to learn more about the final Fresh Meat session of the season.
When? Saturday, August 29. 10 a.m.
Where? The Rollers’ Sweatshop, the official practice space of Rollers. 19954 Nolensville Pike, Nashville.
No experience needed.
*
My first thought was “this is a bad idea,” and I should have thrown the flyer in the trash on our way out the door.
I didn’t.
Three
I drove Olivia and myself home to the apartment we shared in a small sliver of South Nashville that was sandwiched between the suburb of Antioch and the city of Brentwood. The locals called our little piece of the map “Brentioch,” the metaphorical tracks that separated the white collars from the blue.
“Do you have to work tomorrow?” I asked Olivia as I pulled into a parking space.
She nodded. “Lunch to close.”
We got out, and I clicked the lock button on the key fob. “At least you don’t have to open.”
She rubbed her head. “It’s a good thing. I may be hurting in the morning.”
“Lightweight,” I teased as we started up the steps to the second floor.
“You’re one to talk.”
When we neared our apartment, I stopped when I saw a pair of legs wearing jeans and men’s Adidas sneakers poking out from behind the wall that formed an alcove around our door. I stuck my arm out in front of Olivia to stop her. She blinked and looked down at the legs.
“Who is that?” she whispered.
With wide eyes, I shrugged my shoulders. I inched past her and tiptoed through the breezeway. When I got close enough to see around the corner, I immediately recognized the messy mop of brown hair that was reclined against our door. I exhaled.
“It’s my brother.” I kicked his shoe. “Ethan, wake up.”
Ethan jolted from his sleep, looking up with alarm. “Hey, Lucy. Thank God you’re finally home.”
I looked at my watch. It was after ten. “What are you doing here?”
“Came down to see a chick I met online.”
“I’m guessing it didn’t go well,” Olivia said.
He shook his head. “She ‘forgot’ to tell me she was on house arrest.” He used air quotes for effect.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What?”
“Can I crash on your couch tonight?” he asked through a yawn. “I don’t want to drive back to Riverbend this late.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” I reached over him to put my key in the lock.
“Something’s wrong with my phone again,” he said, rolling to his knees to get up.
I stepped over him. “Did you pay the bill?”
He groaned. “You sound just like Dad and the phone company.”
I flipped on the light, and they followed me into the apartment. I hung my keys on the hook by the door and carried my purse to my bedroom. Ethan flopped down on the sectional sofa with a groan.
“I’m going to bed, Lucy,” Olivia called as I took off my shoes.
I put my sandals in the closet and walked back to the living room, catching Olivia at her door. “Thanks again for going with me tonight.”
She winked at me. “Anytime.”
When she was gone, I looked at my kid brother. Ethan was wearing a wrinkled chocolate-brown polo shirt tucked in (only in the front), a decent pair of dark jeans, and (shockingly) a belt. His face was soft and sleepy as he nestled into the corner of the sofa.
I wondered if his motives for showing up on my doorstep were completely centered around his failed date, or if he’d gotten lonely at our parents’ house. His light brown eyes sparkled just like Mom’s when he smiled up at me.
The magic vanished in an instant as he put his sneakers up on my coffee table. I swatted his legs. “Have some manners, Ethan.” Wincing with pain, I sat down beside him.
His feet landed with a heavy thud on the floor, and he slouched against the back, folding his hands on his flat stomach. “Why are you moving like an old lady?”
“I was in a car wreck yesterday. I’m pretty stiff and sore.”
“What the hell, Lucy? Why didn’t you call me?”
I laughed. “Maybe I did. You don’t have a phone.”
“Did you call me?”
“No, of course not.”
He frowned. “Why? I’m your brother.”
“What would you have done? Besides, I wasn’t hurt. I had the situation under control.” I reached over and patted his head. “I do appreciate your concern.”
“Where’ve you been all night? You never go out.”
“That’s not true,” I said.
He lifted a doubtful eyebrow.
I ignored him. “Did you know Nashville has a roller derby team?”
“What’s roller derby?”
My eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you went to college?”
“Pretty sure,” he said, slipping off his shoes. “But those days were kinda fuzzy.”
I leaned against his shoulder. “I feel like these days are kinda fuzzy too. Are you OK?”
He looked at me seriously. “I’m fine. I promise.”
I studied his face for a moment before finally nodding. “Well, you’re twenty-three. Not a frat boy anymore. Someday you’re going to have to start acting like a grown-up.”
He grinned and touched his finger to the tip of my nose. “Tomorrow. I’m going to start tomorrow. What’s roller derby?”
“It’s a women’s sport—”
He cocked an eyebrow. “So it’s boring.”
“Quite the opposite, actually. Full-contact, on roller skates.”
His head snapped back. “Really?”
“Yeah. A girl broke her nose tonight when she mowed down a group of fans by the track.”
“Whoa!”
“I know. It was a lot of fun. You should go sometime. Maybe once your new girlfriend gets off parole.”
He groaned and flopped against the back of the sofa again.
“Tell me about her.”
He rolled his head to face me. “Her name’s Daphne. She’s twenty-two and studied nursing at MTSU. Beautiful girl. Blond hair, blue eyes, and…” His eyes bulged as he cupped two ginormous imaginary breasts in front of his chest.
I crossed my arms. “I can see where this story started to go wrong.”
“We’ve been talking for a few weeks—”
“On the computer, because you don’t pay your phone bill.”
He nodded. “I told her I’d drive down this weekend if she wanted to hang out. She wanted to meet at her house in Murfreesboro. I assumed we would go somewhere.”
“And you were wrong?”
He grimaced. “So very wrong.” He covered his face with both hands. “She had an ankle bracelet and everything.”
I dropped my head to stifle my giggles. “What did she do?”
/>
“Too many DUIs or something, I think. I honestly didn’t hang around long enough to find out.”
I slapped his leg. “Good for you. See? You can make good decisions occasionally.”
He groaned.
I got up and walked to the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Did you eat dinner?”
“I’m good. I got a burger from a drive-through on the way here.” I returned with two bottles of water and handed one to him. “Thanks,” he said as he unscrewed the lid.
“And what have we learned from all this?” I asked, tucking my leg underneath me as I sat back down.
He paused with the bottle halfway to his lips. “I have shitty taste in women?”
“Besides that.”
“I need to stop meeting chicks on the internet?” he asked.
“It wouldn’t hurt. You’re a cute guy. You could meet girls in person—outside the house to ensure they’re not on lockdown, but that’s not what I was going to say either.”
He shrugged. “I give up.”
I pushed his shoulder, and he dribbled water down his chin. “Stop making decisions with Ethan Jr., and try getting to know someone before you drive two hours to pop up on their doorstep.”
“His name is not Ethan Jr.” He pointed to his crotch. “We call him the Kraken.”
My face melted into a disgusted frown, and I covered my ears. “Eww.”
He laughed. “That way, I can drop my pants and say, ‘Release the Kraken!’ Chicks dig that shit.”
I furiously shook my head. “No, they don’t.”
He lifted his fist into the air and used a dramatic tone. “He rises from the depths!”
“Ethan, stop talking about your penis!”
Still chuckling, he dropped his hand. “You brought it up.”
“And I’m sorry about that.” I put the water bottle to my cheek to cool my hot and embarrassed face. “Different subject. Have you talked to Dad?”
He looked at me. “About the Kraken?”
I smacked him with a throw pillow.
“No. I haven’t talked to Dad. When are they coming home?” he asked.
“You live there. You don’t know?”
He pointed at his own face. “Do I look like a guy who knows things?”
I settled back against the couch. “They’re supposed to be home next weekend.”
“That’s so long,” he whined.
“It’s two weeks. Stop being dramatic.”
