by Elicia Hyder
I carried the box over to the stool that had tried to kill me and sat down. “How much are these?”
“They’re on sale for one-nineteen, plus the ten-percent team discount.”
I choked on the air as I pulled off my shoe.
He noticed. “They sometimes have skates you can borrow for the first class to see if you’ll like it.”
I’d already considered that. “No. If I’m going to do this, I need to commit. I’ll buy my own.”
I shoved my socked foot into the skate and set it down on the floor to tie the laces. The skate rolled forward as I bent to reach for it. I picked it up and placed it back on the space in front of me. I didn’t look up because I knew I’d catch Steve trying to not laugh at me.
I successfully tied the boot, then put on the other.
“How do they feel?” he asked.
I nodded and rolled the skates forward and back on the floor. “Good. They fit well, I think.”
“Think you can stand up?”
I gulped and nodded.
“Wait,” he said as I started to move. He stepped back toward the helmets and grabbed a black one. “First, this.”
I laughed. “Smart man.”
When the helmet was secured with the strap under my chin, he offered me his hand. “Now, put your toe stop down on the floor to keep from rolling as you stand.”
Taking his hand, I angled my right toe toward the ground and pushed myself up on the rubber stopper. I put all four wheels on my left foot down on the ground, still standing on my right toes. “I haven’t done this since I was a kid.”
He winked at me. “It’s just like riding a bike. Gently push off with your toe.”
Pushing with my right toes, I leaned onto my left foot as it eased forward. Immediately, my arms flailed.
Steve stepped to my side and grabbed my elbow. “Bend your knees and use your thigh muscles. Don’t rely on your joints to keep you steady.”
Like a toddler on ice, I skate-wobbled to the red ring painted on the center of the floor.
“You’re doing well,” he lied, still holding my arm. “To glide forward, push your skates back and out to the sides using the inside wheels.”
My confirmation nod was more like a vertical nervous shudder. I pushed with my right leg and glided forward on my left. Then I pushed with my left and glided on my right.
Somehow, I didn’t die.
“Good!” Steve cheered, releasing my arm.
As I scuttled around the ring, my arms did an erratic gypsy wave out to the sides of their own accord.
“Very good!” He grabbed my arm to stop me when I reached him again. “How do they feel?”
I looked down at my feet. “Like I need to increase my life insurance.”
He laughed. “Still interested in getting them?”
“Yes.” Nope.
“Great.” He turned back to the wall. “I recommend getting toe guards to protect them from getting scuffed.”
“OK.”
“Have a color preference?” he asked.
I looked the wall. “Their colors are black and teal, right?”
He nodded.
“Let’s do teal then.”
“Got it. Do you want to upgrade the wheels?”
“Should I?” I bent and unlaced the boots.
“The upgraded wheels are softer, which will give you more grip on the slick floor,” he said.
“Then absolutely,” I said, pulling the right skate off.
“How’s that helmet feel?” he asked.
“It’s good.” I returned both skates to the box and slipped my shoes back on.
“You’ll need wrist guards, knee pads, and elbow pads.” He held up a package of each. “I recommend these basic ones when you’re getting started. You can upgrade them later.”
I gave him a thumbs-up.
“You’ll also need a mouth guard.” He pointed to a rack by the wheels. “I’ve got white, black, pink, teal, and clear.”
“Clear,” I said.
“Good choice.” He grabbed the clear mouthguard and added it to the stack in his arms.
I held up two fingers. “Go ahead and give me the teal one also.”
He grabbed it and looked down at his arms, obviously taking a quick inventory of all he was holding. “I think that’s everything you need. If you’ll carry those skates over to the register, I’ll switch out the wheels for you.”
I stood, and my legs still felt a little unsteady underneath me. “Thank you.”
Ten minutes later, Steve had changed the wheels and relaced my new skates with the teal toe guards. They looked pretty sharp. When he rang everything up, I felt queasy as I realized I was paying good money to put my life in danger.
I forced a smile, handing him my credit card. “Any last advice?”
“Don’t die.”
“Ha. Thanks.”
He swiped the card through the card reader. “Just have fun. We’ve got one of the best teams in the world, and they’ll teach you if you’re willing to learn and work hard.”
“I am.” And I meant it, although I wasn’t exactly sure why. The whole roller derby thing had originally been birthed out of desperation to gain a cute boy’s attention, but even with West Adler firmly out of the picture—and out of my mind—my determination to survive 101 was greater than ever. Maybe it was my brother’s teasing. Maybe it was all my pent-up frustration with Dad and my boss. Maybe it was some unspoken need to be someone other than boring, caretaker, zip-lipped, small-town Lucy. Maybe it was the taunt on the front of the flyer: “Find out what you’re made of.”
In a week, Fresh Meat had become my Everest.
I lifted my bags off the counter. “Thanks for all your help, Steve.”
He handed my receipt. “You’re welcome, Lucy. Maybe I’ll see you on the track next season.”
I flashed him a wide-eyed, hopeful, yet uneasy smile. “Fingers crossed.”
And on my way out of his shop, I tripped over the door’s threshold.
Since I was already in East Nashville, and because I’d spent my whole month’s food budget on roller skates and gear, I stopped by Lettuce Eat to see Olivia and scam a free meal. It was only a few blocks away. By some miracle, I found a parking spot on the street less than a block up from the restaurant. The short walk was ample time for people watching at its finest.
East Nashville, also known as “East Nasty” among the locals, was a bizarre nook of the city. A true melting pot of culture, the east side had no defined social climate—unlike other popular Music City hotspots like Green Hills, Hillsboro, or West End. The majority of the houses were old fifties-style cottages with a few elegant Victorians sprinkled among them. The few newer structures were built to look vintage, and the houses that had been renovated and modernized still maintained their throwback appeal. Despite the retro, cozy vibe of the neighborhood, nothing in the area sold for less than a quarter-million—or so Olivia said—and its inhabitants were the grass-fed type, the granola twenty-and thirty-somethings that sported man buns and shoes made of wheat.
Lettuce Eat was sandwiched between a hookah bar and a heavily graffitied tattoo shop that all occupied the same brick building. The restaurant’s section was painted lavender, and green steps led up to the blue front door. Inside was just as random and eclectic with local art and license plates hung on the colorful walls. Old wooden tables were scattered around the room with mismatched, secondhand chairs surrounding them. Fortunately for Olivia, who had opened the restaurant on a startup’s budget, frugality was all the rage in East Nasty.
In the corner, a man with a guitar (and a man bun) played an emotional acoustic rendition of “All Along the Watchtower.”
“How many?” a bubbly redhead with a lip ring asked, stepping toward me with an armful of menus printed on shabby recycled paper and fixed to wooden clipboards.
I looked around the dining room. “Is Olivia busy?”
She blinked with surprise. “I’m not sure. She’s in the office.”
&nbs
p; “Can you tell her Lucy is here?”
She nodded. “Sure. Do you want to wait at the bar?”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
“You bet.”
As she scampered away in her bright pink Converse sneakers, I walked to the long wooden bar near the small stage. Man Bun had shifted into a spirited cover of “D’yer Maker” by Led Zeppelin.
“Hello.” The bartender stepped over in front of me. He was tall and skinny with a beard and a bald head. He wore jeans and a faded “D.A.R.E. to Keep Kids Off Drugs” T-shirt. “Can I interest you in our happy-hour special, God Save the Cream?”
I laughed. “What’s in that?”
He shrugged. “It’s a White Russian.”
“I’m good. Just waiting for Olivia,” I said.
He nodded and slung a white bar towel over his shoulder. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
While I waited, I tried to call Ethan, but it went straight to voicemail. I hung up, then made the mistake of checking the balance of my bank account using an app on my phone.
I gulped.
Maybe this roller derby thing was a really bad idea.
Olivia walked through the door behind the bar that led to the kitchen. “Hey! What are you doing here?” She came over and leaned her elbows on the bar opposite of me. Her long dark hair was pulled up in a tidy bun on the top of her head like Cinderella.
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“Why?”
I bit down on the insides of my lips for a second.
Her eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”
“Can you keep a secret?” I asked, lowering my voice.
She leaned closer. “Oh boy. This should be good.”
“I was buying roller skates.”
Her head dropped to the side. “Please tell me they are for a needy child.”
I pulled the derby flyer from my purse and slid it across the bar toward her. She picked it up, read it, then peered over the top at me.
“Well?” I asked.
She laughed. “It was nice knowing you, my friend. Can you make sure to leave me a check for next month’s rent?”
I scowled.
She looked at the flyer again. “You’re doing this tomorrow morning?”
“Yes.”
“And you went and bought skates?”
I nodded. “And a bunch of other gear. So I’m broke, and you need to feed me dinner.”
“It says here you can borrow skates and gear,” she pointed out.
“I know, but I really want to make a go of it. If I borrowed gear, it wouldn’t be much of an incentive to stick with it.”
Laughing, she handed the flyer back to me. “You’ve got balls, my friend. I’m impressed. Even if it does get you killed.”
“I’m not going to die the first day,” I said, putting the flyer away.
“I’m pretty sure they call it ‘Fresh Meat’ for a reason,” she teased. “What do you want to eat?”
“The barbecue pizza, please.”
She glared and shook her head. “That’s not what it’s called. Order it correctly.”
I groaned. “May I have please have the barbecue You Want a Pizza Me?”
Chuckling with satisfaction, she looked back at the bartender over her shoulder. “Jimmy, can you put in an order for the barbecue pizza and pour her a Diet Coke?”
He nodded and walked to the kitchen.
My shoulders slumped. “You’re so mean.”
Olivia nudged my arm. “Sounds to me like you’d better toughen up. Why roller derby, Lucy? Is it the guy?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, it started off as the guy, but I want to do it. It looks like so much fun.”
Her brow pinched together. “It seems so unlike you though.”
“I know. I think that’s exactly what I need in my life right now. Anything that is unlike me. I moved here to start a different life, right? There isn’t much further you can get from Riverbend than roller derby. I feel like I need to prove to myself that I can do this. Otherwise, what am I doing here?”
“You just squeezed a whole lot of life meaning into roller skating, Lucy.”
“I know. It’s all very metaphorical. But I really want this.”
She squeezed my hand. “Then do it. I support you a thousand percent.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“Please don’t tell anybody.”
She smirked. “Who am I going to tell? Besides, why the secret?”
My eyes fell to the bar. “Because if I don’t make it, I’d rather people didn’t know.”
She slammed her hand down on the bar, making me jump. “That’s not the attitude of a survivor, Lucy!”
I felt all the eyes in the restaurant on me, and heat rushed to my cheeks.
Olivia pulled two shot glasses from under the counter and put them on the bar. She reached for a bottle of peach schnapps (because she knew I couldn’t handle anything stronger, bless her) and poured the glasses full. She handed one to me and raised hers in the air. I did the same.
“I have all the confidence in the world that you can do anything you set your mind to, Lucy. So here’s to impossible dreams and roller derby!”
She clinked her glass with mine, and with a few patrons around us clapping, I laughed as we drank.
Five
The Rollers’ Sweatshop was a conspicuous charcoal building with the team’s teal, white, and black logo painted five feet high on the front. When I pulled into the gravel parking lot at nine thirty the next morning, I was already hyperventilating. And sweating. I’d spent hours the night before skating around the parking lot of our apartment building, but that hardly qualified me to show up, skates in hand, at roller derby practice. I was far out of my league, and I knew it. My clammy hands were wringing the steering wheel as I sat and watched the other women enter the building.
Two girls walked in side by side, toting big black duffle bags similar to the one laying on my back seat. One of them was a golden brunette, shortish and plump, wearing fitted yoga capris and a gray racerback tank top. Her friend was insanely tall, like Jolly Green Giant tall. She wore a pink cropped sleeveless tee that exposed her midriff and had two blond braids down her back.
Behind them, a slender girl with a familiar face was getting out of an old bright orange Volkswagen Beetle. I realized who she was when she turned toward the door and I saw the skull tattoo on her thigh—Riveter Styx.
Crossing in front of my hood was a group of three. They appeared to all be in their twenties, like me, but they were smiling and confident—not like me. My hand was on the gear shift ready to put my SUV in reverse.
A fist banged against my driver’s side window. I shrieked.
It was Olivia.
I rolled my window down, panting as I tried to catch my breath. “Oh my god!”
She smiled. “Jumpy this morning, are we?”
“You scared the crap out of me. What are you doing here?”
She leaned against my door. “I came for moral support.”
I pointed at her. “You came to laugh at me.”
She shook her head. “That is not true. Since I can borrow skates, I thought I’d try it out with you. You’re my best friend. Can’t let you die alone.”
I smiled. “I’m your best friend?”
She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Don’t get all mushy on me. I haven’t had enough coffee this morning for that shit.” She pulled open my door. “Now, get your ass out of the car.”
I turned off the engine and got out, retrieving my bag before locking the doors. She fell in step beside me as we walked toward the door. “What time did you get home last night?” I asked, remembering I didn’t hear her come in.
“Around two,” she answered.
“And when did you decide you were coming here this morning?”
She grinned as she opened the thick metal door for me. “When I heard you leave and come back in three times this morning.”
“I kep
t forgetting things,” I said and walked past her.
“Sure you did.”
It was loud inside the building. Chatter and rock music echoed off the concrete floor and walls. Collapsible wooden bleachers lined the left and right sides of the room, and they were all pushed in except one set where girls were sitting and chatting. On the front wall and the back, stairs led up to rows of permanent bleachers on the second level. They were empty.
“Hello!” The bright and cheerful voice caused Olivia and me to spin around. A short, thin girl with a lime-green pixie cut was walking toward us wearing sneakers with high tops that stretched halfway up her toned shins. The girl stuck out her hand. “I’m Shamrocker.”
Olivia’s eyes were plastered to the girl’s hair. “Of course you are. Hi, I’m Olivia. This is my friend Lucy.”
Shamrocker shook my hand too. “Hi! Nice to meet you. Are you here for Fresh Meat?”
We both nodded.
“Great!” She licked her index finger and counted out two sheets of paper. “These are your liability forms and details about skater’s insurance. I need you to fill out the forms and give them back to me.”
“Seriously?” Olivia asked.
“Seriously,” Shamrocker said, handing them to us. “Also, here’s a packet of team information and the rules of the game for you to keep. If you decide roller derby is for you, there will be a test before tryouts. All the answers are in these pages, so keep them somewhere safe.”
“How long is the test?” I asked.
“Fifty questions.”
Olivia’s mouth fell open.
“We’re going to have an orientation meeting first, then do some really basic skate training. If you need to borrow gear, it’s in the big black trunk in the cage.” Shamrocker pointed to a makeshift room in the back made of chain-link fencing. “You will need your own mouth guard though. We don’t provide those, and they are mandatory.”
Olivia looked at me and raised her hands. “I guess no tests and skating for me. I don’t have a mouth guard.”
“Oh!” I dropped my bag on the floor and knelt to unzip it. I retrieved my two mouth guards. “I bought two!”
Her face fell. “Excellent,” she murmured.
“Fantastic,” Shamrocker said. She gestured toward the bleachers. “Find a seat. We’ll get started at ten, sharp.”
