by Megan Sparks
“I don’t get it,” she said, executing a toe stop and frowning. “There were plenty of people at our last bout.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “Do you think maybe it could have anything to do with the fact that there’s a Liberty Heights High soccer game tonight?”
Annie sighed. “I forgot about that.”
“Everybody goes to the home soccer games,” Liz explained, joining them. “I guess you can’t blame them. The team is really good. And there’s a bonfire, and, of course, cheerleaders.”
Ugh. Annie felt a little queasy at the mention of that. Especially since it meant that Kelsey was there, cheering Tyler on.
“Please!” said Holly, rolling her eyes. “We are so much hotter than those Barbie dolls with pom-poms for brains. You’d think people would be breaking down the doors to watch us skate!”
“They might,” said Carmen, shooting her a grin, “if they knew how much cleavage you were showing.”
“Look,” said Liz, “we can worry about drumming up spectators later. But right now, we’ve got a bout to win!”
Liz was right.
The girls skated to the side of the track to await their introductions. Then Jesse’s voice came crackling over the loudspeaker: “Who’s ready for some derby action?”
Well, at least Lexie was! She leaped to her feet and whooped like a crazy person. The other five people in the stands clapped and hollered, but remained seated.
“Here they are, ladies and gentlemen . . . your very own Liberty Belles!” Jesse called out. “Put your hands together for team captain, ElizaDEATH, who’s come back from beyond the grave to entertain us tonight!”
Liz barreled onto the track, waving to the “legions” of fans in the stands.
Spotlight hog that she was, Holly didn’t wait to be announced. Before Jesse could introduce her, she burst out behind Liz and began showing off her moves.
But Jesse didn’t miss a beat. “Crashing the party as always, here comes our resident bad girl, the one and only Holly Terror!”
Holly’s antics managed to fire up the tiny crowd a bit, and Annie took satisfaction in the fact that the Derby Dolls looked intimidated by her teammate’s skills.
“And now,” Jesse said, “here’s the señorita-who-will-beat-ya! Look out, folks, ’cause she’s Carmen Atcha!”
As Carmen skated on, Annie laughed, impressed with Jesse’s clever wit. She wondered what he’d say when her turn came.
“And who needs the police when we’ve got our very own Lauren Disorder?”
When Lauren took to the track, the middle-aged couple went wild. Those are obviously her parents, Annie thought.
Sharmila was next. Jesse made his voice frantic. “The barbarians are attacking! Prepare to be stunned by the stunning Sharmila the Hun!”
Annie was surprised by the weird tug of jealousy she felt hearing Jesse refer to Sharmila as stunning.
It was true, of course — Sharmila was a knockout. So why did Annie feel bothered by hearing it?
But then Jesse was drawling into the mic, “Somebody call Paul Revere! The British are coming! We don’t want no monarchy! We want total Anne R. Key!”
Exhilarated, Annie zoomed onto the track, skating at full speed as the music segued into what Jesse had clearly decided was her personal theme song, “Anarchy in the UK.”
Annie reveled in the rush of air in her face as she pushed herself to go faster; it seemed to be whistling along with the lyrics: “Don’t know what I want but I know how to get it . . .”
Lexie was on her feet again, screaming like crazy, as Annie skated.
After Jesse had introduced the rest of the Belles, he moved on to the Derby Dolls.
Technically, as the announcer, Jesse was supposed to be impartial, but as he rattled off the names of the other team, Annie noticed that his puns weren’t as inspired and his delivery was less enthusiastic.
Good. She liked it that way.
And then the whistle blew and it was time for action.
The lack of fans didn’t seem to hinder the players’ energy levels. The first jam was fast and furious. Liz was pivot and she barked out the strategies, skillfully anticipating their opponents’ next moves. Annie was awed by the way her captain always seemed to be one step ahead of them; she was truly an instinctive player.
For Annie’s part, what she lacked in experience she more than made up for in speed. She easily kept up with the wall, zipping around the track and watching with envy as Holly, jammer extraordinaire, bombed through the pack, dodging the opposing blockers to score again and again.
Lauren, too, was in good form, showing just how powerful she was.
When Annie took her place in the pack for the second jam, she realized that the Derby Dolls’ jammer was in her English class. According to the girl’s T-shirt, her name was Tessa Distress-a.
Annie had only one goal in mind — to block Tessa right into oblivion! With her head down and her bum in the air, Annie resolved to keep Tessa from getting past.
But that meant Annie forgot to check where the rest of the pack was.
“Annie — twenty-foot rule!” Liz’s voice rose in warning above the gravely whirr of the skates on the floor. “Twenty-foot rule!”
Annie looked up and saw that she’d fallen so far behind the other skaters in the pack that she was in danger of violating the rule that said blockers couldn’t be more than twenty feet away from the front or back of the pack. She scrambled to catch up with them but the ref’s whistle screeched.
Pointing an accusing finger at Annie, he barked, “Penalty!”
Annie made her way to the sin bin — where Dad was acting as timekeeper — to serve her one-minute timeout.
After starting the timer on his stopwatch, Dad gave her a little pep talk. “Think of this as a chance to catch your breath and plan your strategy,” he advised. “When I pop a batch of cupcakes in the oven, I use the time they’re baking to brainstorm and come up with new recipes.”
“So you’re comparing me to a cupcake right now?”
Dad grinned. “Yes, I suppose I am!”
Dad’s advice was good. As Annie sat in the penalty box, she devoured the action on the track with her eyes and mind, studying Holly’s and Liz’s expert moves and strategies. Some of the Derby Dolls were worth watching, too.
Her brain ticked as she watched Carmen grab onto Sharmila’s waist, then catapult herself forward.
She watched Holly dodge and weave, as aggressive as a wolf on the hunt, but as graceful as a figure skater.
Finally, Dad’s stopwatch beeped. Annie’s penalty ended and she bolted back out to join the pack.
“Waterfall!” Lauren commanded, reaching out to grab Annie’s hands. Annie caught Lauren’s and held tight, easily blocking the Dolls’ jammer.
And then it was finally Annie’s turn to be jammer.
Her adrenaline rush, along with the mental notes she’d taken while serving time in the penalty box, proved to be a dazzling combination. She racked up point after point after point!
“Anne R. Key scores again!” Jesse announced. The next time she scored, he played the Ramones’ “Blitzkrieg Bop” in celebration of her success.
The Liberty Belles continued to play well for the whole bout.
When the final whistle blew, they’d won! The final score was 111-69 points.
And Annie Turner, aka Anne R. Key, took great pleasure in knowing she’d had a lot to do with it!
The mood in the locker room was bittersweet. The Belles were thrilled to have won so resoundingly, but the fact that there’d been barely anyone there to witness their victory was a major downer.
“So let’s put our heads together,” Liz suggested, “and come up with a way to get some butts in those seats.”
“Derby is about showmanship,” Annie said, thinking out loud. “Maybe we can capitalize
on that.”
“What do you mean?” said Holly, sarcasm dripping from her tone. “In between jams we can tap dance, juggle . . . maybe even hold a sing-a-long?”
“We could do giveaways,” Lauren suggested. “You know, like, the first hundred people in the door get a prize.”
“Like a date with Sharmila?” Carmen said, giggling. “The boys would totally line up for that.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a travel mug with our logo on it,” Lauren admitted.
“Oh, right,” scoffed Holly, “because we have a whole storeroom filled with mugs.” She tugged off her torn T-shirt and flung it into her duffle bag. “Those things cost money, which in case you didn’t notice, we don’t have.”
“Don’t listen to her, Lauren,” Annie said firmly. “It was a good idea.”
“I agree,” said Coach Ritter, appearing from behind a bank of lockers to frown at Holly. “Teamwork doesn’t just count on the track, Holly. So how about a little less negativity and a little more respect for your teammates.”
Holly nodded, chastised.
“Annie, what exactly did you mean by showmanship?” Liz asked. She was removing the elastic band that held her hair in its tight French plait. “That sounded promising.”
“I guess I was thinking we might add some kind of theatrical element,” Annie explained.
“But what?” asked Sharmila. She was using makeup remover to wipe the chalky black and white paint from her face. With half of her skeleton face paint smeared off, Sharmila looked downright terrifying — like a zombie whose face was melting.
Inspiration struck. “Halloween!” cried Annie.
Carmen shrugged. “Yeah, what about it?”
“We can have a special, Halloween-themed bout!” Annie said. “Instead of our usual uniforms, we can wear spooky costumes and go all out with the monster makeup. The audience can come in costumes, too, and we can even give out sweets between jams. I bet Jesse could find some really cool Halloween music!”
Coach Ritter smiled. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
“So do I,” said Liz. “I’ll talk to Allison Daniels. She’s captain of the High Rollers.”
“Well, if she’s anything like her teammate Dee Stroyer,” Lauren cautioned, “you might want to bring along backup.”
“Nah.” Liz smiled. “Allie’s nice. And she’s a really good sport — I’m sure she’ll be up for an exhibition bout.”
“I’ll do everyone’s makeup,” Sharmila volunteered, her gorgeous face now devoid of greasepaint. “Not sure I can make this one any scarier than she already is,” she teased, taking Holly’s chin in her hand, “but I’ll give it my best shot.”
Holly just laughed and stuck out her tongue.
“What about costumes?” asked Lauren. “I was planning to be a cat for Halloween, but something tells me that won’t cut it.”
“I think we should all be the same thing, only different,” said Annie. “Like, say we all dress as vampires. But we can all have an individual persona. Someone can be a nerdy vampire, someone else can be a baby vampire . . .”
“I’ll be a sexy vampire,” said Holly.
Liz laughed. “There’s a surprise.”
“What about the High Rollers?” Liz asked. “I’ll have to tell Allie how they should dress. What do you think they should be?”
“How about witches?” Annie suggested. “After all, that Dee Stroyer’s already halfway there.”
Everyone cracked up at that. As the girls brainstormed ideas for songs, posters, and costumes, any gloom they’d been feeling vanished entirely.
And now Annie was more excited than ever for her first American Halloween.
Lexie’s pencil flew across the paper as though she were possessed.
Annie sipped her hot chocolate and watched in awe as images appeared on the blank page beneath Lexie’s hands. As she had when she made the mural in Rosie Lee’s, Lexie was creating something out of nothing.
And the something was an array of vampire personas.
They were sitting in the kitchen of Annie’s house, which had belonged to her grandparents and, sadly, had not enjoyed a decorating update in decades. Lexie, of course, loved the dated 1980s wallpaper and tile. She called it “retro.” Annie just called it ugly.
“You’re sure you don’t mind designing our costumes for the bout?” Annie asked. Lexie had agreed to do it the moment Annie had asked — in fact she’d accepted before Annie had fully finished speaking. This was the sort of project Lexie lived for. But Annie wanted to be certain she wasn’t taking advantage of her best friend’s time or talents.
“I told you,” Lexie said, flipping her pencil over to erase an errant line. “I want to do it. I’m not usually a joiner, as you know, but this is something I can totally rock.” She blew the rubbings off the page, made her correction, and held up her sketch. “Sexy vampiress,” she announced.
“Lexie!” Annie’s eyes went round with admiration. “That’s brilliant!”
“Not showing too much skin, is it?”
Annie laughed. “You’ve been to bouts before. You know that roller girls aren’t exactly a modest group.”
“Good,” said Lexie, putting down the pad and reaching for her own hot chocolate. “Because this is gonna look amazing on you!”
“Me?” Annie nearly choked on her mouthful of drink. “No. No way. I was thinking I’d be the sporty vampire, or maybe the nerdy one. Definitely not the sexy one. Besides, Holly already called dibs on being the sexy vampire.”
“Dibs?” Lexie rolled her eyes. “What are we, in third grade? What’s she gonna do if you decide to be the sexy one? Refuse to go on the seesaw with you at recess?”
Annie laughed. “Okay, okay, I get it.”
“Besides, Holly may have that whole ‘naughty girl’ thing going on but trust me, she’ll never be able to pull off what I have in mind.” Lexie indicated the bottom half of the drawing. “See? This costume is designed for long legs like yours. Check out the slit up the side.”
Annie squinted at the drawing. “Oh, wow. That is revealing.”
“What’s revealing?” asked Dad, popping in from the family room.
Blushing, Annie snatched the drawing from Lexie and covered the sexy vampire sketch with a napkin.
“Uh, nothing,” Annie said.
“I’m glad you girls are here,” said Dad, going to the fridge to remove a jug of sweet apple cider. “I could use a little help.” As he poured himself a glass, the tart, sweet smell of apples filled the kitchen. “Business, as you know, is not exactly booming. I need to get people into Rosie Lee’s and I need to get ’em there soon.”
“Sounds like Rosie Lee’s and the Liberty Belles are having the same problem,” Lexie observed.
Annie raised her eyebrows. If Lexie even so much as hinted that Annie’s dad should show up at the café dressed as a sexy vampire, she’d kill her!
“Exactly,” said Dad. “And like the Belles, I’m going to try to solve that problem by tapping into the Halloween spirit.” He joined them at the table, sipping his drink.
Dad’s eyes twinkled as he shot a look at Annie. “Tell me, does the high school still throw its annual Halloween dance?”
Annie lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I may have heard something about such an event,” she hedged.
Dad chuckled. “Well, have you two lovely ladies decided which lucky lads are going to have the privilege of escorting you?”
“Uhhh — no.” Lexie wrinkled her nose. “See, I usually make it a point to avoid any teenage social ritual that includes crêpe paper streamers and punch.”
“How about you, String Bean? Do you want to go?”
Yes, I want to go more than anything! I want to go with Tyler Erickson, the most beautiful boy on the planet.
“Hadn’t really given it much th
ought,” Annie said.
“Really?” Dad seemed surprised.
“Well . . .” Annie nonchalantly swirled the chocolatey liquid in her mug. “I mean, maybe if somebody asks me, I’ll think about it.”
“Hmm.” Dad looked as though he might want to say more on the topic, but instead, he turned back to Lexie. “I seem to recall that the trick-or-treating here in Liberty Heights is second to none. Is that still the case?”
“Absolutely,” said Lexie. “People are totally into it. They give out candy by the bucketful. And not those wimpy little fun-size bars, either. The big ones! People practically wage war over who’s got the best decorations. They throw open-house parties and hold pumpkin-carving contests.”
“I was counting on that,” said Dad. “Which is why I’m going to create a whole spook-inspired Halloween menu.”
“Hey, that’s a fabulous idea!” cried Annie. “People will come in to buy treats for their parties, and they’ll probably stay for a scone and a cup of hot chocolate.”
“Or hot mulled cider,” Dad said, smacking his lips as he finished his drink. “I was hoping you two geniuses would have a few ideas for me.”
“Spooky food, huh?” Lexie frowned in thought. “Well, personally, I don’t think there’s anything scarier than my mom’s tofu veggie lasagna, but I don’t think that’s the kind of scary you had in mind.”
“I have an idea,” said Annie. “What if you baked brownies with maraschino cherries in the mix?”
“That’s not scary,” said Dad.
“It is if you call them blood clot brownies!”
“Urg. I believe you’re right.” Dad picked up Lexie’s abandoned pencil, then reached for the napkin that concealed the vampire-meets-glamour-model sketch.
Annie gasped, but luckily, Dad seemed too intent on scribbling “blood clot brownies” on the napkin to notice the risqué drawing. “What else have you got?” he asked.
“Lady fingers,” Lexie proposed. “Ones that look like an actual lady’s fingers, chopped off an actual lady’s hands. You can use red icing to make them really gory.”
“Excellent.”
