23. Ro
Iwiped the sweat from my top lip with the back of my hand. The roller derby tryout was in full swing. I’d cruised through the speed trial, shaving seconds off my best time. Who knew getting your hair caught in your coach’s zipper was such an effective training method? As I’d crossed the line, Brody whooped and hollered like I’d won Olympic gold, and his performance garnered a few sneers from the girls on the team.
One particular woman, with the words “Crazy Cassie” written on her back, tutted extra hard, shaking her curly purple hair at Brody’s fist pumps.
She was the captain of the Scalpers and had a skull and crossbones painted on the back of her helmet, like a pirate flag. From the looks she threw at me, she didn’t have pieces of eight. More like daggers of hate.
We’d now moved onto the main part of the trial, and the coach instructed us on positions and ran us through real game scenarios. He’d mixed the fresh meat in with the team players, and I took my place as a blocker for the first bout. I swallowed down a golfball-sized lump. Never had nine women looked so imposing and so big. I’d never considered myself short, but I belonged in Oz or Willy Wonka’s factory compared to some of these girls.
A whistle blew to start the play. As blockers, our job was to stop the other side’s jammer from scoring. In the middle of the scrum of bodies, the cloying smell of perfume and sweat hung in the air. We huddled together, our shoulders and bodies grating against each other, fighting for position as if being put through a meat grinder.
Crazy Cassie was the jammer for the other side, and after a decent battle, she found a way through our line, catching one of my braids as she went by and giving it a yank. She’d skated well ahead of us and looked back at our pack with a smug grin on her face. My skin prickled. She’d pulled my hair on purpose. What was this? Third grade?
We reset and ran through the play again. For the second time, Crazy Cassie battled through our line as our pivot player shouted instructions in an ear-splitting yell that echoed around the hall. Stuck at the back of the hustle, a sharp pain hit my side, and a flash of pale skin, elbow pads, and purple hair flew past me.
I let out a slew of curse words against the rubber of my gum shield. I’d expected a rough game, but the rules Brody had given me said players couldn’t use elbows as a weapon.
I threw up my arms, waving at the nearest ref. He spotted me and blew the whistle.
“What’s up? You okay?”
I spat my gum shield out into my palm. “I took a definite elbow there, and you didn’t blow a foul.”
He looked at me as if I’d spoken in ancient Sanskrit. Cassie cruised up, stopping in a scrape of wheels against wood. “It’s a tough sport. Accidents happen.”
“That wasn’t an accident,” I ground out, returning her glare with one of my own.
She rested her hands on her hips. “Just what are you insinuating? You can always audition for the circus if you can’t handle the hustle. You’d have an excellent shot in that outfit.”
I opened my mouth, struggling to find a scathing comeback, but she huffed a laugh and waved her arms at me like I was a half-wit. A few of the other girls snickered, too. I drew my brows together. Just what was her problem? I knew the Spitz Hollowers hated Tuft Swallowers, but this was ridiculous.
The ref shook his head. “Ladies, let’s be civil. Cassie, keep your elbows to yourself. And Flock, if you need to take a break, don’t stop the play. Just take a knee.”
Cassie cackled. “Flock? More like Schlock. But you’re probably used to getting on your knees.” She nodded at Brody, who sat in the first row of the bleachers. He was deep in conversation with Dean Millan, not paying any attention to the action. With a smirk, Cassie glanced back at me before winking and skating off around the track.
Blood simmered in my veins, but before I could take off after her, find out why the hell she was being such a bitch, the ref blew his whistle. He swapped up the positions and reset the gameplay. Another player handed me the Jammer helmet cover, which had a white star on it. My lips bowed. I’d be in the driver’s seat this time.
We took our positions, and I waited in the Jammer’s spot behind the pack. The minute the whistle blew, I skated forward into a wall of women. I’d never known the meaning of the expression “log jam,” but being wedged behind the skaters had to be pretty close. Crazy Cassie was there in the thick of it, yelling instructions to her team. Ordering them to shut me down. I pushed and battled as hard as I could, but the Jammer from the other team got free first and skated out, doing a lap of the track just to rub in my inadequacy.
The ref blew his whistle again, and we lined up for another play. One of the other newbies turned to face me, a sneer on her lips. “I heard you’re from Tuft-Town.” It was one of Spitz Hollow’s names for my home. “You’re brave to come here. Why don’t you have your own team?”
“Yeah!” shouted Cassie. She’d organized her pack, positioning herself nearest to me. “You could call yourself the Tuft Swallow Turnips.”
I clamped my teeth shut, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. Ms. Crazy was plain mean, but I wasn’t about to let her rattle me. Put me off my game. I was here to show the manager what I could do. Show myself what I could do.
The whistle blew again, and the game was on. Immediately, Cassie was up in my face, blocking every attempt to get past. It was like going up against an octopus with eight arms. She was everywhere at once. A low growl brewed in my chest, and after sucking in a breath, I stopped, pulled away, and skated backward for one stride. Once I’d cleared the pack, Cassie eyed me, heading straight in my direction. I waited until she was almost on me before stepping to my left, spinning out, and leaving the other players for dust as I whipped around the huddle. I hadn’t had to use my elbows.
The squeal of the whistle reset the play. Cassie had lost her smirk, replacing it with a tight jaw. A second time, I waited until the tiniest gap presented itself. Then, like a shot, I took advantage, skating backward before executing a tight pirouette and pulling out of the scrum of bodies.
At the scrape of my wheels on the floor, I grinned. Even Mom would’ve loved that move. I turned to find Brody, pumping a fist in his direction, but he wasn’t looking. He just sat in the bleachers on his phone. His face was ashen and drawn.
My chest ached at the sight. He wasn’t watching me. Wasn’t he proud? Gritting my teeth, I almost set off across the rink to ask him, but a shout went out, pulling my attention. All heads flipped to Dean Millan. He strode toward us across the track, all sports jacket and glossy curls. If I got onto the team, I’d have to ask him what conditioner he used.
“I want Rowena on the offense again. She’s got some impressive skills. Cassie, cover her. One on one.”
My breath skittered in my chest. Millan wanted me and roller derby’s answer to Blackbeard to go up against each other? Cassie gave me a surly scoff and took up a position in front of me. Her eyes burned with something I couldn’t place, but as soon as the whistle sounded, she took off in my direction, looking like she’d plow into me and trail my insides all the way to the door.
With my heart thundering in my chest, I waited until the last second before I took a stride, pulled away, and then used one of Brody’s hockey stops. Cassie grinned. She had two choices, left or right, and I had to guess which way she’d turn to chase me down. Cassie chose left, so I pushed off to the right just in time to clear her and her trailing leg with a sweet single-axle jump. As I landed, I threw in some ballerina arms. Was I being a show pony? You bet I was. This girl was next-level vindictive, and I had no idea why.
The second I landed the jump, cheers and a couple of whistles rang out from the new intake, and I turned to them with a grin. Dean Millan stood looking on, a huge smile on his face. He clapped his hands together as if they were on fire. I looked to find Brody at the side of the bleachers, but he was gone. I raked my eyes over the room. There was no sign of him anywhere.
The coach blew his whistle, and the whirr of the fans replaced the chatter in the room. “Okay, ladies. I think we have all we need. Thanks for coming out today. You’ve all done a great job. Now, head to the showers. We’ll be in contact.”
Pockets of skaters formed as they headed toward the locker room, talking about the trial. I stood on the outskirts of the action and removed Brody’s helmet. I didn’t want to be in the thick of things just yet. Pirate wench Cassie had given me a solid eye roll after my stunt, and if hanging back meant I wouldn’t run into her, I’d happily stand here in a sweaty puddle.
Besides, I didn’t have any soap or a towel, thanks to Brody”s text-induced memory lapse. If I wanted to wash off, I’d have to rely on good old-fashioned water and toilet paper. It”s not the best look when trying to win over a tough crowd.
When the other skaters cleared out of the arena, I took a slow roll across to the locker room. Gripping the door frame, I craned my neck to assess the action inside. I couldn’t see anyone. Hopefully, the other ladies hit the showers or were smartening up in the mirrors. All I wanted to do was get out of my grungy outfit without being spotted.
I skated back to the bench where I’d left my bag. As I sat, the sweat-slicked back of my legs slid against the wood. With a sigh, I ripped at the velcro of my borrowed pads, shedding them on the side. The thrum of water drumming on tiles vibrated through the air, but after a time, my ears adjusted to hear voices punctuating the sound of the deluge.
“Well, you’d think she’d be a bit more subtle.”
I froze, and an icy shiver ran over my body.
“I know, right? And to wear his helmet. She wasn’t exactly flying under the radar.” Whoever spoke put on a childish voice. “Sign me up. I’m Brody Flockhart’s girl. I’ll get the team more publicity.” Giggles followed the words. “Millan’s so transparent.”
“Maybe that’s what you get when you hold Flock’s helmet.”
A mass of cackles reverberated around the locker room, and I clamped my jaw. I’d recognize the loudest anywhere. It belonged to Cassie. I swallowed a bitter taste and glanced down at Brody’s silver headgear. I didn’t want her, or anyone, to think the only reason I’d earn a spot was because he’d come along with me today.
The noise of the water lessened, and another voice joined the chatter. “It looks like we have ourselves a new member in the A-team.”
“What do you mean?” asked another.
“I just spoke to Millan. He said he wanted to sign the one in the tatty dress. The Tuft Swallow chick. Said she could skip the reserve teams. He wants her in with us straight away.”
I sucked in a breath. Had I impressed him that much? I’d done well, but I expected to work my way up if I got a spot. A warm glow made its way up my body. Getting signed to the first team was crazy!
“Well, it’s no surprise how she got there.” The voice was Cassie’s. “Didn’t you see Millan swooning over Flockhart? They must have worked something out. He must have got her on the team. Sure, she has a few skills, but it’s obvious she’s being signed because she’s the Flock Boy’s latest Flock.”
Laughter filled the air once more, and my face burned hot. I needed to speak to Brody. See if what they said was true. Millan had hinted he was after a new coach. After Brody. Was I really the deal sweetener? He’d never give up his spot in Denver, but who knew what he’d do in a few years?
Without changing out of Mom’s dress, I shouldered my bag and picked up Brody’s helmet, coming to stand on my wheels before hearing yet another voice.
“Well, she can add her name to a long list of others. My friend has flocked him, too.” A stream of laughter bounced off the tiles, tearing holes in my chest.
“And I have a cousin in Denver that’s been in his bed. I guess he flocked her as well.”
My gut tugged, and beads of perspiration pebbled on my top lip. Hearing those words just about tore my heart out. They were talking about my friend. About the man who’d rocked my world only nights ago. The one I couldn’t get out of my head or my heart.
I didn’t want to hear what they were saying. Didn’t want to know. But was I really surprised? I was under no illusion about Brody’s past, but I couldn’t be on a team with someone whose friends or family had “flocked” the guy I wanted to flock.
Ignoring another burst of conversation, I skated back out to the arena. Only a few stragglers remained, Mr. Millan being one of them, but I still couldn’t see Brody. Where the hell was he? I completed a circuit of the track before heading back toward the parking lot.
A cry of “Rowena” followed me. It was Millan. But I didn’t have time to chat. I needed to find Brody. Get some answers.
I stepped over the lip of the door. The heat of the day barreled into me like a freight train. My front wheels hit a stone, and I skittered a little, holding onto the wall for support. Why had I thought keeping my skates on was a good idea? I guess I could blame extenuating circumstances, but a perfectly good pair of sneakers sat in the bottom of my bag.
I dug a hand deep inside my tote, searching for my kicks, but something on the other side of the lot grabbed my attention. Leaning in, I squinted into the sunlight.
It was Brody. He stood next to his blue Mustang, deep in conversation with someone. He flung his arms wide as if describing something, but when the other person shook their head, a deep-red mass of curls followed it.
All the breath left my body. It was the same woman he’d met in Tuft Swallow. The touchy-feely one with the perfect skin. I stepped back into the doorway, out of sight. I didn’t want Brody to think I was keeping tabs on who he talked to. And that’s all they were really doing, right? Chatting. Just like before. Still, I couldn’t lose the burn in my throat at seeing him with another woman.
I watched them for what felt like a lifetime. His brow furrowed, and his shoulders slumped as she patted his arm. I mean, it was all very PG, but the minute he brought his eyes up to meet hers and she reached out and touched him, a wave of nausea crashed over me.
I sucked in a shuddering breath, holding it tight in my throat, willing the bile pooling in my mouth to stay in my stomach. I wanted to scream out. Tell him to fight her off, but he threaded his arms around the woman’s body and pulled her into a tight hug.
What the actual hell? Brody. My Brody was holding another woman the way he’d held me less than twenty-four hours ago. On the same day we were supposed to finally talk about our feelings for each other. I could sprint over and pry the two of them apart. After all he’d said, surely he couldn’t want her? But as I stood alone at the door, Brody lifted his head and pressed his lips to her forehead, closing his long, fair lashes.