Chapter 29 Eleanor
ELEANOR
Ihad barely put the van in park when my phone buzzed with my agent’s name.
My heart jumped. Good news? Bad news? Agents rarely call unless it’s . . . something.
I swiped to answer. “Hi, Len?”
“Eleanor!” he said, sounding downright giddy. “I’ve got news. Good news.”
I clutched the steering wheel. “Okay . . . ?”
“You’ve got two offers,” he said. “Both solid. I emailed you the details. And one of them is offering a three-book contract for the derby girl.”
I blinked. Hard.
“Three more . . . books?” My voice cracked halfway up the octave. “They want THREE MORE?”
“Well . . . yes,” he said with a laugh. “It seems your little roller derby girl hit a nerve. In the best way.”
I pressed my hand to my forehead. “Len, that could . . . I mean, that could change everything.”
“It could,” he said warmly. “Look over everything today. We can talk tonight or tomorrow morning before you decide.”
We hung up, and I sat for a good twenty seconds staring at my phone like it might sprout wings and fly away.
Three more books. Two offers. An actual chance to get Ava and me out of this house.
Hope bloomed so strongly it felt like sunlight in my lungs.
I practically floated into the house.
Belle was in the kitchen, earbuds in, dancing in small, silly shoulder movements while unloading the dishwasher. I leaned against the doorway until she spotted me.
“Hey, girl!” she chirped. “You’re smiling so big I can see your molars. What’s up?”
I opened my mouth, then covered it with both hands and let out a little squeal. A literal squeal. I hadn’t done that since I was a teenager.
Belle’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, now I need the tea. Spill.”
“I got two offers,” I said, shaking my hands like the joy physically had to go somewhere, “and one of them wants THREE more derby girl books.”
Belle’s jaw dropped. “Shut up.”
“I will not shut up,” I laughed. “I’m—Belle, I’m going to cry.”
She launched herself at me, hugging tight, hopping us both side to side. “This is HUGE! Oh my god, El, this is everything!”
“I know,” I whispered, overwhelmed in the best way. “We could . . . actually leave. I could actually afford something just for us.”
She pulled back and cupped my cheeks. “You worked your butt off for this. You deserve it.”
I laughed when she pretended to wipe a tear from her own eye with a dramatic flourish.
“So,” she said, releasing me and leaning on the counter. “How’s derby training? Ready to kick ass at tryouts?”
I groaned. “I think so? I mean, I can skate backward and stop without flailing like a baby giraffe, so that’s good. I’m still . . . terrified of taking hits.”
“You’ll be fine,” Belle said, waving her hand dismissively. “Just think of all your pent-up mom frustration. You’ll be unstoppable.”
I snorted. “You’re not wrong.”
We were laughing when I suddenly felt something shift in the air, colder, tighter.
Belle’s eyes flicked upward. “Um . . . incoming.”
I turned.
My mother stood in the doorway like she’d been carved out of frost.
I screamed. A genuine, undignified yelp.
“Eleanor.” Her voice was sharp, even. “Stop being so dramatic.”
My heart pounded. “Mom, you startled me.”
She stepped further into the kitchen, her expression softening by exactly zero percent. “I wanted to tell you that your sister is coming to the show tomorrow.”
“Oh,” I said, teeth clenched so hard I might crack a molar. “Good. Stacey’s coming.”
“Yes,” my mother replied. “She rearranged her schedule for it.”
Of course. Because heaven forbid Stacey not make her grand appearance at something involving applause.
“And,” my mother continued, “we’ll all be riding together.”
“Great,” I said, smiling a smile that felt stapled to my face.
She nodded once, sharply, and swept out of the kitchen like a general inspecting troops.
Belle slowly turned toward me. “How . . . how does she do that?”
“It’s a gift,” I muttered, rubbing my forehead. “A horrifying, soul-sucking gift.”
Belle barked a laugh, then sobered. “Hey. Tomorrow is about the kids. And Ava. Not them.”
I nodded. “You’re right.”
Because she was. Opening night was for the joy and pride in the work these kids had poured into this show. And no icy mother or judgmental sister was going to take that from me.
As soon as Belle disappeared toward the laundry room, I headed upstairs to my room, my little sanctuary, even if it didn’t feel like one most days.
My laptop blinked awake when I opened it. Two new emails from Mark sat at the top of my inbox, subject line: DERBY GIRL OFFERS — DETAILS ATTACHED.
My heart thudded.
I clicked the first.
Big publisher. Big money. Huge reach.
It was the kind of offer authors dream about. One of those names that made bookstore owners perk up. My breath caught.
Then I clicked the second.
Less money. But . . . Scholastic.
The word hit me right in the chest.
Scholastic. Book fairs. School libraries. The same newsprint catalogs I used to pore over as a kid, circling books and hoping Mom would say yes, the smell of those wire racks and cheap erasers, and the feeling that books were magic.
The idea that my derby girl, my fierce, brave, roller-skating little hero, could be on those shelves?
Maybe money wasn’t everything.
Maybe impact mattered too.
I was still smiling at the screen when—
“Eleanor, a word.”
I shrieked.
Loud . . . .Again.
My mother stood in the doorway like she’d emerged from the walls. Honestly, she needed a bell.
“Goodness, Eleanor,” she said, eyes narrowing. “There’s no need to overreact.”
“I’m not overreacting,” I said, pressing a hand over my heart. “You startled me . . . again.”
She pursed her lips, like my startle response was a personal failure. “I’d like you to go out to brunch on Saturday.”
“Saturday?” I echoed. “After opening night?”
“Yes. With Stacey and Ava. I already made reservations at Donahue’s Tea Room.”
A cold dread slid down my spine. Donahue’s. The fanciest, stiffest restaurant in town. The place with tiny cucumber sandwiches and scones that tasted like sawdust.
“I’ll have to see how Ava’s feeling after the performance,” I said gently. “She might not be up for it.”
“She’ll be fine,” Mom answered crisply. “This is important.”
I swallowed. “Okay, Mom.”
She nodded approvingly and drifted away down the hall like a particularly judgmental ghost. As soon as she was out of sight, my heart began thudding for a different reason entirely.
Does she know? Did she overhear Belle and me talking about the book offers? About leaving? About . . . anything?
No. She couldn’t have. She would’ve been far colder, far more passive-aggressive if she had.
Still, the dread crawled under my skin like a chill I couldn’t shake.
I forced myself to breathe and sat back at my desk. Work would help. Focus would help.
I reread the offers, weighed pros and cons, and tried desperately to ignore the whispering worry that Mom felt me slipping away . . . and didn’t intend to let me go.
Finally, I shut my laptop and grabbed my keys.
Time to pick Ava up from school.
Things went on as normal in the house until the next day.
I’d spent most of the day trying to stay out of the house, running errands, grabbing coffee, walking around the park, anything to avoid the frostbite-inducing presence of my mother and the added emotional hazard of Stacey.
But now? Now, I was exactly where I wanted to be.
The backstage hallway hummed with the frantic, joyful chaos of opening night. Kids darted around in half-costumes, volunteers pinned and zipped and fluffed, and someone in the orchestra pit played the same four bars of music over and over like they were trying to hypnotize us.
I checked my costume rack for the fifteenth time, making sure every ribbon was tied, every hem straight, every accessory accounted for. The theater buzzed with that electric energy, nerves and joy, fear and excitement blending into something sparkling.
I looked across the stage toward the prop table, automatically searching for Alex . . . but instead, there was a familiar blonde bob.
Becca.
She glanced up, spotted me, and immediately brightened.
“Eleanor!” she said, waving as she walked over, clipboard in hand.
I swallowed my brief, ridiculous disappointment and smiled. “Hey!”
She leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m on props tonight. Alex wanted to be out in the audience to actually watch the show for the first time, so we’re switching tomorrow.”
“Oh,” I said, trying not to sound too eager or too relieved. “That’s . . . nice.”
“He’s so excited,” she said warmly. “Leo’s been bouncing off the walls since breakfast.”
I laughed. “That sounds about right.”
Becca tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re doing great with the costumes, by the way. Everything looks amazing. You’ve really helped bring this whole show to life.”
A flush of pride warmed my cheeks. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Across the room, Leo bounced in place, flapping his hands with excitement. Becca sighed. “Okay, I'd better go continue my reign of backstage chaos management.”
“Good luck,” I said with a grin.
“You too!”
She hurried off, blending into the whirl of kids and volunteers.
The lights in the house dimmed to half-darkness, the telltale sign that we were minutes away from curtain. My stomach fluttered with nerves for the kids. For Ava.
Speaking of . . . A small presence pressed into my side.
I looked down.
Ava stood there in her costume, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes bright, hands tucked into her sleeves. Before I could speak, she leaned in and hugged me.
A hug. A public hug. Rare and precious.
I cupped the back of her head and kissed her hairline, soaking the moment in like sunlight. “Break a leg, baby.”
She pulled back and gave me a tiny smile, the kind that only showed up when she felt safe. “Thanks, Mom.”
Then she turned and followed the rest of the cast toward their places as the stage manager called out, “Places! PLACES!”
The house lights dimmed to black.
A hush fell over the theater.
And then, just like that, it was showtime.