Robbin' the Rich on Skates

1. Robin

ROBIN

There was nothing quite as nostalgic as the neon lights and disco ball of a roller rink.

Which, honestly, was one of the reasons I loved it so much.

Pop music thumped through speakers that had survived at least two owners and one electrical fire.

Some kids clung to the wall rail for dear life.

While teenagers tried to show off in the center lane.

Someone’s little brother was weaving through traffic like he had a death wish.

This Thursday wasn’t a typical night of derby practice. Tonight, the Reapers were in full effect for a community open skate.

I adjusted the velcro on my wrist guard as I weaved in and out of the crowded skate floor, wheels humming against the polished wood as I looped around the outside of the rink with the Grimm Reapers, clustered nearby like a flock of glittered vultures in fishnets and tiny shorts.

Belle skated beside me first. Her bright grin flashed beneath dark lipstick as she helped a terrified little girl keep her balance.

She looked soft in the way people underestimated, right before she hip-checked them into another dimension.

Purple streaks ran through her curls tonight, matching the wheels on her skates.

“Bend your knees, honey,” Belle told the girl. “You lock your legs, and the floor senses fear.”

The kid gasped. “The floor can sense fear?”

“Oh absolutely.”

“Belle,” I sighed.

“What? I’m building character.”

Ahead of us, Mel blew her whistle with the exhausted authority of a woman who had accepted she was permanently responsible for chaos.

Her brown skin gleamed beneath the rink lights, her hair piled into two puffs as she skated backward through traffic with practiced ease.

Tattoos wrapped around her powerful arms as she pointed sharply toward two teenage boys roughhousing near the center.

“If you take out a child,” Mel barked, “you become part of the floor.”

“See?” Belle told the little girl. “The floor hungers.”

I snorted.

To my left, Slayerella, Eleanor off track, glided past with the effortless grace of someone who’d been skating for years even though she’d only been a reaper for about five months.

She wore black leggings, glitter eyeliner, and the kind of smile that looked genuinely happy.

It still hit me sometimes that not long ago she’d looked like someone waiting for permission to exist. Now she laughed loudly, skated hard, and occasionally swore like a construction worker when she got competitive.

We rolled past the concession stand where Gina leaned against the counter, holding court like the patron saint of bad decisions and mozzarella sticks. Her bedazzled cat-eye glasses matched the rhinestones on her rink t-shirt.

“Robin!” she yelled over the music. “Tell these tiny murder children to stop skating behind the counter!”

“That sounds like a management problem.” I laughed and cut toward the middle lane, weaving easily through the other skaters. Derby had taught me how to move through chaos with ease.

The Grimm Reapers spread across the rink around me in flashes of fishnets, tattoos, pads, bright wheels, and loud personalities.

We looked ridiculous together sometimes, like Hot Topic had unionized.

But beneath all the glitter and sarcasm was something solid.

A found family held together with derby, mutual blackmail, and unconditional support.

I nearly collided with the human equivalent of a golden retriever in glitter wheels.

She popped into my path near the rental counter with bright copper curls piled into messy space buns, and enough nervous energy to power a small city.

Freckles dusted across her cheeks, and she wore ripped denim shorts over neon tights with a faded band tee that said Girls Bite Back across the front.

She caught herself before crashing into me completely.

“Oh my god, sorry,” she blurted. “I swear I’m actually a good skater. I just got distracted. Did you know your backwards crossovers are insane?”

I blinked at her, trying to keep up with how quickly she was talking. “Thanks.”

She beamed like I’d handed her a puppy.

“I’m Ariel,” she chimed as she shoved her hand towards me.

I shook it skeptically. “Robin.”

“I know.”

That stopped me.

She immediately noticed my expression and waved both hands frantically. “Not in a weird stalker way. I just came to one of your bouts a few weeks ago and everyone was yelling your name when you almost murdered that jammer from Cincinnati.”

“Ah,” I said. “Yeah, that was a good time.”

Her grin widened.

She was definitely a lot, but there was something about her that I liked.

“A bunch of the Reapers were talking to people earlier, and I recognized you.” She tucked a curl behind one ear. “You guys are kind of famous around here.”

“Locally infamous maybe.”

“Same thing.”

Not really, but who was I to say?

She rolled alongside me as we drifted toward the edge of the rink, startlingly comfortable talking to a stranger.

Most people eased into conversation with me carefully.

I don’t know if it was the tattoos and eyeliner or if there was something innately intimidating about me, but I liked that it generally kept the small talk away.

Ariel cannonballed directly through social boundaries like they were mere suggestions.

“I just moved here recently,” she said. “And honestly this place feels...” She looked out over the rink where Belle was dramatically fake-falling to make a nervous little kid laugh. “I don’t know. Safe.”

The word landed heavier than she probably intended.

I watched her more carefully then. She was young.

Early twenties… maybe. Trying very hard to seem upbeat.

There were worn laces on her skates and a fraying backpack near the benches I saw her with earlier.

I wasn’t sure if I was picking up the clues or not, but I got the sense there was more to her story.

“You skate derby before?” I asked.

“A little. Mostly open skates. I’ve never been on an actual team before.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t join where I used to live.”

I could read between those lines.

“And now?” I asked.

Her entire face lit up. “I want to be a Grimm Reaper so bad.”

The sheer sincerity nearly made me laugh.

“That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea.” She leaned closer like she was confessing state secrets. “You guys look cool and terrifying yet... emotionally supportive.”

“That’s accurate.”

“And everybody here looks like themselves.” Her voice softened slightly. “Like really themselves.”

Before I could respond, she rushed ahead again, words tumbling out fast.

“Actually, I was going to ask if the rink is hiring?” She nodded toward the concession stand and rental counter. “I need a job. And I’m staying Lantern House right now, which has been amazing, but I can tell they’re stretched pretty thin and I want to get my own place eventually.”

There it was. She wasn’t just bubbly, but maybe scared, and trying not to be. Lantern House was an LGBTQ shelter that helped people who had been kicked out get on their feet.

I crossed my arms loosely and studied her for another second while she shifted nervously on her skates for the first time since we started talking.

She was too open for my personal comfort level.

Too earnest. Too willing to hand people pieces of herself right away.

That usually triggered every warning bell in my body, but there was something genuine about her.

Like she’d spent a long time being told she was too much and decided to survive anyway.

I sighed.

“Come on.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“I’m introducing you to Mel before I remember I enjoy silence.”

Ariel gasped dramatically. “Oh my god.”

“You’re making it worse.”

“You’re helping me while insulting me. This is exactly the vibe I wanted from derby.” She bounced slightly, clapping next to me.

“That says concerning things about your standards.”

She laughed brightly and followed me across the rink while I tried very hard not to already like her.

“Hey, Mel,” I called as she turned towards us.

Ariel gasped next to me “Mel-icious Intent!”

Mel chuckled. “That’s me, what can I do for you?”

“I’m Ariel. I just moved to the area, and I love the Grimm Reapers. Like love the Grimm Reapers. I want to be one so bad, but I was wondering, well, Robin said you run the roller rink, do you have any openings?” she said all in one big breath.

“I do, come talk to me,” Mel said, skating with Ariel over to a quieter corner.

I made my way back onto the floor. The music played, and I skated. All things considered, Ariel should have annoyed me. I don’t do well with the untrained puppy energy, but there was something about her I liked, and if she was staying at Lantern House, she just might need the Reapers.

The next evening I drove to my parents’ house with Paramore playing softly through my speakers, and absolutely zero work stress in my body.

One of the many perks of being an accountant in the off-season was that nobody cared what I was doing right now as long as tax season didn’t explode later.

I’d spent most of the day working from home in sweatpants, answering three emails, updating a spreadsheet, and absolutely destroying zombies in Project Undead while half-listening to a finance podcast.

Rain drizzled lightly across Briar Glen as I turned down the familiar tree-lined streets toward my parents’ neighborhood.

My windshield wipers moveds in a lazy rhythm.

And somehow, I was still thinking about Ariel, which was ridiculous.

I’d talked to her for maybe twenty minutes.

But there had been something about the way she said she was staying at Lantern House that lodged under my skin.

Maybe because the name always brought back memories of Lila.