CHAPTER 18 #2
I don’t have money backing me. Just myself and mom’s moral support.
Not wanting to argue, I reply, “If you can give me some extra hours, I would really appreciate it.”
She sighs, giving me the look of will you ever learn.
“Alright, I’ll see what I can do.” I pull in to hug her pale green and white striped apron tightly.
“Only on one condition.” I pull back apprehensively.
“You promise me you’ll do one thing each month that’s for you.
Something that has nothing to do with skating.
A party, going out with your friends, a date.
I mean it, Ana. You need to enjoy your life. ”
Enjoy my life? I’m just trying to survive it.
I nod, realizing I’m lying more to myself than I am to her. “Okay.”
_________
Polishing a bucket of silverware, my eyes peek over at my phone, probably the tenth time this past hour, hoping I can leave for the rink soon.
Closer, only half an hour left.
I pour myself a small cup of green tea, needing the extra caffeine.
Coffee would be my drink of choice, but lately, it just makes me more jittery before a skate.
Employees aren’t allowed to eat or drink while on the job, so I sneak out into the hallway by Zoe’s office.
My lips barely touch the steamy rim of the hot mug in my palms when the front door rattles, bustling in a group of noticeably tipsy Faerieladle frat boys.
Taking a deep breath, I accept the fact that my minute long break will have to be rescheduled. It’s late, and I’m the only person here besides the cook and one other employee covering the other side of booths.
I grab my notepad and make my way toward their table. The chattering echoes louder the closer I reach them, wishing I had a pair of earplugs with me.
“Welcome to Rudy’s. Can I start you guys with any drinks?”
A shaggy blonde sitting on the edge of the booth inches closer toward me. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing working in a place like this?” His pupils are dilated and breath pungent. I try to take a subtle step back.
“Can I take your order?” I redirect, clenching down on my teeth.
“Would you come with it?” He smooths his tongue over his top lip.
Do not punch this man. You need this job.
“I’m really sorry,” a platinum blonde beside the window seat interrupts. “He’s drunk.”
The sleazeball to my right ignores his friend’s apology. “I’ll have the cheeseburger, extra cheese. And keep the fries coming, sweet cheeks.”
Currently, I’m trying not to puncture a hole right through my notepad, while writing the rest of their orders down, when I feel a squeeze down my spine.
Actually, on my ass. It happened so fast, it just registered to me where.
I look up at the rest of the table to see if anyone else noticed, how could they not?
But most of the group are either tipsy or drunk, except for the one guy that now gives me a look of I’m sorry even though it does absolutely nothing to make me feel better.
Guilt overflows my system, reminded that this isn’t the first time this has happened to me during a Thursday night shift at the diner.
But I need this job.
_________
Pulling up to the rink’s parking lot, I hear a buzz in my gym bag. It’s a new message, and when I focus on the recipient, I find,
Unknown:
Stay away from Troy you whore
The first time someone called me a whore, it was on social media, and I had just turned 14. I cried for 15 minutes in the guest bathroom at Naomi’s house.
Coach Yamamoto noticed the puffiness around my eyes when I returned, teaching me from that point on, this would become a recurrence.
She had said they were faceless distractions to kick me off the balance beam, the metaphor she went with at the time.
The Academy never came with no strings attached, and those strings have only exponentiated since.
The girl who hadn’t had her first kiss yet, who was still a child, was called a whore.
Yes, people will tell you anything they want and expect you to take it.
Now the word “whore” feels like a needle pricking at numb skin. I feel something, but I don’t know how to feel.
And I hear it online almost every day.
I look down at my phone again, this time the clock gaining my attention. 2 am. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Practice with Troy, a shift at the diner, and brainstorming paper ideas in between, I really should go home.
Glancing back and forth between the faint glow from the rink’s windows and the worn out engine of my car, I let out a conflicted sigh.
Just an hour.
I quickly grab my bag before I can change my mind because this is my time, time for myself.
Aware of the fact that my alarm will be waking me up in less than three hours, I’m reminded, again, how unintelligent this is.
But I have to get on the ice again. It’ll quiet the doubts that have set since everything turned upside down.
It wasn’t like things were going smoothly before either, and in these times, I’m more inclined to skate, needing it like air.
Grateful that I have a spare key gifted to me from Naomi, who will only tell me she’s got the special connections. And it’s true. Naomi has a superpower when it comes to making new friends. She probably got the keys from a staff member at the rink who was somehow tricked into giving it to her.
The key works, and within minutes I’m in the rink. Lacing up my skates and reaching the ice, my lungs relax around the cold air.
Finally.