Page 103 of False Start
Everyone around us is enveloped in conversation, small groups of skaters catching up and celebrating today’s massive win. Deandra was so upset every time a text from DreadPool updated her on the situation yesterday, I knew there was no way she was going to stay out of it.
Having her here is everything.
It reminds me that Lonnie is still the glue, even though they’re not here anymore. It reminds me that glue has the power to continue to hold even when it dries clear.
“Yeah. She just…” I’m trying to condense love into words that don’t exist, and it fails me. “We just… make sense.”
Kade nods, understanding perfectly somehow. They grab my shoulder. “Well, come over for coffee or something.”
“I’d like that.” I nod.
“What’s your plan for today?” Kade asks, making me hopeful that thereisgenuine forgiveness there and a desire to stay friends.
It means more than I can explain.
“Meeting a new therapist.” I grin awkwardly, like my physically broken head isn’t enough, but the acknowledgement of my mind’s fragility is too embarrassing to admit.
“Love that for you.” They drape an arm over myshoulder and pull me in, dropping a kiss to the top of my head.
“Maybe tomorrow?” I ask, my voice full of optimism.
Kade answers far too seriously. “Only if you bring those cheese bread balls.”
“Deal.”
Four MonthsLater
I’m locking up my office for the day at the junior high when Christa runs into me from behind. “Miss Da Silva, are you done?”
She’s thirteen, a first gen kid, just like me. Her family just moved from a big city, and she’s struggling to fit into this school. She’s one of the reasons I’m glad I chose this degree and grateful I was able to snag this job. At her age, I would have killed for someone like me to give me advice. Kids like her give me even more reason to fight harder for myself.
So I can fight forthemtoo.
I have to show her we can make it.
I don’t know if I would have listened, but I would have still killed for it.
Looking at my watch, I realize it’s ten till one, and though I normally don’t leave until two, I promised Harvey I’d get to the rink in time to help set up the new lights. “Do you need anything?” I ask her, key still in the door, very much ready to re-open so I can help her with whatever she’s dealing with.
“Not today. My mom wanted me to give you this,though.” She pulls out a Tupperware of homemade Argentinian treats from her backpack.
Catch me dead before you catch me turning down an Alfajore.
“Your mother is feeding my soul, Christa!” I moan with delight, clutching the container to my chest like it’s gold.
It’s becoming a common occurrence. She and the few other Latin American kids who frequent my office know food is my love language, and their gratitude always comes in the form of snacks. Quite possibly my favorite job perk.
She gives me an awkward side hug, and I add, “Maybe you can convince her to come to derby tryouts soon.”
Christa laughs and shakes her head. “Mamá says she’ll be skating on two broken legs if she tries. I’ll probably be skating with you beforeshedoes. We’ll be there to watch you tonight, though!”
“We appreciate the support. Stay out of that splash zone,” I joke, like getting too close to the track would likely result in blood splatter stains.
My phone vibrates in my pocket just as I’m walking out of the school.
MEET ME AT HOME
The smile setson my face while I shuffle through my playlist for the perfect song to drive home to. I scroll in the heat of the car, ignoring the sensation until the sweat trickles down my back, and I resort to choosing a song I’ve heard a million times.
