Page 14 of False Start
Scottie Crocodile walks through the doors next, donning a tracksuit that has him resembling a mafia boss, a notebook in one hand and his phone squeezed between his ear and his shoulder. He waves without looking in our direction before heading straight for what used to be Lonnie’s office. It reminds me to lock the door next time.
Something about him sitting there, acting like he’s welcome in Lonnie’s space, bothers the absolute hell out of me. My teeth squeak from grinding together.
“You need to skate.Now.” They’re Morgan’s first words to me today, and there’s no kindness behind them.
It feels like we’re all running out of it lately.
But I get the gist: stop obsessing over the awful man that’s already making my life a living hell. I can do that; I just need to direct that hate elsewhere.
As if the universe is answering my request, Nia fucking Death walks through the double doors, biting her stupid lip and looking uncomfortable.
“Hi.” She waves awkwardly, dark circles beneath her eyes as they scan over the rink, like she’s yet to really take it in since her return.
`It’s probably exactly the same as the day she left. Lonnie Green wasn’t a fan of change, and there had never been aneedto alter Skateland. But of course, just as I givebirth to the thought, men in paint-covered overalls walk in, carrying ladders and painting equipment.
Scott is literally pissing all over us.
So like a man to arrive and, within minutes, demand we change our entire world to suit him, to force that change just to assert the fact that he can.
As he steps out of the office, Scott nudges Nia with his shoulder, gesturing to the painters as they go back and forth a few times in discussion. A weak smile graces her face before she turns away and tosses her bag on the floor to gear up.
“Stare hard enough, and she might feel you fingerbanging her with your eyes.” Morgan’s sarcastic tone comes from behind me, thankfully not loud enough to carry too far.
It doesn’t need to, though; it’s only meant for me to hear, and that’s enough to piss me off. I hit them with a less-than-amused look, and they move quickly, skating backwards and keeping their front to me with their hands raised in defense.
That scrawny thing isn’t even my type. I like women who don’t need to be looked after, who are strong enough to ask for help but rarely need it.Thatgirl oozes insecurities from every single pore in her body, and I’m not even sure she can hold up the weight of her gear without falling over.
To avoid slipping into a worse mood, I skate through the track until I stand in front of Lonnie’s door—the door to their apartment. It’s a little studio in the back of the rink with no exit to the outdoors and just enough room for Lonnie to get by. A sofa-couch, a table to eat on, and a kitchen to cook out of. I’m pretty sure they showered in the locker rooms.
Reaching over the door and feeling for the key on theledge of the trim, I pull it down, wiping the dust from my fingers before inserting it into the keyhole. Stale air hits my nostrils. It’s been at least four weeks since anyone’s been in here to turn on a fan or open the window that vents out to the track.
There’s no sound at all in the little apartment, not a whirring of a fridge or a small sizzle of a light. Everything is turned off. Even their home feels dead now. Lonnie was my best friend. From the minute I arrived in Devil Town, I clung to them, and within days of knowing me, they had thrown a pair of rental skates on my feet and convinced me to join in on a practice.
A natural, Lonnie called me.
They had this incredibly warm, nurturing energy about them, and yet at the same time, they weren’t afraid to dish out the truth like it was. There was a gaping hole inside my chest without them, and it felt like I was rotting at the edges, the grief consuming me.
A type of anger that feels so empty, it begs to be filled.
Dust particles float in the air, frozen, suspended in time.
Just like me.
Everything’s wrong.
I’m zoned out, staring at a floating speck, and I don’t hear her coming. I feel her presence there, looming like she’s not sure whether to knock with the door open. I say nothing, don’t acknowledge her, though she’s certainly hard to ignore.
Just being around her makes me angry. Infuriated. It’s not just about the jammer position, though that has a hell of a lot to do with it.
Lonnie trusted her, loved her like family.
I fail to see why, when she wasn’t here when it counted.
A few seconds pass, and she comes in anyway. The muffled tapping of her feet on the floor is barely audible with her socks on. It’s the sniffling that draws my attention, inevitably forcing me to turn my gaze in her direction.
“Lonnie was my favorite person in this whole world.” Her voice is shaky, and her back is to me now. “I would have given anything to say goodbye.”
“I would give anything to erase the memory of them dying right before my very eyes.” I stand to leave, my discomfort a burn that only increases the longer she’s around.
