Page 5 of False Start
“Nia.” StarScreamer whistles. “Get your ass over here.” She looks up at Scott to explain. “Nia-Death here isstillthe all-time highest scoring jammer per bout in the entire Women’s Flat Track Derby Association.” Pride practically drips off her tongue, as if her friend’s accomplishments are her own.
“Get behind the line.” Our new manager doesn’t need convincing. He even gives her the extra time it takes to get her skates and gear on.
Nia looks around the track awkwardly, like she’s waiting for additional permission. It comes in the form of Lady Yaga pushing her in the back, propelling her toward the track. StarScreamer catches her by the wrist, whipping her in a circle until she steadies herself on her toe stops.
The two grin at each other, bumping shoulders until Star almost knocks her down. Scott gives us a hand signal to prepare us.
I would fear my ability to make it if I didn’t haveconfidence in my own hard work and my body. There isn’t a day my skates aren’t on my feet, even if it’s just for a stroll around the park. I’m not some tiny little thing; speed doesn’t come to me easily. I’m five-eleven, and the velocity of my skates depend solely on the strength of my thighs.
And those bitches are toned to perfection.
He whistles us off, and the four of us move in perfect synchronicity, left knee over right, crossing over as we make our first turn around the track. By the fifth lap, Morgan is severely behind, and I’m starting to reach them from the back. I pound my skates harder on the wooden floor, the noise enough to alert Mo and force them to fight for their speed.
At the tenth lap, the braided brunette makes her way to my left, tight on the curve, passing me with ease. Quick little crossovers are all she needs to get a good distance ahead, but I know I’m still fast enough to meet the challenge. Star’s blonde low-ponytail sticks to her sweaty back as she passes Mo on the right, an encouraging grunt from her as she hypes up our assistant coach.
My lungs burn at twenty. At twenty-four, I can no longer feel my feet, just a wave of nausea that’s impossible to fight.I only have to hold it back three more laps.I’m just behind Nia-Death now, the tail end of her braid practically in reach as it whips behind her, almost teasing me to yank it.
Another lap, then one more, and my shouts to Mo to push harder are the only thing I can hear above the sound of our wheels on the track.
Nia passes the line, a 180 turn on her toes marking a classic derby stop before she rolls out of the track and collapses to the ground. D-Stroya, Venice, andLady Yaga hover over her, fanning her with a laminated flier. I cross the line, rolling out of the track and dropping to my knee pads.
Sweat drips from my forehead down to my skates, but I keep my eye on Mo and Star until they cross the starting line. The croc blows his whistle just after, and the two practically fall onto each other, nothing but exhausted breaths coloring the air.
Mo is sobbing. They rarely bout unless the roster demands, and in the four years they’ve been here, I’ve only seen them skate the twenty-seven in five once. I understand just what those tears mean, the emotional exhaustion that sweeps over once victory has been achieved, the body’s cry of conquest.
Our new manager doesn’t let us revel in the moment.
Scott begins to assign positions, one skater at a time, until they’ve all been given their roles. He begins with the blockers on the B-team, the ones who stay on the bench during bouts unless a substitution is made. Nancy-Shrew and Venice Witch are named, followed by Bae-Ruthless as pivot. K-Otic is a substitute jammer like before.
Then, the A-team is formed: the ones guaranteed to be bouting unless injured, tired, or somehow missing. Lady Yaga, DreadPool, and StarScreamer for blockers—obvious, a given, our usual set up. Then, he calls my name for pivot. I think I hear him wrong, but then he announces the little one’s name instead for the position of jammer.
Myposition.
“What? No,I’mfucking jammer.” My chest is practically touching his, sweat forcing my shirt to stick to my sports bra.
“Youwerejammer. She’s faster.” He says it like it’s nothing, like he isn’t changing everything I know.
“She’s not even a Devil’s Dame!” I counter, absolute disbelief being the only thing I can feel while this guy fucks with the entire dynamic of our team.
It feels like the whole world is spinning—maybe from dehydration, maybe from exhaustion, or maybe from these two assholes fucking up my entire life in a matter of seconds.
“You can block, or you can get benched as a sub. Last I read, only one jammer per team goes out on the track. Your call.” The look on his face is of pure satisfaction, like he can’t be more fulfilled at giving me the news. “You.” He points at the girl my siblings-in-wheels call Nia.
She turns slowly, an apprehensive look on her face. “Yes?” The word is barely audible.
“You a Devil’s Dame?” he asks her.
Dead silence surrounds the rink, anticipation growing, like standing on a precipice, as she chooses her answer carefully. She looks between the skaters I’ve called my best friends for the last four years. Aspiration glimmers in their eyes, and they nod their heads in unison, StarScreamer clasping her hands to her chest like the perfect vision of hope.
“Yes,” Nia-Death says, a little more courage behind her voice this time as she bites back a smile, her eyes darting over to me just long enough for me to catch.
They all scream, and the crocodile laughs a cold sound.
Clenching my molars together, I grind my teeth as every feeling between loathing and outrage courses through my veins.
“Fine. You want a blocker? I’ll fucking block.” I slip my mouthguard in and move to the pivot line for scrimmage.
The whistle goes off again, this asshole far too trigger happy with the thing, and it makes me wonder if he everactually coached a basketball team, or simply owned them. The two are not the same. “Practices are Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays from now on,” he belts out. “See you all tomorrow, bright and early. Those who didn’t pass will have three more chances. After that, you gotta find yourself a new league.”
