Page 51 of False Start
I’m also running out of money, and my car keeps breaking down, which is an added issue I can’t afford to fix. I’m running out of subject changes every time my father asks why I haven’t answered my mother’s calls sincethe accident. In a way, it almost feels like I’m running out of time, like I’m dashing toward some imaginary finish line.
Some sort of ending I can’t bear to be a part of.
By the time Slam Night comes, I’m not interested in attending. I know I’m benched. I have to be, because putting me on the track is a liability Scott won’t risk.
I fight the part of my brain that tells me to not go, and that I could just get high on the rest of my stash, figure out what comes next after I run out.
“You’re not ready?” Kade asks, standing at the open door of my bedroom.
“Do Ineedto go?” I whine, sitting at the edge of the bed with my fishnets still hanging off my ankles.
“Is that even a question?” they deadpan. “Nancy Shrew and the Shrewdettes would literally put the bout on pause, hog-tie you, and stuff you into their trunk just to make you sit on the bench tonight.” An eyebrow raises. “Or you could come willingly.”
I exhale and drag out the word as it leaves my mouth. “Fine. Watch it, though. One snap of my fingers, and I’ll have them dragging you along to the next social event too.”
K’s face is one of pure dread. “Kill me first, please.”
Laughing, I start getting all of my things together. “You’re not a fan of the team?”
“No, no. It’s not that at all. Everyone is perfectly… perfect.” They shove their hands in their pockets and shrug. “I’m just… not great with groups.”
“I get it.” I give them a reassuring smile. “I promise.”
Kade leaves me to change, and I continue the ritual with my fishnets, pulling them up and then donning my Devil’s Dame’s black spandex shorts. I don’t bother withanything other than my practice tee with my skate name on the back. I won’t be on the track tonight anyway, which means I also take no care in slapping my roster number on my arm in eyeliner. The sixty-four is sloppy, maybe because I wrote it with my left hand, or maybe because I no longer care to tout my mother’s birth date on my skin.
There I am, in front of the mirror.
Every flaw glaringly obvious.
I despise who I’ve become.
I’mthree times as unnecessary as I had originally thought I was. Since Rae-Gunn passed their minimal skills test, Scott felt decent about moving the roster around so that K-Otic starts, and if needed, a switch could be made with Harvey.
But I’m not focused on the bout. I’m not focused on much of anything except my cuticles, which I’ve gnawed to death, and the itching at my chest from my last hit.
“You good?” StarScreamer slides into me on the bench as she takes a swig of her water bottle. She’s dripping in sweat, but she’s killing it out there. Stella is one of the best damn blockers I’ve ever seen.
“Just ready to be out there again.” I weave another lie into my web.
She laughs. “Yeah, the bench sucks, but you’ll be back jamming in no time.” She gives me a playful shove before she heads back behind the pivot line.
At halftime, we’re so far ahead that Scott is joking about putting me back in just for shits and giggles. Modoesn’t appreciate the joke and sets him straight. My neck and chest are covered in scratch marks, and I’m ready to get the fuck out of Skateland.
That’s when Harvey stops in front of me. It’s the first time she’s acknowledged my existence today, and for some reason, it feels like a gift. The realization of what she’s doing to me is both obscenely degrading and hopeless, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m so small in her hands, so small in her world, and she’s so big in mine.
All I can see is Cat Harvey.
Like she’s not actually a problem but theanswerto all of them. Her eyes lower to my knees, which are obnoxiously bouncing. She drops her hands to my thighs as if to keep them still, bending just enough so that her face is in line with mine. I think my heart’s stopped, but I’m not positive, because all the blood is currently flooding down south. It feels like our entire team is staring at us, but I wouldn’t know, because I haven’t looked away from her.
Her thumbs squeeze the inside of my thighs, and then with one hand, she’s reaching for a water bottle next to me. She finally lets me go, standing to get her fill of a drink.
I’m
a
speck
of
