Page 79 of False Start
Nia cuts it short when she catches my grin, her personal protest in this tantrum. That’s fine; if directing those raw emotions gets her through this, I can be that for her. She’s been numbing herself for weeks, and now, Nia is going to feel the full force of every emotion she’s been repressing since I told her Lonnie was dead.
I regret that moment to its full entirety now, wishing I’d done it differently in some way, that maybe if I had, it would have changed things. Maybe she wouldn’t have chosen to lose herself in Lonnie’s name.
It’s too late to regret, so I braid instead.
32
HARVEY
She’s silent the entire car ride, but I’m not going to beg for words out of her knowing she’s not in a good place. I blast my music, lettingMetricplay on the way to Skateland. Nia’s incredibly skilled in masking her discomfort, and aside from the pink nose that can easily be excused for a cold, she trulycanpass for sick.
We’re just not specifying what kind of sick she is.
I feel bad that I’m bringing her, I know it’s not fair, that she’d be more comfortable at home, but I don’t plan to stay for the entire practice. I’ll meet with Scott, run through two or three practice jams, and then go home.
It’s both my obligation to the rink and to Lonnie.
“I wanna stay in the car,” she rasps out, hugging herself with her arms. She’s got a jacket on like a blanket since the other arm can’t fit in the sleeve.
“It’s too cold. You can lay down on the couch in Lonn—the office,” I correct myself before I can finish.
She lifts the jacket up to her nose to wipe. “I don’t want them to see me.”
“No one goes in there.” I bring a finger to her chin to get her eyes on mine. “I promise.”
I use my key to unlock the office and sneak Nia in before any of the other skaters notice. Whatever energy the soup gave her seems to be fading quickly as her comedown sets in.
“You won’t be long?” She looks up at me with those midnight-colored eyes.
“No, half the practice at best,” I assure her, giving her one final kiss on the forehead before I wrap her in a blanket and place a trash can on the floor close by.
I lock the door behind me, knowing the only other person with a key to this office is currently inside of it.
I’m at the cubbies getting geared up when Star crashes into me on the bench. “Where’s Nia?” she asks as I’m finishing lacing up my quads.
“She’s sick.” I don’t put too much thought behind the words, but K lets out a sarcastic huff to my side.
Our eyes meet. There’s indifference there, and clearly, K feels some sort of way about Nia’s choices. That’s between them. But K says nothing to me, only stands and follows DreadPool onto the track to begin warm ups.
“Seriously, though,” Stella grabs my arm just as I come to a stand, “Nia was one of my best friends. I don’t feel like I know this version of her anymore, and you’ve been spending all this time with her?—”
I stop her.
“She’s struggling with Lonnie. The way we all did, the wayyoudid, Star. We’ve had more time than her. Just give her a little grace.” It’s not a lie, and I don’t feel bad for saying it.
Maybe she’s also not wrong. Maybe the friend she knew five years ago isn’t the same woman here today. Thatdoesn’t have to be a bad thing. It just means she needs to get to know her again. Star nods, and we play-shove each other’s shoulders as we slide onto the track for laps.
Mo has had me subbing for Nia since her wrist injury. Three weeks ago, I would have reveled in the feeling, bathed in it. Today, I’m glad she’s locked away in that office and can’t see me. I don’t want to be another crack in what’s already breaking her. Today, under these conditions, I just want to be her pivot again.
I just want to have her back.
The whistle blows, Nancy and Star doing their best to keep me from passing K-Otic. I’m practically pushing the wall of skaters as I try to move forward when K calls the jam. Mo makes some switches and blows the whistle again, this time Nancy and Stella blocking on my side to see the outcome.
It’s the exact same. They form a wall, and K is unable to push through, having to skate forward at a glacial pace as I lap the opposing blockers and call this jam off. We keep moving the blockers around, but the result is the same no matter who’s jamming or blocking, and I can’t help but see the obvious difference.
We’re missing our fucking jammer.
I’m dripping in sweat when I feel his hand tug the back of my shirt. “Cathrine,” he calls for me, “let me pull you for a moment.”
