Page 37 of False Start
“I didn’t see it.” The ref shakes her head.
“Then you’re the only one. Go get your eyes checked before you miss some more calls,” I spit out, turning back to my line.
The zebra blows a warning whistle at me, like she has no problem dealingmea penalty for back talk even though she’s the one ignoring perfectly clear calls.
Reese is already there, waiting for the next jam. She’s practically in Nia’s space, hovering in front of the jammer line with that smug fucking look on her face.
I want to be the one to wipe it off.
It doesn’t take much to knock Nia off the track, but with every jam that passes, it becomes more evident that it’s not Reese’s goal to interrupt, detain, or get in Nia’s way. Her goal is to injure her. Every block, every check, every shove, is delivered illegally and in a way that slowly leaves Nia less and less able to defend.
It’s bully behavior, and it’s getting under my skin.
By halftime, the entire team is aware, and Morgan is pissed. With enough complaints, we sub out the zebra and get one of the side-line refs to switch out with her. It doesn’t help. Reese Ender plays dirty, and the only way to deal with players like that is to give them a taste of their own medicine.
We’re barely ahead, but we’re winning, which lets me know each jam is making the opposing pivot more and more desperate. All I need is for the ref to see it. The whistle blows again, and I time a hip check that sends Reese right off the track and buys me enough seconds to get to Nia before her.
She’s there, in a low squat, doing her best to stand-off against the Wolverine’s jammer as they smash their shoulders against each other. That’s when I really see it: the strength she has. It’s not weakness in her body. She’s a little damaged—sure, but she’s certainly not frail. I get behind her and place my hands on her hips, sending her forward with all of my protection to keep her standing, regardless of who hits her.
With the push of my hands, she’s through the wall of blockers, grabbing StarScreamer’s hand as I hone in on Reese once more. I don’t have to guess; she’s headed for Nia, but she’s so focused, she doesn’t see me coming, and my shoulder block sends her flying. I use the opportunity to get to the front of the blockers, expecting to see Nia through, but she hasn’t made it yet. It’s okay, though, because the Wolverine’s jammer is still too far back to matter.
Nia is stuck, trying to wiggle through a solid wall of opposing blockers while our teammates try to get her past them. It’s an impossible ask, and Reese Ender is headingfor her again. Nia’s gaze follows mine, and we both watch as Reese inches closer, pushing DreadPool out of the way like she doesn’t even care about the rules anymore.
“Fuck,” Nia shouts through her mouthguard, the frustration obvious, and we all feel it. “Harvey!” She demands my attention, and just as I turn back to face her, she’s pulling the star panty off her helmet. The Jammer helmet cover. She extends her arm, and without thinking twice, I take it, sliding it over my stripe before the opposing team realizes we’re passing the star.
She’spassing the star.
In a second, I’m moving again, leaving the Wolverine blockers behind while I steal the win.
She passed the fucking star.
It’s not unheard of, a classic derby move, one that requires trust amongst all teammates. One that requires the jammer to give up all semblance of an ego in order to hand all the glory of the win to their teammate.
She cares more about us winning together than being the one responsible for it.
Once I make a full lap, I’m able to call the jam off and take points for us. Just as my hands move to my hip to signal the end of the jam, Reese shoves Nia off the track, full contact use of her hands on an opposing player’s body.
Nia’s too stunned by the action to react properly. She tries to stand but doesn’t have the time to correct. Instead, she falls backwards, landing on her ass. She screams, and I catch a glimpse of Reese’s skate on her wrist.
It’s intentional. I know it is.
The ref sees it, blowing the whistle and calling the penalty, shoving Reese Ender in the box for the first time tonight. Dread and Yaga help Nia off the track. She’s holding her wrist to her chest, and she screams when Moreleases the Velcro straps of her wristguard. K-Otic steps on the track, grabbing the appropriate helmet covers and making the switch with Nia. Her pained sobs are loud, but Mo continues to examine the injury when the zebra blows the whistle for the next jam.
The transition with K is seamless. We move in sync with each other and clear the track, while I whip them through the wall of blockers. Without the Wolverine’s precious pivot, we take the next jam without a hitch.
The penalty timer ends, and Reese Ender moves from the box to the bench, where her coach lays into her. I’ve disregarded the entire next jam now, skating on autopilot and hoping that K-Otic can carry the win with me doing the bare minimum. Maybe we’ve scored enough to have it in the bag regardless.
My focus is on the Wolverine’s pivot and her only.
Reese throws her helmet on the ground and storms off, skating into the guest locker room without a care. I let the jam finish out before I pull the stripe off my head and toss it at Bae’s feet, indicating a substitute is needed.
I’m no longer in control of my own brain or feet, I simply skate toward the visiting team locker room.
17
NIA
Ipress the bag of ice to my wrist, the purple and blue settling in so fast, there’s no way I can avoid the hospital for this one. It burns, an agonizing ache that reminds me what true pain feels like when it’s fresh.
