Page 52 of False Start
dust
floating
in
her
presence
again.
Mo calls the starting skaters to a huddle and delivers the final plays for the night before the zebra blows thewhistle, signaling the end of halftime. I’m nodding in and out for the second half, but it’s fine, because everyone is focused on the track, on the win guaranteed to be ours.
The team is vibrating with positivity. Two bouts in a row, and as I look around, Skateland seems to be fuller than ever before. This is good—this is amazing. It’s everything Lonnie ever wanted.
Like pesticide, the thought of my dead friend kills all the joy that wanted to bubble around me, infiltrating every inch of my heart. I suddenly no longer desire to be on this bench, on this rink, or anywhere near this building.
I don’t look at anyone. I just command my feet off the track, pushing past the excited spectators without bothering to head for the locker rooms. I’m sloppy taking off my skates, still too high to care to focus. There are judging eyes; I don’t have to look up to know they’re there, burning into me.
Once I’ve rounded up all my shit, I push out through the double doors, and the chill hits through the holes in my fishnets.
F
U
C
K
I didn’t drive.
My heart sinks, all hopes of a sneaky early getaway evaporating into thin air. Pulling my hood over my head, I resort to slouching down against the wall and staring at the parking lot until time decides I’ll have to do something else about this.
“Girl,where the fuck have you been? We’ve been looking for you forever!” Lady Yaga’s loud voice wakes me up.
It’s freezing cold out, and I’m still sitting on the ground in front of the rink, resting my back on a pillar. The parking lot is mostly empty now, like all the attendees who came to watch have already left.
Shit.
I rub the sleep out of my eyes, but I’m groggy.
No.
I’m high.
Looking down, I see my pill bottle in my lap, half open. I broke the child tampering lid the other day in order to stop depending on everyone else, so now it only barely rests on, half the lid split on one side. I think I took another while I was out here waiting, but I don’t fully remember. Yaga doesn’t notice the orange bottle in my lap; I quickly fist it and shove it into my bag.
“Wasn’t feeling it. Sorry.” I shrug sympathetically. “It’s hard watching everyone else skate while I’m like this.”
She laughs. “Maybe that’s your lesson.” I frown, but she doesn’t stop. “I just mean, you never got hurt before. Not before thebigone. You always started, always played, hardly got benched unless you were so exhausted someone elsehadto fill in. When you got hurt, you left. You didn’t give yourself a chance to stick around and healwithus.”
She’s right. I ran away, tail tucked between my legs, because if I wasn’t skating, then who was I? I couldn’t letmy team see me that way. And now, here I am, repeating history. Yaga looks at me like she can see it too.
“Don’t leave again,” she whispers, kneeling down to my level.
“I won’t.” The words come out, but I’m not sure I mean them.
“Promise?” She waits, an eyebrow lifted high.
