CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR | ENGAGE
any sort of interaction with another skater on the track during a jam.
▂ ▂ ▂ ▂ ▂
"I don't know what you did to my mom, but she's pissed at you," Corinne told me, sprawled out on my bed, head resting on my stomach. "Ever since I went home for Christmas, she's been all like 'wow, I can't believe Wren had the nerve to talk to me like that' and 'you need to keep her in check'. You as in me, like I care or like there's any way of talking you into doing anything whatsoever."
I groaned, fixing the pillow behind me that kept me from having to lean my head against my cold wall just so we could stay in our current positions. "I'm not surprised. She looked like she was about to bite my head off when I finished talking to her."
"She said something about furniture."
"I asked her to be careful with my mother's furniture. She refused to use a coaster."
Corinne laughed and I felt the vibrations in the pit of my stomach. "The horror."
"What did you do, anyway?" Kat asked, sitting at her desk. "Certainly it can't have been that bad, right? We can't really afford to lose any more skaters."
"Let's hope not," I replied, unable to ignore Corinne's shudder. She didn't need to be reminded of her loss any longer, yet it hovered around her at all times. "I pulled her aside on Christmas Eve and tried to talk some sense into her, maybe try to convince her into letting Corinne come back to the team, and genuinely didn't think I'd be doing any harm. She spent the whole meal making all these passive-aggressive comments and it pissed me off, so I thought that if she could dish it out, she should be able to take it, too."
"She can't," Corinne stated. "It's mostly because no one has the guts to dish it out to her, so she hasn't felt the need to learn how to take it. The only person she ever lowers her head to when they're speaking to her is my grandmother, and you know how that worked out. She decided to nearly empty a bottle of wine by herself before leaving the house," she added, speaking directly to Kat now.
"With Jordan there?"
"Yeah," I confirmed. "She knew about it, which left me feeling even angrier, and I just . . . I snapped. I told her that behavior was unacceptable and I . . . might have called her a hypocrite. I remember the birthday party you threw for me"—I nodded towards Kat, whose forehead puckered in remembrance—"and how she was throwing a hissy fit because Corinne got drunk, and then she kept telling everyone Corinne needed to know better, that she couldn't take things so personally, that she needed to emotionally distance herself for the sake of the team." Corinne and I both said those last six words simultaneously. "She gets into one argument and ignores the one request I had, but Corinne is the one blowing things out of proportion and embarrassing herself. I wasn't having it, so I walked up to her and told her that. That's it."
This time, Corinne and Kat exchanged a look I couldn't quite decipher.
It was well into January now and classes had already started, but not roller derby practice, and I'd had plenty of time to think about what I'd done and said to Coach Fontaine. Though I didn't regret standing up for Corinne and Jordan, part of me was still fearful of the consequences of my outburst.
Even though I hardly agreed with Coach's approach, and I missed Corinne as much as the rest of the team, I still didn't want to get myself kicked out of the team. Even if Coach Fontaine held her to higher standards than she did with anyone else, I'd attacked her at a personal level and, though it was nothing like Corinne's supposed failures and would never hit her as deeply, I'd screwed up. I liked being part of the team and, against all odds, I'd learned to like roller derby. Would I be willing to throw it all away?
"You know you didn't have to do that," Corinne began, quietly, like she was ashamed of her own opinion. Out of all her qualities, one that I appreciated yet simultaneously feared the most was her willingness to state her opinion regardless of what other people thought, which made her hesitation to speak now so suspicious. "I told you it wouldn't change things."
I almost begged her to let me in for once. I wanted to. Yet, I didn't. Not with Kat sitting right there.
"I didn't, but I wanted to. It was for Jordan, too, and he never asked me for anything. Besides, if someone hadn't decided to be the first to tell her how it is, she'd go on living her life like we all owe her something. Like you owe her something. How is that fair to you?"
Corinne sighed. "It doesn't get me my spot back."
"No, it doesn't, but it shows her people know she's being a shitty person. If enough people show her they can't stand for it any longer—"
"It doesn't matter. Doing all of that for me—"
"Corinne," Kat warned, in an exasperated tone.
Corinne sat up, turning to her. "What?"
Kat set down her pen. "Did you not hear what Wren just said? She wanted to talk to Coach, regardless of whether it would result in you getting your spot back or not. You just said no one ever told her to get off her high horse, so, now that she has, maybe things will change. Maybe. Besides"—she stretched her neck—"she also did it for Jordan. That's not something that concerns you and Wren shouldn't have to ask you for permission to do something to protect her brother."
"Then that's a completely different story, and there's no need to mask it like it's about something else entirely."
Kat sighed. "One day, you'll finally understand people are allowed to care about you and your happiness without you asking them to. Let them have some free will. It'll do you good." She reached out for her pen again. "There are things you won't be able to control, and that's okay. Let yourself be taken care of once in your life. Even if you don't get your spot on the team back, at least you have the reassurance that the entire team disagrees with your mom's decision and would do anything in their power to have you come back. Even if it doesn't directly translate into action, they're doing something."
Corinne shot her a truly murderous glare, one she usually reserved for me, but didn't argue any longer. Instead, she fell back down, head resting on my stomach once more, and picked her book back up. She was halfway through The Age of Innocence, which I assumed was her book club's pick for the month, and would be glad to keep pretending we weren't in the room.
I didn't need to invite her there anymore. She just showed up there out of her own will, not bothering to hide that it was because she wanted to, not just because it was Kat's room, but I refused to admit to her face I liked having her stop by. In a way, perhaps I should have let her know that, let her know there was a place where she'd always be welcome while she was at odds with her mother and had been stripped of her right to set foot in the rink.
Her hot and cold attitude did bother me, though, as I really thought we'd moved past that. I wasn't the one she was mad at, nor was I the reason behind all her hurt and trauma. All I'd ever done was try to help and, sometimes, I succeeded. The times when I failed hit me back even harder and I didn't know how to function in a world where I couldn't be the fixer.
"I was just trying to help," I eventually said. Corinne briefly looked up at me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep, but I also felt like it was overdue."
"I know." She focused back on her book, shifting her position. "It's okay. Thank you. Although . . ." Her lips curved into a smug smile. "At least I get to eat actual food now. You guys have fun with your rabbit food."
▂ ▂ ▂ ▂ ▂
Between roller derby practice, attending my lectures, taking part in family therapy sessions, and jogging with Drew every other morning, January flew by in the blink of an eye and, before I could properly process it, our first game of the new year was right around the corner. We'd been training accordingly, probably harder than we had ever before, and I was self-centered enough to believe it was partially my fault.
I didn't miss the special treatment I used to get from Coach Fontaine, but it felt like she was being particularly nasty towards me ever since we came back from Christmas break. She was pushing all of us harder now and I felt the insane amount of pressure weighing down on my shoulders, as I had more games as a jammer this season under my belt than anyone else. I didn't feel fit to play any other position and I was certain she agreed with that, but her treatment of me felt cold, condescending even.
My impostor syndrome and perfectionism had become more debilitating as the days went by. Even with Kat and Marley's reassurance that I was doing my job adequately enough, part of me hardly felt like I was properly pulling my own weight, and 'adequate' wouldn't suffice. I needed to be good, to be great, to be perfect to make up for Corinne's absence before our opponents could see through the cracks. It was a team sport, yes, but I was the one scoring the points and completing jams. I was the one people followed, the one the opposing team attempted to throw out of the rink.
To make matters worse, my parents would come watch the bout against Brown, and my nerves were at an all-time high.
Though they were happy to see me skating again, I knew they still didn't approve of the sport. It was too violent for their liking, especially after watching Jordan get injured for years, and I knew they preferred watching me look pretty and doing pirouettes and triple axels. Figure skating had always been a solitary sport, where it was just me on the ice, and I'd never been interested in pair skating, happy to depend on myself only for the highest scores.
Now, I had to rely on my team if I wanted to win. I depended on the blockers to prevent the opposing jammer from lapping me and I depended on the pivot for playmaking and planning strategies. The irony of having landed on a team as tight knit as mine wasn't lost on me.
However, just as much as I needed them, they also needed me, and I owed it to them to give the best of me. Even when I got frustrated, even when I was so exhausted and sore I could barely lift an arm, I looked at them and remembered what they expected from me. They expected me to remember they had my back, no matter what, and they would support me. Kat, my derby wife, would never leave me alone to fend for myself against people who were much stronger and seasoned than I was.
"You didn't get your nickname for no reason, you know," she reminded me, as she helped me put on my wrist guards. The girls had affectionately nicknamed me Wrenking Ball, a twist on wrecking ball as a homage to the way I casually crashed through packs of blockers, like it was easy. Naturally, I'd kept my mouth shut about it around my parents. It sounded exactly like the type of thing that would worry them. "You'll do fine."
"My parents are here," I retorted. "It's their first time."
"Happens to everyone. You were in their position not that long ago, were you not?"
"It's different. I'm here to skate."
I could feel the adrenaline and the energy filling the track in my nerves as soon as we stepped inside. The glitter speckled along Marley's cheeks, like highlighter, reflected the bright lights above our heads, so blinding I had to look away . . . though there weren't many things I wanted to get distracted with.
If I were to look at the track, I'd find our opponents, all of which were much bigger than I was and carried themselves with an aura of superiority that was a lot more intimidating than it was irritating. If I looked at the stands, I'd find my parents, eager to note down all the reasons roller derby was dangerous, and I wouldn't find Corinne, the one person I wanted to see in the building.
"Gather 'round," Coach Fontaine called, following warm-ups. If she took a good look at me, I was certain she'd notice the green tint of my face, like I was about to hurl. "I don't need to remind you girls of how important this bout is. Everything so far has been child's play; we're in the big leagues now, we're in the play-offs, and everyone will play to win. They will play dirty if they have to. Pay special attention to their jammer." She pointed towards a redhead with winged eyeliner so sharp it could slice through marble. The jammer was smaller than most of their other skaters, but she was still taller than me, looking aloof and unbothered, like there were many other things she'd rather be doing. "She's faster and taller than most of the jammers we've faced. You're used to dealing with Wren and know her patterns, which means they'll try to take advantage of your blind spots."
"No pressure," Marley told me, playfully elbowing me. I gulped.
As we occupied our positions on the track, I made the mistake of looking at the stands one last time. My parents were still there, still looking unbelievably out of place in the middle of all the students, but, to my shock, both of them were wearing jerseys with a wrecking ball stencil on them. Next to them—or, better yet, trying to make her way towards them—was Corinne, balancing three cups of soda and two baskets of popcorn.
Her presence was enough to throw me off my game, making me waste precious nanoseconds after the starting whistle blared across the rink. Though I propelled myself forward as fast as I could, the momentum was still lost.
Brown took advantage of that fact, quickly blocking my way, and I immediately realized just how badly this team needed Corinne as our pivot. Corinne would have been able to properly assess the situation and come up with a strategy, whereas all we were doing was try and get our way through brute force, pushing and shoving.
My nerves and my inability to function without Corinne soon took the best of us and Brown's jammer was the lead jammer, whirling past the pack without much trouble. I pressed my shoulder against the most problematic blocker, the one who was making it her life mission to prevent me from skating, and, fortunately, Marley saw my struggle and redirected her attention to helping me through.
Once I did, I nearly fell flat on my face, leaning forward like the laws of aerodynamics applied to me, but I was no plane. Had it not been for my mouth guard, I would have bit my tongue so hard I'd be spitting blood all over the track, but all I could think about was lapping the jammer. My whole life's training had prepared me for this, to teach me how to be nimble and know the limits of my body so well I knew how fast I'd be able to skate, how hard my muscles could be pushed.
I caught up to the other jammer before she could complete the lap and, just like I'd made a mistake by looking at Corinne, the jammer ruined her lead by looking back over her shoulder when she realized I was trailing her.
The fiery determination in her eyes was inspiring. My whole body ached from the hip checks and shoulders pressed into the softer parts of my body, but I was stronger now. Faster. Just when the Brown jammer thought she was in the clear, I lapped her, swiping my hand across the floor of the track to help me gain more speed. It was a tricky move, sloppy, even, and I could have lost my balance, but I ground my skates and flew away.
I would not let someone else break my lead jammer record. I was a goddamn wrecking ball.
After I successfully lapped her and won the first jam, I'd have to lap my parents and Corinne. Determined to keep my focus, I chose not to look up, staring straight ahead at the pack of blockers, knowing they would try to make me lose the lead. I knew I could beat them, but most of my stamina had gone to the first jam, a rookie mistake, and I was losing my energy.
They noticed it, shoving me harder than before, and I gasped when a pointy elbow stabbed through my stomach, right between both sides of my rib cage. The dirty move sent me stumbling backward and earned me a smug grin from the blocker right before Kat shoved her aside. The fact that the penalty against me went by unnoticed pissed me off more than anything else.
"Sorry!" she said. "Must've lost my balance."
Before the blocker had a chance to react to me and the open path ahead of me, I bid her adieu and cleared the entire pack before any of them could catch me. They never would, not even after two, three, four jams with me as the lead jammer.
I was so beat by the end of the bout my brain barely registered we'd won. Coach had changed the lineup a few times, but she kept me as the jammer the whole time, confident in my skills to win, which had left me in an uncomfortable position. My legs could barely carry me to the penalty box, where I sat with two ice-cold bottles of water pressed against the tender flesh of both of my thighs.
What I did register, though, besides my teammates' ecstasy over the victory and us moving forward in the championship, was Corinne on the stands. Her face was brighter than the lights, brighter than any star, brighter than the sun, and I'd always find her. I knew I would.
When she looked at me, mid-cheer, my heart felt about to jump out of my chest. I raised my hand in a military salute, a respectful gesture towards my captain.
The win had been for her. Above everything else, it had been for her.
▂ ▂ ▂ ▂ ▂
ft. corinne's google searches. she's currently going Through It™