He talks to me.
“Maybe cool it with the dating apps and focus on you for once,” Grace says. “Spend the summer making the house yours. You’ve been putting off the redesign for months.”
“That’s because the school year was insane and I was so busy?—”
Grace nods, but I can tell she’s not buying it. “But it’s summer now. You have two whole months to do whatever you want without your parents trying to rein you in.”
She’s right, of course. When my parents signed the deed to the house over to me, they left most of the furniture inside and instructed me to do whatever I wanted with it. I have endless Pinterest boards and stacks of design magazines. I really should make this place over into the cozy little bachelorette pad of my dreams. Make it match the front door that I painted pink the day my parents left. Finally get all that freaking wallpaper off the living room walls.
“Spend the next couple of months onyou,” Grace says, and I know she means the house.
But my mind is on the little flyer Violet shoved into my hand last night. And the ache in my muscles, the memory of the wind in my hair that I created with my own speed as I skated.
Grace’s phone beeps, and she jumps out of her chair. “Okay, I’ve got to get to the bookstore. The last two Saturdays, I’ve had a line of strollers at the door for story time. Those moms don’t mess around.” She sweeps muffin crumbs into her palm and shakes them into the trash can. “I’m sorry about your date.”
“It’s fine,” I say, and I mean it. I could not care less about Gabe and his rejection. Last night opened too many new doors in my brain. I have new rooms to explore.
“Let me know if you need any help with Project Carson, okay?”
I smile. “I will. Thanks, friend.”
She winks. “Anytime.”
As soon as Grace is gone, I make a beeline for my room, where I find my purse next to my bed, beside the one shoe I managed to take off last night. I dig through it and find the flyer crumpled at the bottom.
Have you always wanted to hit a bitch?
Are you looking for a badass girl gang?
Do you want to discover what you’re capable of?
Then you should play…
ROLLER DERBY
Beneath that is a black-and-white photo of two women, both in roller skates, full pads, and helmets, crashing into each other, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. And it’s not the short spandex shorts or the collage of tattoos on the girls that I can’t stop staring it. It’s the looks on their faces. Their eyes are narrow, their jaws tight, their focus fierce and determined as they each try to escape the collision first.
They looktenacious.
I’ve never been a sporty girl. I’ve always been a little soft, a little round. I preferred the library to the playground in elementary school. In middle school, I always made sure I got out early during dodgeball. In high school, I managed to avoid running the mile in gym class thanks to a well-timed sprained ankle. And by the time college rolled around, my exercise was mostly gossipwalks with my sorority sisters. By the time I graduated, I figured my chance to participate in any kind of organized sports had passed, and that never seemed like much of a loss.
I stare at those two girls—women—and feel something I’ve never felt before. Suddenly I want that. To hit someone. To push myself. To be that determined about anything.
I pull out my phone and tap Violet’s contact.
Carson
tell me about tryouts
The reply is nearly instantaneous.
Violet
game ON!
CHAPTER 8
DAN
