Ava practically vibrated with joy as she left, her derby shirt on inside out.
Then it was just me, my boxes, and the clock ticking toward everything changing.
I went to grab my skate bag, and my stomach dropped.
One skate. Just one.
“Oh no. No, no, no,” I muttered, digging through the bag like it might magically appear.
It didn’t. I must have left the other one in Alex’s car.
I reached for my phone.
And couldn’t find it.
I searched the counter. The couch. My jacket. The bathroom.
Nothing.
My heart started to pound.
Not today.
Not today of all days.
I tore through the house like it had personally offended me.
Bathroom. Counter. Kitchen table. Couch cushions. The porch. I checked my jacket pockets again, even though I knew I already had. I dug through half-packed boxes, sending clothes and books tumbling to the floor.
“Come on, come on,” I whispered, panic creeping up my spine.
I went back through my steps in my head, getting dressed, packing the bag, Becca at the door, Ava’s shoes, the hug goodbye.
Nothing.
I tried to call myself from the landline.
Straight to voicemail.
Of course it was.
I stood in the middle of the chaos, one skate in my hand, heart pounding, the clock ticking louder and louder toward my first bout.
I’d never needed my phone more in my life.
Why didn’t I know Alex’s number?
Why didn’t I know anyone’s number?
Time stretched and twisted, every second scraping against my nerves. I was just about to leave anyway, hoping maybe Alex would be there with my missing skate, when I grabbed my bag.
No keys.
“What the fuck?” I whispered.
And then my mother was there, standing in the doorway with her arms folded, expression cool and distant.
“Are you looking for something?” she asked.
