Felicity’s eyesbrighten and she sits up straighter. “I’m going to that ’90s rollerskating thing at the Village’s event center on Saturday night. Theone your brother is DJing.”
When I simplystare at her, Felicity’s gaze slides to Leland. Mine follows;Leland shifts around in his seat, avoiding both of ourgazes.
“Thatsounds like fun,” I say around what feels like a mouthful of sand.“Are you…is it…the Village events center, you said? Is it an inviteonly thing or…”
“Ithink technically it’s open to anyone.” Felicity’s eyes dartbetween Leland and me, her brows drawn together as if she’s tryingto figure something out. “They didn’t advertise it this time sincethe center hasn’t been open long and they’re testing out differenttypes of events. You know Ivy, right? The co-owner of the Villageand the Village’s bookstore? We’ve become friendly since I tookover the lease here, and she invited me. She loves ’90s music andshe said there used to be this amazing roller rink in town when shewas younger, so the night’s theme was her idea.”
When Leland and Iremain silent, Felicity lets out a quiet huff. “Okay, what am Imissing here? How did you not know about this? It’s not too late toattend. The three of us could go together if you want.”
“Oh, Idon’t skate,” I say quickly. “Roller skate, I mean. I don’t…Ican’t…” I trail off, although the words I’ve left unspoken feellike they’re hanging in the air in front of me, tauntingme.
Felicity lets outa quiet gasp. “I’m so stupid! I’m sorry, Stella, I didn’t eventhink about—”
“It’sokay.” I wave a hand as if to bat away her completely unnecessaryapology. “It’s such a silly thing, really. I haven’t been on skatesof any sort since the accident. Even ones with wheels instead ofblades.” The laugh that escapes me sounds slightly crazed, and Icringe. I hop up from the table and sort the takeout containersinto piles for recycling and garbage. “I hope you have a blast. Mybrother is an amazing DJ and ’90s playlists are one of hisspecialties. You’ll have to take a bunch of pics and show me onMonday, okay?”
“Ofcourse.” Felicity watches me with wide, uncertain eyes.
“Let mehelp you with that,” Leland murmurs, collecting the pile of garbageand putting it in the nearby trashcan while I toss the recycling inthe bin. “If you’re ready to leave, I can walk with you to yourcar.”
“Getout of here, both of you,” Felicity says lightly. “I’m going toputter around and work on my plans. Being here will help, and ifI’m alone I can blast some music, dance around, and let the ideasflow.”
Leland and I sayour goodbyes and leave the store. Neither of us speaks as we makeour way down the alley between shops. As soon as we emerge into themain part of the Village, I turn my face toward the weak sunlight,hoping to draw strength from it.
“Sorryfor being weird in there,” I say.
“Wereyou being weird? I hadn’t noticed.”
A quick glance inLeland’s direction shows him looking straight ahead, his handsjammed in his coat pockets, and a smile flirting with the cornersof his mouth.
I make a hummingsound, but don’t say anything else.
“Do youmiss it?” he asks. “Skating? I know it’s been a longtime.”
“Almosttwenty years. Sometimes it feels like another lifetime or like areally elaborate dream.”
It’s not a directanswer to his question, but saying ‘yes, I miss it’ would be theunderstatement of the century. I miss everything about it. Thesounds: skates gliding over ice, the heavy silence of the rinkfirst thing in the morning, the echo and boom of my favoriteplaylist being blasted over the speakers. The ever-present chill inthe air and the faintly chemical-laden smell of the rink. The windin my hair and against my skin as I flew across the ice. I thinkthe sensation of flying, of complete and utter freedom, is what Imiss most. That, and the feeling I got when I learned something newor nailed a particularly difficult bit of choreography.
Aside from all ofthat, I miss the life I had dreamed of. The possibilities. I try sohard not to think about it, but sometimes I can’t help but wonderwhat life would be like now if I hadn’t been in that accident andI’d been able to carry on skating. Would I have taken my coach upon her suggestion to try pairs skating? Would I have eventuallytrained for the Olympics? Would I have tried out for Disney on Icelike my friends joked I should do? I would have made an amazingBelle, and it would have been fun bringing joy and laughter topeople, plus getting to travel all over North America.
“I wentto visit you,” Leland says suddenly. “In the hospital. After youraccident.”
His words cause myfeet to stop working. I trip over nothing and Leland surgesforward, catching me before I can fall flat on my face. Even whenI’m upright and steady again, he remains in front of me, grippingboth of my arms just above the elbows.
“Oneday after basketball practice, Wes asked me to drive him to thehospital to visit you,” Leland says. “You’d been there for a coupleweeks at that point. He didn’t say a word the whole drive thereand, when I pulled up, he didn’t get out immediately. After someprodding, he confessed it was torture seeing you like that. He saidhe had to psyche himself up every single time, but hehadto see you. He saidhe thought sometimes you didn’t even know he was there because youwere sleeping or you were so out of it from the heavy drugs, but heneeded you to know he was there and that he loved you.”
Tears stream downmy face. I don’t make any move to wipe them away; the movementwould likely dislodge Leland’s grip on me, and I need that steadypressure to hold me together right now.
“Afterhe told me all that, I put the car back in drive and looped aroundto the parking lot. He gave a half-hearted protest when I told himI’d go in and wait in the waiting room for however long he wantedto stay. When we got up to your room, Evie and Hollie were justleaving, and they suggested I go in with Wes, said it seemed tohelp you to have people around. I only stayed a few minutes. I didmost of the talking, just about random stuff, I don’t even rememberwhat. Then I left and waited outside for Wes.”
“Idon’t remember,” I say in a jagged whisper.
Leland releasesone of my arms to gently wipe some of the tears from my face. “Ifigured you didn’t.”
“It’snothing personal,” I tell him. “I don’t remember much from thefirst few months after the accident. My therapist said it was partof the PTSD; my brain’s way of coping with trauma was to blockthings out.”
“Understandable.”
“Thankyou for being such a good friend to Wesley,” I say. “And to menow.”
