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“I’m so sorry,” I said, taking the armful of gear the man offered me.

“No problem. Any friend of Flock is a friend of mine,” he said with a wink, and once more, my gut tottered. Was this whole tryout one big Flock love-fest?

I looked over at the girls in the Scalper uniforms. They stood in a line, ready to start, mumbling to each other, eyes narrowed in my direction. Their sour looks gave me flashbacks to high school, waiting to be picked for a team in gym class. I’d always been one of the last chosen.

The line of women straightened up, and I glanced over my shoulder, following their gaze. Brody had arrived back with a hockey helmet in his arms. “Here. You can wear this.” He handed it over, its silver paint shining in the overhead strip lights. The word FLOCK shouted loud and proud on its back. It’dshow everyone I was here with him if I wore it. They’d probably think I was his girl, proudly wearing his helmet like a tattoo of ownership. The idea made my stomach roll, but I was out of options.

I crinkled my nose, pushed the helmet onto my head, and turned around to face him. He stood in front of me, adjusting the straps as I stared at him through its clear half-shield. When he was happy with the fit, he stood back and grinned. “It looks great on you.”

I brought my lips together in a tight line. Damn him for being all attractive and thoughtful when I wanted to be pissed at him.

I undid the straps, took it off, and thanked him before disappearing into the locker room with my cargo. I put everything down on a red bench on the far side of the room, tucked around from the showers. The smell of antiperspirant and leather filled the air. With a sigh, I dug through the skate bag, desperate to find something I could wear instead of my jeans. I was sure I’d left some shorts in there after a hot shift at the Plume the other day.

As I groped around, my hand closed around the soft fabric, and my lips curved. With a smile, I pulled it out of the bag, but the moment I held it up, my heart plummeted. I wasn’t holding a pair of work shorts, but one of my mum’s old competition skating dresses. I slumped down on the bench. The dress wasn’t just old; it was ancient. I used it to protect my crochet projects if I needed to transport them. I’d brought my latest mis-shaped owl along to day in case I felt anxious and fidgety.

I unwrapped my yarn, setting it safely on the side before holding up the dress. Its lemon nylon sagged where the age-old spandex had withered, but what choice did I have? At least it would allow me to move. I quickly stripped off my clothes and stepped into Mom’s dress, carefully feeding my arms intoits sleeves without putting my fingers through the hole at one armpit.

I looked in the mirror at the end of the lockers, spinning around on my skates. The dress had three dark patches of ink where one of my pens had leaked. There was a big hole in one side of my waist where the stitching had come away and a rip in the lacy underskirt. Any sequins had long gone. Mum had worn the dress for a Peter Pan routine, but with the ladders and scuffs in the fabric, I looked more Stinkerbell than Tinkerbell. I shrugged. At least with all the holes, I’d be air-conditioned.

23

RO

Iwiped the sweat from my top lip with the back of my hand. The roller derby tryout was in full swing. I’d cruised through the speed trial, shaving seconds off my best time. Who knew getting your hair caught in your coach’s zipper was such an effective training method? As I’d crossed the line, Brody whooped and hollered like I’d won Olympic gold, and his performance garnered a few sneers from the girls on the team.

One particular woman, with the words “Crazy Cassie” written on her back, tutted extra hard, shaking her curly purple hair at Brody’s fist pumps.

She was the captain of the Scalpers and had a skull and crossbones painted on the back of her helmet, like a pirate flag. From the looks she threw at me, she didn’t have pieces of eight. More like daggers of hate.

We’d now moved onto the main part of the trial, and the coach instructed us on positions and ran us through real game scenarios. He’d mixed the fresh meat in with the team players, and I took my place as a blocker for the first bout. I swallowed down a golfball-sized lump. Never had nine women looked so imposing and so big. I’d never considered myself short, but Ibelonged in Oz or Willy Wonka’s factory compared to some of these girls.

A whistle blew to start the play. As blockers, our job was to stop the other side’s jammer from scoring. In the middle of the scrum of bodies, the cloying smell of perfume and sweat hung in the air. We huddled together, our shoulders and bodies grating against each other, fighting for position as if being put through a meat grinder.

Crazy Cassie was the jammer for the other side, and after a decent battle, she found a way through our line, catching one of my braids as she went by and giving it a yank. She’d skated well ahead of us and looked back at our pack with a smug grin on her face. My skin prickled. She’d pulled my hair on purpose. What was this? Third grade?

We reset and ran through the play again. For the second time, Crazy Cassie battled through our line as our pivot player shouted instructions in an ear-splitting yell that echoed around the hall. Stuck at the back of the hustle, a sharp pain hit my side, and a flash of pale skin, elbow pads, and purple hair flew past me.

I let out a slew of curse words against the rubber of my gum shield. I’d expected a rough game, but the rules Brody had given me said players couldn’t use elbows as a weapon.

I threw up my arms, waving at the nearest ref. He spotted me and blew the whistle.

“What’s up? You okay?”

I spat my gum shield out into my palm. “I took a definite elbow there, and you didn’t blow a foul.”

He looked at me as if I’d spoken in ancient Sanskrit. Cassie cruised up, stopping in a scrape of wheels against wood. “It’s a tough sport. Accidents happen.”

“That wasn’t an accident,” I ground out, returning her glare with one of my own.

She rested her hands on her hips. “Just what are you insinuating? You can always audition for the circus if you can’t handle the hustle. You’d have an excellent shot in that outfit.”

I opened my mouth, struggling to find a scathing comeback, but she huffed a laugh and waved her arms at me like I was a half-wit. A few of the other girls snickered, too. I drew my brows together. Just what was her problem? I knew the Spitz Hollowers hated Tuft Swallowers, but this was ridiculous.

The ref shook his head. “Ladies, let’s be civil. Cassie, keep your elbows to yourself. And Flock, if you need to take a break, don’t stop the play. Just take a knee.”

Cassie cackled. “Flock? More like Schlock. But you’re probably used to getting on your knees.” She nodded at Brody, who sat in the first row of the bleachers. He was deep in conversation with Dean Millan, not paying any attention to the action. With a smirk, Cassie glanced back at me before winking and skating off around the track.

Blood simmered in my veins, but before I could take off after her, find out why the hell she was being such a bitch, the ref blew his whistle. He swapped up the positions and reset the gameplay. Another player handed me the Jammer helmet cover, which had a white star on it. My lips bowed. I’d be in the driver’s seat this time.