Page 7 of False Start

Lonnie, my voice of reason.

Lonnie, who I came home for.

Who I spoke to three months ago, with the promise of seeing each other again.

Six weeks. I lost six weeks in a hospital, recovering from a head injury. Almost two to wake up, and four more to rehab.

And in that time, I lost everything.

The buzzing in my brain intensifies, my heartbeat fartoo labored from the narcotics traveling through my veins at rapid speed. Skating high seemed like a fun idea. Skating twenty-seven laps with two crushed Roxys in my nose under five minutes was borderline suicidal.

Star is saying something, but I can’t hear her past the chaotic noise inside my own head. My feet move beneath me, confusion, need for clarification, and an unforgiving pattern of self-deprecation already taking root within. As if swept by a current, I’m pulled in only one direction.

I feel a squeeze on my wrist, and I find Lady Yaga’s hand tight around me. “Just let her cool off.” The words are barely audible, but the shaking of her head is clear as I read her lips. “Harvey’s kind of intense.”

It’s not enough to hold me back.

Ihaveto talk to her.

Shaking off one of my oldest friends, I make my way to the locker room. I’m drawn to this girl, and I can’t explain why. Pausing at the door, I look back to see only anxious faces watching me. I roll my shoulders, raising one hand to the wall to combat the lightheadedness fighting to take me down.

With a trembling fist, I knock.

“Fuck off,” she barks immediately from the other side.

“I’m coming in,” I announce, like it would somehow make it better.

The girl named Harvey is sitting on a bench, legs spread wide with her elbows resting on the tops of her thighs. Her head is dropped, a dark spot staining the concrete where her sweat drips from her clasped hands to the floor.

With her helmet off, I can see her short blonde hair, trimmed close around the ears and the back but long in the front, spilling over her eyes. I think they’re green, but I’mnot sure. They look red now. An eclectic array of anime tattoos cover her muscled arms, down to the scorpion on her hand.

Her chin raises slowly, her eyes narrow and hard, scrutiny burning from them as they gaze into me.

She’s fucking breathtaking. Every sharp edge of her features is softened by the glow of her skin and the fullness of her lips. My heart drums faster when the furrow in her eyebrow grows deeper.

“What the fuck do you want?” Her nostrils flare, the silver hoop glinting in the light.

Standing here now, I am well aware that my brain has abandoned me to my stupid decisions.

“Lonnie is dead?” They’re the only words I can manage coherently.

She doesn’t say anything, but the confirmation isn’t necessary.

“When?” It becomes harder to take each inhale fully, my lungs struggling to do the work.

“Little over a month ago.”

The words feel like cinder blocks around my skates; my knees buckle and beg to drop.

I brace myself, holding onto the wall and feeling the weight of them on me. “I-I don’t understand. I just spoke to them?—”

“Don’t you havefriendsyou can talk to about this?” She’s already up, skating towards the door, her shoulder bumping against mine and nearly knocking me the rest of the way down.

The door slams behind her, leaving me with the echo of her words in the damp room.

I let go, falling to my knee pads and letting the tears roll down my cheeks. Everything is wrong.

This isn’t the life I was supposed to come back to.