Knee Pads

29 | whip it

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE | WHIP IT

2009 indie film starring elliot page, juliette lewis, and drew barrymore.

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          Against all odds, I didn't die.

          I thought I would, due to how violent my sobbing felt, how it threatened to shatter my ribs, how I was choking on them, but it never happened. Corinne was there, steadying me right outside the track, and that should have been comforting enough, but I could still hear everything that happened behind me.

          The bout went on without me, like everyone always told me would happen. Even though it stung, I wasn't irreplaceable, and we had talented skaters that could take my place, exactly like Marley had promised me, not to mention they were looking out for me.

          I still hated to admit that I'd gotten hooked on being a jammer, on being the one people depended on to lap the blockers and score points by completing the jams, of being needed and helpful. The instant gratification of being good at what I did for my team was highly addicting, better and stronger than any opioid, than any alcoholic beverage, and all I wanted to do was get back on the track to get my fix.

          No matter how hard I tried, Corinne wouldn't let me go. Even if she did, trying to set my left foot back on the ground proved to be one of the most painful experiences of my life, so I had to resort to pathetically standing there with my foot hovering a few inches over the floor tiles. Moments before, I had been crying from the pain, but the tears rolling down my face scorched with anger and frustration. I was supposed to be better than this, stronger than this—everyone kept telling me all I'd gone through had to make me stronger—and I didn't want this to be the end. I didn't want this to be yet another reminder of my failures.

          "You need to help me out here," Corinne told me, trying to pry my hands away from the railing surrounding the track. Besides the railing, she was the only pillar of support I had and, with me wearing skates, it was hard to keep my balance without said support. "You know I'm not opposed to dragging you by the hair to the nurse's office if that's what it comes down to, but things don't need to be that drastic. If you cooperate, you'll get that ankle checked out in no time and—"

          "I need to go back—"

          "I think maybe you should start by taking off your skates; if you don't want to walk barefoot, I can lend you my sneakers, no problem, but—"

          I shrugged off the hand she kept on my arm. "I'm going back. I'm telling Coach I'm fine and I'm taking back the lead jammer spot."

          "Don't be dense, Wren. There's no way in hell she's letting you back on the track with that ankle, and, to be frank, neither am I. Stop being so stubborn and let me help—"

          "I don't need help! I need to skate!"

          Her face hardened, dark eyes narrowed. "You know what? You're upset, so I'm going to excuse this snappy behavior and pretend you're not lashing out at me for no reason. I just wish you could tell me where that one version of you has gone, the one who kept telling me I needed to accept the help I was being given instead of pushing everyone away. I like that Wren. I still like this one, but you're really infuriating."

          I groaned, weakly falling onto a concrete bench nearby, and knew I needed to swallow this stupid pride of mine and admit defeat. She could very well pin me down to the bench to prevent me from leaving and, while that would be something I'd be interested in under different circumstances, I had no doubt in my mind she'd go to great lengths just to prove a point.