The Cheerleader's Guide to Roller Derby

Chapter Four: Pump Up the Jam

I ran into my friend Traci at the bank. She was curious when she saw me pulling out a fat stack of cash. "Shopping trip?" she said hopefully.

That smack on my head from the school door must have rattled my brain. Otherwise, I'm sure I could have thought up an excuse. "Kind of," I said.

"Where are you going?"

"Mankato."

"Ooh, I'm in!"

After I filled my car with gas, we stopped for lattes to drink along the way. When we got to Mankato and the mall, we hit up two shoe stores, a "secret" bra sale and the cosmetics department at Herberger's. I didn't have enough cash left over for roller derby gear, even if I could have ditched Traci long enough to buy it. I couldn't use my credit or debit card for fear that Mom would see what I'd purchased and start asking questions. I was lucky just to get one of those boil in water and form it to your teeth mouthguards Cher N. Misery had suggested. If Traci hadn't needed a few new pairs of yoga pants from the sporting goods store, I wouldn't have that.

We were in the food court at the mall when I heard Pump Up the Jam for the second time that day. I stole a peek over my shoulder, but when I saw a woman with short dark hair and a Halloween orange t-shirt holding a microphone in the center of the atrium, I took a sudden deep interest in my Greek Salad.

"Oh look!" Traci said. "Roller Derby girls! Can you believe it? I mean, really, if they want to skank around in some smelly old skating rink that's one thing. But here? At the mall? In public? Don't they have any shame?"

I pulled out my cellphone. "Hey, we gotta go," I said. "I promised my mom I'd be back in time to--"

"Sure. Just a sec. Look at that one, the black girl. Hello Tubby Tub Tub! Can't she see that Spandex is not her friend? Please. That's not just a muffin top, it's a ... Hey, what's worse than a muffin top, Chantal?"

"I don't know. Come on. I gotta go."

"Pot pie? No, meringue pie. A chocolate meringue pie, that's it!" She laughed until she snorted.

I stood to leave.

"Okay, okay already. But let's walk past them. I want to get a closer look."

I kept my head down but Q-Tip noticed me anyway. When Ms. Misery shouted the girl's derby name she fist pumped in our direction, then pointed straight at me and waved like we were long lost friends.

"You know her?" Traci said.

"She must be waving at someone behind us."

Traci had been in the same "unfortunate incident" as I had last summer. She'd had the same punishment too; thrown off the cheerleading squad, community service requirements. I didn't know if she had to attend counseling or not. Like I said before, that was something we didn't talk about. Still, I doubted she'd spent any time on the other side of Ms. Hernandez's desk.

Why did I need to "work on my issues" when it was clear that Traci was a far worse human being than me? Had I ever made fun of someone just because of the color of their skin? I don't think so.

And yet, I was the one who had to sneak around collecting roller derby equipment so I could finish my community service requirement. Traci claimed to be done with hers. And I was the one who'd been stuck at therapy while Traci traipsed off to a Payton Meeks concert. I was still feeling a little grumbly about that on the way home.

"By the way, how was the show? Did you and Mo-knee have a good time?" I probably should have tried harder to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

"Come on, Chantal, don't be like that. You know I only took her because you couldn't get out of that -- " She paused to give me the side eye treatment. "What was it, a pedologist's appointment this time? Plus, Moni's family has some connection with the arena. She promised we could go back stage."

Ooh, really? I would have killed for that opportunity. I gave Traci a smile that said all was forgiven. "So, did you? Did you really get to meet Payton Meeks?"

"Sort of," Traci said. "We did get to go behind the stage. And Payton did shake my hand. But we only got to stay for a minute or two. Moni was all about spending time with her dad. Can you believe that? There we were in the city, with a limo and my mom's credit card, and all she wanted to do was hang out with her father. Talk about a buzzkill.

"Then, when we got back to the hotel room, there were these cute college guys down the hall. They invited us over to peruse the mini-bar with them," She smiled and shook her head. "Hotel room. College guys. Mini bar. Perusing. It doesn't get any better than that, am I right?"

I nodded, even though I'd been avoiding the particular combination of boys and booze for a few weeks. There'd been this party and, well, the guys at my school can really be jerks, you know? But college guys? I might have made an exception.

Apparently Moni didn't. Make exceptions, that is. Or maybe Miss Purity didn't drink at all. According to Traci she'd been all 'but we're not old enough' and 'we don't even know those guys'.

I was pretty sure I didn't need to worry about Moni Fredrickson any more. Now that her one and done season on the cheer squad was almost over and she'd screwed things up with Traci ... ha! She was on a one way trip back to Loser Land. 

***

Lucky for me, Mom had a spa appointment scheduled that day. If I got really lucky, she might also do an early dinner with her friends. I needed all the time I could get to dig through my brother's massive collection of cast off sports stuff.

By the time I finished I was dirty and exhausted, but I'd managed to assemble what I hoped was a passable pile of gear. According to the derby registration packet, and what I'd witnessed as the girls circled the track pummeling each other, I needed pads, a lot of pads.

Logan had spent a few seasons on the junior hockey league when he was a kid. Once he'd entered middle school, he traded hockey for skateboarding for a while. Between the two sports I had my choice of knee pads, elbow pads and wrist guards. There were a couple of helmets too.

I would have preferred the hockey one, since it came without the SK8 or DIE stickers that my brother had been fond of in his bad boy stage. But the hockey helmet also came with a face shield attached. I didn't remember seeing any of the other roller girls sporting those. Besides, so far the best thing about roller derby seemed to be the makeup some of them wore. Who was going to see it behind some dumb mask?

After the pads and helmet, I turned my quest to skates. I had a little "feels" moment when I located the box with my old rink skates in it. I tried them on but I couldn't squeeze my feet inside. That was probably for the best anyway. I doubted whether Coffee and Q-Tip would appreciate their pink boots or Barbie doll logo.

Logan had grown so fast that first year after our parents split up that Dad was perpetually replacing his skates. He had three pairs of the black, low cut, four wheel style. They looked almost exactly like those the derby girls had worn. One pair was almost as small as my Barbie skates. The next was really snug. I wish I could say that I had a Goldilocks moment then, where I pulled on the last pair and they magically fit just right -- but no. The third pair was at least one size too big for me. Oh well, I'd double up on socks.

Socks, and leggings, and really, fashion in general -- those would be my ticket to team acceptance. Sure, it might have been years since I'd pulled on a pair of skates. I might not know anything about roller derby either. But I was confident that I could lift the team's style quotient. Because please, orange and black only looked good on jack o'lanterns. Purple was so much more flattering.

I was thinking tutus. 

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