The Cheerleader's Guide to Roller Derby

Chapter Six: A Girl's Gotta Do What A Girl's Gotta Do

I'm not sure how I ended up in Wauseca, a town even smaller than mine, with even less Saturday night entertainment opportunities. But there I was. Since I was in the area anyway, I figured I might as well drive past Pop's Skating Rink. For old time's sake. You know.

I was surprised by how small and dumpy the place looked. When I was a kid it had seemed like a palace. I drove past it, then circled back through town. I might as well go in, I thought. Get a Coke. Say hello to Pops, if he was still alive. And, since I had a pair of skates with me, it would be dumb not to take them inside, right? Not the rest of the gear though. Oh my God, how it smelled when I popped the trunk.

Old man Pops was still alive, though looking rather crusty as he took my six dollars and handed me a ticket for a free popcorn. I don't think he recognized me. I sat on the plastic bench and took off my boots. I stowed them in an ancient locker and dropped in a quarter for the key before I sat again to tie on Logan's skates.

As soon as I stood, I wished that I'd worn heavier socks. The skates were loose, and without the tall boot of regular girl's rink skates, I could feel my feet wobble. Take it slow, I told myself. But traversing the carpeted dressing area wasn't too hard. I got this, I thought, so I abandoned all caution before I rolled out onto the rink. And fell immediately on my butt.

There is no graceful way to pick yourself up on roller skates. This became apparent on my third (or was it fourth?) try. Finally, I dropped all pretense of self respect, scooted over, and hauled myself up by the rail. It was either that, or become a permanent speedbump for the ten year old boys who sped around the track. Thank God no one I knew was there to see me.

I held onto the rail with both hands, stepping around the track like a newborn giraffe. Even then I got passed by two tiny girls in princess skates who grabbed at my thighs as they worked their way around me. The little brats.

And I still fell twice.

One whole song went by before I made it far enough around the rink for the entrance to the snack bar to come back  into view. Another song had almost finished when the lights went out and a voice over the sound system announced a couples skate. Could it get any worse? 

It could.

The younger boys all raced for the exits without watching for someone like me, who was desperately trying to manage the three foot gap between the end of the rail and the safety of the carpet zone ahead. My fall that time was a spectacular, butt bouncing thud, visible to everyone since the disco ball had switched on and chose that exact moment to sparkle in my direction.

A gangly kid with a mop of ginger hair and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt skated up and offered his hand. He yanked me back to standing and made sure I'd resumed my death grip on the rail. Then he smiled, shook his hair out of his eyes and asked, "Do you want to, you know, skate?"

"With ... you?"

He nodded.

"What are you?" I asked. "Twelve?"

The boy stood a little straighter, pulling himself a little taller. He jutted out his chin and answered, "Thirteen. And a half."

Like he thought that half year might make a difference. Or that his invitation might compel me to once again risk my life on the skating rink. Still, if I was nice, he might haul my pathetic self over to a bench, where I could remove the wheeled instruments of death and start figuring out another way to finish my community service before prom rolled around.

"Sorry," I said to him, practically batting my eyelashes. "I think my roller skating days are over."

"But you only went around one time. You aren't really going to give up already, are you?"

"I am most definitely going to give up already," I said. "That is, if you will be kind enough to help me to that bench?" I gave him the smile that I usually reserve for star senior athletes and college boys.

He blushed -- but didn't move.

"Then will you at least get out of my way?"

He still didn't budge.

Whatever. By my calculations I still had two and a half hours to kill before I could arrive home without arousing my mother's suspicions. As long as I had the rail to hold me up, I could stand there all night.

"It's your skates," the boy said. "At least, that's part of the problem. Those are speed skates. They're made to go fast so they're slippier. Plus the wheels look old and hard. Your trucks are rusty. The bearings are probably shot. And they look a little big for you."

"You could tell all of that just by watching me go around the rink once?"

"It did take you a while," he said.

Yes, it did.

"Besides, I kind of, well, skating's something I know a lot about. Pops is my grandpa. I grew up here."

The couple's skate was ending. The kid placed himself in a guarding position, protecting me from the skaters exiting the track. When the lights came up I took a closer look at him. A spark of memory tripped in my brain. "Conor?" I said, remembering the short, freckle faced kid who could skate circles around me, even back then, when I could still, you know, skate.

"I knew it!" he said, breaking out into a broad grin. "You're Chantal Simmons. You used to come here with your dad and your brother, didn't you?"

"I can't believe you still remember that. You were just a little kid back then."

"A little kid who was sort of in love with you," he said as the blush returned to his face.

I figured the kindest thing to do was to ignore that remark. "So you really think it's the skates?"

"Yeah. You should try out the rentals, since you're just starting again. They're sturdier and you can't go too fast on them. Come on, I'll set you up."

It still wasn't easy but, in the vintage, tan colored. high boot skates that laced halfway up my shins, at least I could get around the track without falling. Much. With Conor's help, some of the old moves began to feel almost natural to me again by the end of the night.

We were sitting beside each other, unlacing our skates, when I asked, "You ever heard of roller derby?"

"I only dream about it every night," he said, looking all wistful-like.

"TMI, Conor. Tee em eye."

"What do you want to know about it?"

"Well ..."

I gave Conor an edited version of my roller derby wannabe-ness. This one highlighted my desire to be part of a worthy charity group without straying into 'cheerleader disgraced through unfortunate incident must amass community service hours' territory. If the kid wasn't already crushing hard on me already, he would have been by the time I listed all the food drives, Habitat for Humanities work and Teach a Veteran's Kid to Skate parties the team was expected to participate in. When I got through it all, even I believed I should be nominated to sainthood.

"Sure I'll help you!" he said, so earnest that I almost felt bad about playing him. "The first thing is the gear. You gotta have the right stuff."

"I have some of it already," I said.

The rink's sound system crackled back to life, calling Conor to the snack bar.

"Great. I need go clean out the popcorn machine but, if you bring everything you have tomorrow, I'll check it out with you. And we can skate more too."

Tomorrow? I'd already agreed to meet with Traci for brunch and facials. But then, she hadn't minded replacing me with Moni Fredrickson at the Payton Meeks concert so, eh ... a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

"Sure," I said. Then I winked. "It's a date."