The Cheerleader's Guide to Roller Derby

Chapter Ten: Learning to Fall

Not that the rest of the practice went easy. I still had to relearn how to stop. And what to do when stopping wasn't an option. I'd laughed along with the rest of the newbies when Coach first announced we would be practicing our falls. I mean, really, all anyone had to do was take a couple of minutes to watch us and it was clear -- falling was what we did best.

But Scare Bear, Coffee, Q-Tip and the rest of the experienced skaters didn't think it was funny. They stared us down when our coach said, "You will spend a good amount of time on the ground in this sport. How you get there, and what you do afterward, will make all the difference."

And so we fell. A lot. Intentionally. Unintentionally. By ourselves. In pairs. In a group. On one knee. On two knees. With a slide and without.

Apparently there was skill involved, if you believed what Coffee had to say on the subject. She wove through the groups on the track commanding us to drop and then critiquing our performances. "You need to give in to it, Chantal," she said on her first pass. "You're too stiff. Stop fighting it," she said on the next. "This isn't cheerleading," she said on her third pass.

Enough.

"Why are you picking on me?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. Girls like Coffee couldn't help being jealous of girls like me. This chance to embarrass me was probably one of the greatest moments of her life.

I didn't hear her coming on her fourth pass around the track. She sped in front of me and then came to a dead stop. My own attempt at stopping sent me flying through the air in such a dramatic fashion that all the other skaters paused to see me land. And land I did. On my butt. And my elbows. And my hands. And finally my head.

Someone blew a whistle. Cher N. Misery shouted, "Ima!" and nodded toward the changing area. But Coffee didn't move. She stood over me with her hands on her hips. "That's why I'm picking on you," she said. "This isn't a beauty contest and we're not out here to prove who's the most popular either. This is a team sport. If you fall like that in a bout, you could take me down with you. I don't like to go down."

She started to push off and skate away, then turned into another perfect T-stop. "And by the way," she said. "The name is Ima Bruiseya. Not Coffee."

I half expected her to end her sentence with -- bitch. It's probably what I would have said. But we'd been warned already about language around the younger girls. I guess that's what stopped her. It didn't keep the sentiment from rolling off her though. Even as she sat  on one of the folding chairs near the front I could feel heated waves of anger flowing in my direction.

"Don't mind Ima," Q-Tip said as she skated up and offered her hand to help me up. "She gets a little sensitive sometimes." She'd pulled me halfway to standing before she turned my hand loose, then watched me crash back to the floor. "Oops," she said. "I guess sometimes I get a little sensitive too."

I refused Moni's offer of help and stood on my own. She stayed with me though, matching my strides as we skated around the track, falling beside me each time on command until the practice was finally over. She sat next to me as we unlaced our skates too.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"For not saying anything about the tutu. I can't believe I was so dumb."

"Pinterest?" I asked.

She nodded.

"It almost got me too."

"See you next practice," Cara/Scare Bear called as she and the other experienced skaters pulled on their coats. The rest of us, the "freshies", had to stay behind while Coach Misery and Red went over the skating practice dates, the "off-skate" conditioning opportunities and the league's charitable works requirements -- a mandatory six hours per month. The first event was coming up on Friday.

"Oh!" Moni said. "Friday's our school's first sectional game. Sorry, I won't be able to come then."

"You play basketball?" Cher N. Misery asked.

"No," Moni said. "I'm a -- I'm sort of a cheerleader."

'Sort of?' She got that part right. Have I mentioned that Moni Fredrickson can't even do the splits?

A few of the younger girls ran up to her with looks of awe and admiration in their eyes. I remembered when little girls looked like that at me too. "Do you have pom poms?" the one named Ella Vader squealed.

I started to mention that I, too was a cheerleader. Well, kind of, sort of, at the moment, but I caught the looks on some of the older girls' faces. They were clearly not impressed.

"Rah. Rah," one of them said. It was the girl in the stiletto boots.

I hid my spirit fingers in my coat pocket, kept my mouth shut and looked away, hoping Moni wouldn't rat me out. She didn't. She was too busy fending of her new mini-fans and figuring out how to work cheerleading, roller derby, Math Bowl practice, and a date with that nerdy Brian kid into her schedule. "And Rick," she said. That was Rick Mangers of Senior Wrestler Hottie fame. "We're renting The Lion King to try to get him through Hamlet."

Stiletto Girl rolled her eyes. I thought I caught Red and the coach rolling their eyes too but I couldn't be sure. I was too busy gauging the right moment to ask one of them to sign my community service sheet.

I waited for everyone else to clear out before I approached Coach Misery.

"You looked pretty good out there today, Chantal. I'm glad you decided to stay," she said as I pulled the sheet from my probation officer out of my pocket.

"Thanks, but I was wondering, I -- I have this thing." I pushed the sheet toward her. "It's -- I need to keep track of the hours I spend on roller derby stuff."

The coach took the sheet from me and started unfolding it. "Community service?" she asked, and smiled. "We get a lot of that."

I felt the tension in my shoulders relax.

"So what is it? National Honor Society? Church group? Some kind of scholarship competition?"

My shoulders inched up toward my ears again. "Not exactly. It's kind of ..."

"Oh," she said when she finished unfolding. "Probation." She tried not to show her surprise at first but she gave up pretty quickly. That was just before she delivered a five minute speech to me about girls learning to make healthy choices.

When she was done I asked if she would allow me to stay on the team.

"You're not on the team yet, Chantal. That's something you'll have to earn. But you don't have to earn the opportunity to have a second chance. We all make mistakes in life. It's what you do after you screw up that makes the difference."

She was trying to be nice. I know. But it was still pretty freaking embarrassing. I couldn't wait to get out of there.

Out in the parking lot, I tossed the gear into my trunk while Moni hopped from foot to foot just outside the door to the practice space. It was getting dark and the temperature, already cold, had dropped a few degrees. From the way Moni kept swiping her cell phone, I guessed her ride home was late.

Too bad. So sad.

I'd turned the car key and activated the heated seats when she looked up at me, a question on her face. No way was  I spending an hour in the car with Little Miss Perfect Moni Fredrickson and her social calendar. I put the car in reverse and pulled from my parking space. I'd switched it to drive and was ready to place my foot on the gas when the coach came outside. She looked at Moni then at me, and made the universal sign for 'roll down your car window'. I complied, even though I could guess what was coming.

"Aren't you two going in the same direction?" Coach Misery asked.

Moni looked down at her feet.

Coach dropped her bags beside her and placed her hands on her hips, then pointed a stare at me.

"Yeah," I said. "I guess we are. You don't need a ride, do you?"

Moni raised up on the balls of her feet like she was preparing to attempt a herkie. "Would you?" she asked.

I sighed. "Sure. Get in."

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