Hell on Wheels

Chapter 1

It's pitch black outside. The night is lit up only by the neon signs of the rink. I have obtained a key from the manager because he noticed how I often stay past the open hours. As I creep though the doors and turn on lights, I decide to help myself to one of the golden pretzels still sitting on the rotisserie racks. I shove the pretzel in my mouth and make my way to the locker rooms to change.

One bright pink helmet, two knee pads and two elbow pads later, I finish lacing up my black skates and head over to the DJ booth and plug my iPod in. As Eye of the Tiger began playing, I cross over to the power box and turned on the colored strobe lights and disco ball. This is it. This is my life.

My feet glide outwards as I gain momentum, allowing me to make a few twists and turns. Skating gives me a sense of serenity, it makes me feel safe.
I imagine myself at a race. Crowds cheering, sweat dripping, heart racing. The trash talk and insults that are being thrown. My team, the Hellatubbies, begin the race by putting Jolene, our team captain, in the lead. Then as the race progresses, we slingshot Macy and knock out one of our opponents. A few black eyes later, we win the match and celebrate with milkshakes from the small cafe within the rink.

My daydream comes to an abrupt stop when I hear the soda machine go off, causing me to land not-so-gracefully on my backside. I look over to see Macy leaning against the snack counter with a styrofoam cup of Pepsi, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"Nice going Cinderella. Maybe next time you'll land on your face." She teases. I bring myself back up to my feet and take my skates off. Sauntering off the rink, I drop my skates to the floor and walk to Macy, smacking the back of her head.

"So, how'd you know I was here? And how did your ugly mug even get in here?" I inquire as I steal a sip of her drink.
"You left the door unlocked, genius. Besides, you're here practicing every Tuesday night from 10-12. Plus, it's the only night during the week when your dad isn't home." She states. I stare at my best friend in awe. I took in her short brown hair and scheming face, remembering that it was in fact Macy who told my mom to buy me my first pair of skates for my tenth birthday. She is more than my best friend, she is my sister.
Music was still playing, and lights were still flashing as I turned to her and gave her a hug.
"Woah now, no need to get sentimental, loser." She tells me as she hugs me back. "Now, I think we have some practicing to do." She gets her skates out of her bag, looks to me, and smirks.

After Macy and I raced for what seemed like hours, we decided to call it quits.
"Do you need a ride?" I asked her. She replied with a 'duh' and we piled all of our belongings into the back of my old, red truck. Even though Macy is older than me, I got my license first. When she finally got her license, her parents seemed wary of buying her a car, and claimed that if she wanted one she would buy it herself. Macy would rather spend her money on food.
As the static of the radio mixed with the ambiance of the passing street lamps, time began to pass by all to quickly. Before I knew it, we were at Macy's house. Her house was small, but practical. Her parents were big 70's enthusiasts and the interior of her house was decorated with a variety of colors and patterns.
Macy got out of the car, thanked me with a "Later loser," and walked inside.

Instead of driving straight home, I go back to Main Street, pull over, and park. I wish I lived in the town homes like Macy, but my family lives in the same house that has been passed down on my mothers side for generations, Marleen Orchard. It was named after my great great grandmother Marleen Isadora Boyd. The orchard was not in fact an orchard, but a rather small Victorian house placed smack dab in the middle of the town. It's not the center of town anymore, but now belongs in a neighborhood which houses most people I know. About twenty original homes stood in town, and they all belong to families who have been here for what seems like centuries. My mother, an Grenol Valley native, married a business man from New York but never moved out of her family home. Let me tell you, having the entire student body pass your house every day on their way to school is not fun. Especially when your in your PJ's. But, it makes the commute to school easier.
Letting out a sigh, I turn on my car and drive away from the lights and glamour of the city.

When I arrive home, I step out into the cold air. My breath creating phantoms as proof of my existence. I walked up the steps onto my front porch and unlock my front door. About to call out to my parents, I take note of the time and decide against it. I smell cookies and figure that my mom made them while I was out. They're tempting, but I did just eat the entire snack bar at the rink.

There seems to be a rather long trek from the kitchen to my room, which includes a much avoided trip up the stairs. I look at the pictured that line the wall as I drag myself up the staircase. Once upstairs, I make a mad dash for my room, hoping not to wake my parents.

The second I get into my room, I close the door and turn on the lights only to be greeted by the mess I had left only hours ago. Although my mom constantly tries to get me to put things in bins and "organize my life," I still leave everything out. My room overlooks the street and what little privacy I have is created by my bright orange curtains. I peel off all my work out clothes and let out a small cry as I accidentally kick the side of my dresser with my pinkie toe. After I brush my teeth and put on my pajamas, I am reminded of the homework I forgot to do. It takes a while to put myself in the right mindset for school, but once there, I take out my books and prepare for a long night.

A/N hello lovely people, I'm so sorry this took so long to update, I had everyone I know proofread it. I promise to update more frequently aka not eight months later. The picture on the side is Skye. Hope you have a lovely day.
Xoxo, gossip girl