Demon Derby (6 page)

I reached out and grabbed her hands before she stuck a finger in my eye. “What tryouts?”

“You know the Apocalypsies, right? One of the junior derby teams? They’re looking for new skaters.” She squealed. “I’m so psyched!”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as the derby type.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve changed since you were here last.” She tossed her hair. “So what do you say? I could really use a cheering section.”

“Sure, I’ll do it. But didn’t the season start already? My sister skated with the Hotsies before she went to Smithton, and I’m pretty sure they’d already started by this time last year.”

“Two of the Apocalypsies died in a car accident. Isn’t that the most horrible thing ever? Anyway, if they don’t fill their roster, they’ll have to forfeit the rest of their bouts.”

“That’s terrible.” I looked down at my legs. What I was about to say was stupid, but I had to do it. I had to ride the wave of my dojo triumph, if only to get my mind off the fact that I’d splatted on the pavement yesterday and then topped it off by getting beaten up. “I want to try out too.”

“B-but …,” Darcy started sputtering. “But you can’t do that. You didn’t go to skills camp. It’s a requirement.”

“Why?” I put my hands on my hips. “You want me to come to the tryout; I’ll come. But I’m skating. Skills camp is for people who don’t know the basics, but I used to practice with the Hotsies all the time. They would have taken me if I’d been old enough. I could probably still do all that stuff—T-stops, plow stops, booty blocking. You name it.”

“Well … okay. I mean, if it’s okay with them, it’s okay with me. Maybe we could each get a spot!” She almost visibly
shook herself back into hyperactive peppiness. “I’ll pick you up, and we’ll go together. Isn’t that perfect? I can’t decide whether I’m excited or nervous! I’ve always wanted to be a rollergirl!”

A shiver ran down my back and out my toes. I wanted to try out, but the word “rollergirl” brought back that creepy feeling from yesterday. Even if it was totally irrational to be afraid now. It’s not like the crackhead from last night was following me; that was ridiculous.

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s pretty sweet, all right.”

“Wheee!” Darcy clapped her hands and danced around in a circle. “I’m so excited!”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

After my dojo visit, I dorked around at home until Saturday-night dinner. Rachel got to the dining room right after me.

“When are you going back to the dorms?” I asked as I sat down. My chair was wrapped with orange and black gauze. At our house, Halloween decorations went up in early September and stayed until Christmas. Sometimes later.

“Tomorrow morning,” she said. I couldn’t keep the disappointment off my face, and she winced. “I know. But I’ve got an exam in Abnormal Psych this week, and I’ve got to make it to the study group or I’ll fail.”

“Maybe I’ll come up sometime soon. I could take the train.”

“That would be awesome.”

Mom and Dad squeezed through the doorway, nearly upending the massive sheet cake they were supporting between them. It overflowed with green frosting; plastic ninjas competed for space with at least two boxes of candles. One of the ninjas had toppled headfirst into a candle flame, and his head was dripping.

“Happy recovery to you!” they sang. Rachel warbled along out of tune. “Happy recovery to you! Happy recovery, dear Casey! Happy recovery to you!”

They set the cake down on the table, nearly upsetting it into my lap. Then Dad said, “Blow out the candles, honey.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. Those poor ninjas.

Mom whipped out a knife and started cutting the cake into dinner-plate-sized slices. I got the first piece. It had a lot of ninjas on it, including the damaged one. A puddle of head goo encased his feet. Poor guy; I scooped him out reverentially and laid him to rest on my napkin.

“Uh, guys?” Rachel asked, taking her plate. “Isn’t it customary to have dinner first? You know, vegetables, meats, that kind of thing?”

“Reverse dinner. Duh,” I said.

My parents were big on themed meals. They did reverse dinners, where dessert was served first and appetizers last; alphabet meals, where every food item began with the same letter; and no-utensils nights, where they served things like chicken and noodles with no forks and lots of napkins. This kind of thing was one of the many reasons why I never invited anyone except Kyle over for dinner.

“Nope.” Mom laughed. “Good guess, though.”

“Just wait and see,” added Dad, forking a piece of red velvet cake approximately the size of a baseball into his mouth.

“Whatever.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “So how was the dojo thing, Sis?”

“I think it’s great that you’re getting out and about again, Casey,” boomed our father. “And only one day after your traumatic experience. I’m proud of your bravery, kiddo.”

I had to give my parents some credit; they were pretty chill. They had to be, with me as a daughter. I’d come home sprained, broken, or abraded more often than not. They’d clamped down pretty hard when I’d first gotten diagnosed, but I’d liked the fact that they’d been at the hospital every day. Mom would give me foot rubs, and Dad would debate with the doctors about experimental techniques he’d read about on the Internet. They were weird and embarrassing a lot of the time, but they’d known exactly what to do when I’d needed them. And, just as important, they’d known when to back off.

“There’s not much to tell,” I said, shrugging. “One of the girls invited me to try out for a roller derby team. Will one of you sign the release form? I called Dr. Rutherford’s office, and he said it was okay. I’m allowed to go back to the dojo too.”

Of course, when I’d spoken to my doctor, I’d failed to mention the hallucinations. And I might have downplayed the derby thing. In fact, I might have lied outright and told him I was going to be a mascot.

“How is Phil Rutherford these days?” Dad asked. “I keep leaving him messages about community theater tryouts, but he
never shows. Pity, because the guy’s got a natural stage presence.”

“Not bad.” I took a deep breath. “He said Little Casey’s back on the floor. He thought I might want to know.”

Little Casey had been my children’s hospital fourth-floor neighbor for months. She’d had acute lymphoblastic leukemia; I’d had acute myelogenous leukemia. She’d been nine at diagnosis. I’d been just shy of sixteen. But the nurses had called us the Casey twins anyway. It was the only time I’ve ever been called big.

I hadn’t spoken to her since I’d been discharged. I missed her, but she was a reminder of all the things I really would have preferred to leave behind.

“You should call her,” Dad said. “Or go to visit. Take her some of this cake.”

“I’ll think about it,” I replied noncommittally, earning myself a disapproving look from everyone else at the table. They didn’t get it. And while Little Casey probably missed me as much as I missed her, I bet she understood the urge to leave and never look back. “So about that permission slip …”

“As long as Dr. Rutherford is okay with it,” Mom said. “I don’t want you to push too hard too fast. Especially after yesterday.”

“Anybody can get mugged, Mom. That has nothing to do with my overall health. Dr. Rutherford said it would be good for me to be more active. Get my strength up.” I kept my face straight. My parents had overactive BS detectors. It came with the theater-prof territory; they could spot a poor performance
from a mile away. Either I was better at acting than I thought or they wanted to believe as much as I did that my health problems were over, because neither of them gave me a second look.

“Roller derby? Awesome! You’ll be the star of the team. There will be blood on the pavement!” Dad gestured with his fork like it was a sword. Not like swords and roller derby had anything to do with each other; he just took any excuse to pretend to sword fight. “But it shall not be yours! Not this day, or any other!”

“You need medication,” Rachel said.

Dad put the fork down. “I’ve been told that before.”

“I think the tryouts are a great idea, honey.” Mom sipped her wine. “You aren’t happy just sitting around the house. Just promise me you’ll be careful, yes?”

“Of course I will,” I said dutifully.

“You’ll need a fully defined character, though, won’t you? Those derby girls always have great characters. I’ll help if you like.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

I said it with a straight face, but no way was I going to take her up on it. I wasn’t letting them turn my derby audition into one of their theater productions. They’d make me into Ophelia on skates. And I was not down with being O-wheelie-a. Not one bit.

“You’ll need to explore her motivations,” she continued dreamily. “Her aspirations. Her fears …”

I finished the cake, but she snapped out of her reverie
before I could move, swiping up the dishes and dashing back into the kitchen. Stereotypical Mom behavior, veering wildly between frenetic energy and complete crazeballs.

Moments later, she was back with parfait glasses full of some unidentifiable brown stuff.

“Oh God,” Rachel said. “What is that?”

“Mousse!” Mom exclaimed. “Casey loves sweets, and it’s her special celebration, so we have five courses of dessert tonight. Isn’t that just the coolest idea?”

My parents looked at me with identical expressions of excitement and glee, and I smiled despite my roiling stomach. It still wasn’t the same after all those months of chemo and hospital food. At the words “five courses of dessert,” it felt like my stomach tried to jump out of my body and run for safety.

But I did love dessert. I shoveled a big bite of mousse into my mouth.

“This is really amazing,” I said. “Did you make it?”

“Well, yes.” Mom blushed. “I’m not much of a cook, but I know how much you love chocolate, so I got the recipe from Cherise. You remember her, don’t you? She does the costumes for the theater. This is actually my third attempt; the first two were inedible.”

“Completely inedible,” Dad interjected, smiling fondly at her.

I couldn’t keep from smiling too. “Thanks, Mom.”

After the mousse course was over, she produced a big bowl brimming with apple crisp. It was heavenly. Or it would have
been if I hadn’t had a pound of dessert in me already. But I was still determined to eat it.

“I’m sorry.” Rachel stood up. “I can’t take this anymore.”

“What?” Mom asked.

“You’re going to make her sick. The dessert thing is a fun idea, but you don’t stop to think things through. She’s been eating like a bird ever since she got out of the hospital. How do you think her system is going to handle all this crap?”

“If Casey doesn’t want the dessert, we’ll make her a sandwich,” Dad said mildly, but Rachel didn’t back down. She grunted and shoved her plate away. “So what are you really upset about?” he continued. “I don’t think this is about the cake.”

“I’m just sick of it. You guys do this stuff all the time. Like the derby thing.” She turned to me. Her face was all splotchy, the way it always got when she was upset. “I love you, Casey, but you haven’t been out of the hospital for long, and you just got hurt yesterday. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you sneaking painkillers. Derby tryouts aren’t a good idea for you right now, but our parents aren’t going to say that because they’re nuts. You know I love derby. I think it’s totally awesome. But it’s too dangerous for you, and the whole idea makes me sick to my stomach. We almost lost you once. I don’t want to go through that again.”

“Rachel,” Dad said, glowering, “sit down right now. You’re making Casey feel bad.”

“I’m making her feel bad by telling her I care about her
well-being? I’m making a mistake by being concerned because she got mugged, and now she’s having hallucinations—”

“Rachel!” I yelled. She wasn’t supposed to tell our parents about that. It had been bad enough having to tell them about the attack in the first place.

“Hallucinations?” Mom blinked, looking at me.

“It’s nothing, Mom.” I forced a smile. “Rachel’s
not thinking clearly right now
because she’s upset.”

“No, Casey. I’m thinking just fine. You’re the one who’s a little confused,” Rachel said. “I don’t mean to nag, but you really need to tell—”

“Shut up!” I snapped. Sometimes it felt like I’d suffocate under the weight of all the protection. I appreciated that they cared; really I did. But I’d survived. Plenty of kids from the cancer ward hadn’t. And now it felt like everyone wanted me to just be satisfied with survival—they wouldn’t allow me to
live
. My frustration over it all came out in a long, uncontrollable burst. “Can’t you chill out and be happy that I’ve found something I want to do instead of sitting around on the couch by myself all the time? This is supposed to be my big celebration, don’t you remember? It’s like you don’t give a crap what I want; you’re too busy trying to smother out all the life I’ve got left!”

I threw my fork down; it skittered across the table and landed on the rug. Mom went pale and dashed into the kitchen, and after shooting a disapproving look in my direction, Dad followed.

Rachel and I stared at each other across the table. The silence got uncomfortable fast.