I couldn’t even begin to explain what had gone wrong. But beneath my whirling mind, I knew. I could replay each and every moment after we left the gym parking lot.

My father’s furious fumbling with his seat belt as he drove out. Amma glancing backward at me through the reflection of the window. My swift glance away. Lights glowing across the dashboard. Guitar and drums blasting through the stereo. The silent seconds hovering beneath the music. And then the eruption of their argument once again—Amma defending herself, for once. Thatha frustrated by my mother’s surprising boldness. My dad’s arms motioning in fits and starts as he drove, punctuating his anger. Their voices vaulting back and forth across the car. Thatha’s eyes leaving the road over and over to cut the air between me and him, him and my mum. Each slow moment that carried the car too far left. The burst of time that propelled us into the air and then dropped us like lead to the ground. The night’s blackness outside my window suddenly crashing into concrete. Shattering glass. Crunching metal.

And then my body being pulled out and facing the night sky. Gravel pushing into my scalp. The muffled sounds of someone’s voice in my ears. Tears falling unbidden from the corners of my eyes. Trying to respond, to ask about my parents, but only heavy breaths coming out.

Amma’s sari flipping back and forth from the open and smashed car door like a flag telling me where she was. Thatha invisible inside the wreckage.

Nothing I could do would remove those images. No morning ritual, no haphazard skate tricks, no amount of sideswiping on the track. They’d always been there just below the surface, like blood coursing beneath skin.

Chapter Thirty-Five

I’d walked home after the scene at the arena. It must have taken over an hour, but I didn’t remember any of it. I found myself collapsed on my bed, sweaty uniform still on, too tired and too defeated to even think about taking refuge in my headboard and hand. Too helpless. All the bruising had kept those images at bay until now. Focusing on the pain, the layers of soft tissue made angry purple—it had kept me protected and reminded me of the ache I deserved, just like my seat belt had somehow saved me but left a deep welt of hurt across—and inside—my chest.