“Oh, okay. Sure.” She handed her phone to me. I added my number and gave it back. “Uh, thanks for bringing me down here.” I found myself irritated by this inexplicable turn in her mood but also wondered if I’d done something to cause it. It wouldn’t surprise me if I had. It wasn’t like I was very good at any of this social stuff.

“Yeah, no worries,” she murmured as she dipped beneath the rope without another look.

I watched her join the girls on the bench. I noticed she didn’t take any stats, though—just sat there, watching the action and handing towels to team members as they came off the track.

I was right. She just wanted to ditch me.

I pulled my eyes away to set them on the other team instead, hoping the shift would stifle the confusing prick of disappointment in my chest.

Chapter Ten

It didn’t take long for my brain to move from Shanti or however I’d screwed up to the frenzy on the track, however. The Killa Honeys were definitely the superior team. They not only had the stronger, quicker skaters, but each one of them probably had about ten pounds on the other team’s players. They were simply bigger and better. But the opposing team tried to make up for their shortcomings by being particularly brutal. At least one of them was in the penalty box at all times. I couldn’t quite figure out what some penalties were for, but one or two were pretty clear—no yanking on someone’s ponytail or tripping, apparently. Still plenty of opportunity to clobber each other, though.

Unlike in ice hockey, the “box” was really just a few chairs, and the action from the track continued on into this area in an exaggerated manner. Before the skaters even got to the penalty box, though, they had to undergo some ridiculous “punishment,” ranging from being spanked by the other team’s subs with foam paddles to doing twenty push-ups in front of the fans. These exploits were decided by the “Penance Wheel” and closely watched by the “Mistress of Penalties,” someone named the Shizz.

The announcer—a woman in a top hat, coattails, and a bright green spandex onesie—called out plays made and instructions to the audience with lots of enthusiasm. She explained at one point that most leagues had abandoned these added penalty embarrassments, but not this one. She seemed proud of the fact.

I, on the other hand, thought it was a shame they’d kept it up. Though I enjoyed watching the madness, I wasn’t sold on any of it for myself. I wasn’t so much interested in the absurdities of roller derby—I was drawn to the action, the competition, the open season mentality. All this extra foolishness seemed pointless to me.