“So very sorry…,” Vicki added.

“… for the boxing equipment…”

“… and we hope you understand…”

“… we were just trying to help.”

“We returned everything.”

They glanced at each other nervously, then back at me.

The panicky heat in my chest was back. If I opened my mouth to speak, I wasn’t sure what would come out. Probably anger, but possibly some other stuff too. Stuff that was better left unsaid. Stuff I didn’t want to think about. I couldn’t risk it. I just barely managed a nod instead.

“Okay… well, then… good night, Daya,” Vicki said.

Not giving them a chance to say anything else, I turned and thumped up the stairs to my room.

As I undressed, I stared at the notebook sitting on my desk. It’d been there since my last counseling session. I hadn’t even cracked it open. If I had to, what would I write now?

Nothing. I threw my shirt on top of it.

Sitting at the edge of my bed, I pressed my fingers into the bruises on my legs, envisioning all the damage I’d do on the roller derby track and across my body—each push a small defense against everything that was trying to climb its way out of my chest.

The very next morning I texted Shanti. I wanted the tryout info so I could figure out what I needed to do to make the team. Given the weirdness with her, though, I constructed my message carefully.

Hey, it’s Daya. Thanks again for bringing me to the Crash Zone yesterday. I really appreciate it. Could you please send me the tryout info? Thanks!

I never used happy face emojis.

Halfway through second period, she texted back.

Here’s the link to the info. They’re next week. You’ll need gear. Call Bee. She’ll set you up.

Okay, not the warmest response, but at least I got all the info I needed. During English, when I was supposed to be doing some nonsense grammar sheet, I checked out the link Shanti sent me. The first of two tryouts was on Monday, which meant I only had four days to find a bunch of equipment and start practicing. The info said the first tryout would focus on skating and there’d be no hitting. That sounded like some straight-up bullshit to me, not to mention it made me instantly more nervous. If I wanted to make the team and get to the hitting part, I’d need to impress them with my skating skills? I’d been betting on my brute strength to get me on the team. But while I was confident I could balance and move on four wheels, I just wasn’t sure how well or how fast. I’d definitely need help. Something I wasn’t great at asking for.