Fee drove me to the arena where the tryouts were being held. They said they’d be back in a couple of hours to get me.

But before I got out of the car, they said, “Hey—you’re gonna blow them away, all right? Just skate as hard as you can, focus on the basics, and show ’em you’ll be someone they can depend on. You got this, kid.”

I nodded and said, “Right, thanks.” But as I walked toward the entrance, Fee’s words shook out a new fear in me. Skating hard and doing the basics was one thing—both had improved over the past few days—but being a dependable teammate was a whole other thing. Trying to be dependable sounded like a really great way to disappoint people. And if I screwed up and let everyone down, no one was going to want me on their team. And if I didn’t make this team, how the hell else would I hold down all this stuff trying to push its way out?

When I entered the arena, I was greeted by a woman from the team named Charlotte, with cropped hair and a shirt that said INDIGENOUS AF on it. She looked to be maybe the same age as my mum had been—in her forties—and the same height, too. Lighter brown skin, though, and definitely a lot butchier. She had me fill out some forms and grab a sticky name tag, which I was asked to add my pronouns to as well. I heard Fee in my head saying, Damn right.

Once I’d finished with the forms, Charlotte took a quick look at them and said, “Daya?” I nodded. “Cool. Welcome, Daya. You can head over there and get your gear on.” My face must have shown my uncertainty, because she added, “Don’t worry, girl. We want you newbies to leave loving roller derby. All you gotta do is work your butt off.” A friendly wink followed, which actually helped a bit.

But as I checked out the competition while I suited up, I noticed there were a lot of tough-as-mofo-looking people here. Folks who looked like they knew what they were doing. Who looked like they might have bought their skates new and understood the rules better than I did. I hitched my gym bag higher up on my shoulder and gripped the hell out of the strap, trying again to force some feeling into my left palm, but only getting a dull satisfaction out of it. I reminded myself why I was here, how much I needed this, and tried to psych myself back up.

As I strapped on my gear, I heard, “Hey.” Shanti appeared in front of me, wearing a sweet ball cap with COOLEST GRANDPA EVER across the front and carrying a case of water bottles in one hand.

“Hey.” I looked at her, remembering her lukewarm text. She remained standing in front of me.