She was hesitant. I was distracted. And guarded. Now what?

She adjusted her glasses. Without warning, my heart softened a little. Against my will, I blurted, “I like your hat.”

She tipped it with her free hand. “Thanks.” Pause. “I like your… elbow pads?” Her nose scrunched up as she said this, pushing her glasses even farther up her face—what should have looked nerdy seemed really damn cute.

No, Daya.

“So, you ready for this?” she asked, stepping a little closer.

“For what?” Ugh. “Yes, I mean, yeah. I think so? I don’t know. I mean, what do you think?” Fer fuck’s sake. Get it together.

A slight frown creased her brow. “You’ll be fine, Daya. Just do what you’re good at.” She pressed her fingers around my forearm and let them slide away as she walked by me, sending goose bumps across my skin. I tried to shake away the feeling.

Right. What I’m good at.

At seven o’clock, Kat and two other girls from the Killa Honeys—their name tags said Lena/Mz. Biz (she/her) and Dominique/Fury (she/her/they/them)—started calling people over to the center of the track. Looking around, it seemed like there were a lot of girls trying out. I counted at least twenty-five. Shit.

I wished I could have at least said hi to Kat before the tryout began—just to get myself on her radar again—but I never got a chance. I’d spotted her, but she’d been surrounded by a group of googly-eyed fans.

“All right, wannabes! Listen up. Get over here and sit your asses down,” Dominique yelled to the rest of us. She was muscled, like Kat, but about six inches shorter. Her confidence made her seem ten feet tall, though. Once we’d done as we were ordered, Kat, Lena, and Dominique folded their arms and scrutinized us, their lips everything from pursed to smirking.

“Fresh meat!” Kat shouted. A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd seated on the floor. “That’s you, by the way. And I wouldn’t laugh. This shit’s gonna be hard as hell, and we’re not here to babysit you.”

So much for just wanting us to “leave loving roller derby.”

“We need folks who know how to rock and roll on the track,” she continued. “So you better leave your blood, sweat, and tears out here!” Next thing I knew, Kat called out, “Catch me, bitches!” and we were on our skates and racing around the track after her.