fire-crying crackhead? That was stupid, and it ticked me off. My fingers tingled with anger. My teeth ground together.I’d felt like this once before, after the Anointing of the Sick, when Rachel had said goodbye to me. She’d always been the one who’d said I’d make it. And then it had gotten so bad that even she hadn’t been able to deny it—I was going to die.
Just like that, it felt like everyone had written me off. I couldn’t be angry at them, though; they’d kept on hoping long after the treatments had stopped working. That night, I stayed awake through a haze of morphine, wringing the sheets into tortured balls. I
wanted
the Angel of Death to come. I wanted to beat the crap out of him. I even came up with a fairly reasonable plan to thump him over the head with his own scythe, but he never showed. And then, over the next couple of weeks, I got better. Dr. Rutherford couldn’t explain why. Everyone said it was a miracle, but I didn’t buy it. I think maybe Death showed up, took one look at me, and decided he had better things to do.
Now I was scared again. It felt like everything frightened me these days, and that ticked me off. I was stronger than this, damn it. What was wrong with me, that I could face down death but not some random guy at a roller rink? It was either go back out there or resign myself to being a total loser for the rest of my life, and that was an easy choice. I thrust the door open just as Ruthanasia coasted up, wearing a pinched and disapproving expression.
“There you are,” she snapped. “We’re about to start, if you’d like to grace us with your presence.”
I hit her with a glare and said, “Excuse me. Please.” But it was less a request than an order.
She let me past, hostility practically sparking the air between us. I didn’t particularly care what she thought.
The rest of the applicants were lining up in groups to do five-lap speed drills. I felt jittery and on edge; I wanted to blast through the girls in campy outfits and skate until my brain stopped snarling. But before I could move, Darcy pulled me into line in the second rank, edging out a chick in a purple pleather bustier.
“Are you okay?” she hissed.
“Yeah.” I took a deep breath and let it out, determined to put all the stupid emotional crap behind me. It was time to quit looking back and start moving forward. No more guilt. No more wussing out. “I just had to go to the bathroom.”
The guy was watching me again. I stared back, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth started to hurt. But he didn’t react at all, just returned my gaze with an implacable expression until Ruthanasia sashayed over and gave him a clipboard. He rolled his eyes when her back was turned. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe I could go back to lusting over him. That would be nice.
But I needed to focus if I wanted to make the team, because I knew I wasn’t at my best yet, physically speaking. What I lacked in power and endurance, I’d have to make up for in technique and strategy. I watched as the first group of girls took their places on the track, jostling for the best positions on the inside.
“First wave,” called a girl on the starting line, dreadlocksspringing like a fountain from her ponytail. “Five-lap speed drills, starting now!”
She blew a whistle. The sound came out loud and sharp, and a few girls jumped, losing precious seconds. The pack moved around the first corner, quickly separating into three groups: agonizingly slow, fast, and really freaking fast. I watched the quickest skaters, the way the muscles in their thighs bunched as they squatted low around the curves, the thrust of their torsos as they drove ahead on the straightaways. I could do that. I could do better.
They whipped across the finish line one by one and rolled to the corner, where they stooped over with their hands on their knees, breathless and sweaty. The dreadlocked girl called for the second wave of skaters, and I rolled up to
Just like that, it felt like everyone had written me off. I couldn’t be angry at them, though; they’d kept on hoping long after the treatments had stopped working. That night, I stayed awake through a haze of morphine, wringing the sheets into tortured balls. I
wanted
the Angel of Death to come. I wanted to beat the crap out of him. I even came up with a fairly reasonable plan to thump him over the head with his own scythe, but he never showed. And then, over the next couple of weeks, I got better. Dr. Rutherford couldn’t explain why. Everyone said it was a miracle, but I didn’t buy it. I think maybe Death showed up, took one look at me, and decided he had better things to do.
Now I was scared again. It felt like everything frightened me these days, and that ticked me off. I was stronger than this, damn it. What was wrong with me, that I could face down death but not some random guy at a roller rink? It was either go back out there or resign myself to being a total loser for the rest of my life, and that was an easy choice. I thrust the door open just as Ruthanasia coasted up, wearing a pinched and disapproving expression.
“There you are,” she snapped. “We’re about to start, if you’d like to grace us with your presence.”
I hit her with a glare and said, “Excuse me. Please.” But it was less a request than an order.
She let me past, hostility practically sparking the air between us. I didn’t particularly care what she thought.
The rest of the applicants were lining up in groups to do five-lap speed drills. I felt jittery and on edge; I wanted to blast through the girls in campy outfits and skate until my brain stopped snarling. But before I could move, Darcy pulled me into line in the second rank, edging out a chick in a purple pleather bustier.
“Are you okay?” she hissed.
“Yeah.” I took a deep breath and let it out, determined to put all the stupid emotional crap behind me. It was time to quit looking back and start moving forward. No more guilt. No more wussing out. “I just had to go to the bathroom.”
The guy was watching me again. I stared back, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth started to hurt. But he didn’t react at all, just returned my gaze with an implacable expression until Ruthanasia sashayed over and gave him a clipboard. He rolled his eyes when her back was turned. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe I could go back to lusting over him. That would be nice.
But I needed to focus if I wanted to make the team, because I knew I wasn’t at my best yet, physically speaking. What I lacked in power and endurance, I’d have to make up for in technique and strategy. I watched as the first group of girls took their places on the track, jostling for the best positions on the inside.
“First wave,” called a girl on the starting line, dreadlocksspringing like a fountain from her ponytail. “Five-lap speed drills, starting now!”
She blew a whistle. The sound came out loud and sharp, and a few girls jumped, losing precious seconds. The pack moved around the first corner, quickly separating into three groups: agonizingly slow, fast, and really freaking fast. I watched the quickest skaters, the way the muscles in their thighs bunched as they squatted low around the curves, the thrust of their torsos as they drove ahead on the straightaways. I could do that. I could do better.
They whipped across the finish line one by one and rolled to the corner, where they stooped over with their hands on their knees, breathless and sweaty. The dreadlocked girl called for the second wave of skaters, and I rolled up to
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