Page 62 of Ask Your Mom If I'm Real

Working her way through college, living in a dorm and then with three roommates. I couldn’t put my situation on her.

“Everyone on their feet!” I heard screamed.

Screamed.

Literally.

Like one of those death metal bands.

Awesome.

“Come on,” Gisela urged.

I got up and was so proud of myself when my feet didn’t split like they’d done earlier when I’d tried to first stand.

“Everyone make your way out to the middle of the floor,” the woman with the microphone, Calliope, said. “We’re gonna warm up.”

I managed to work myself around the floor, while also avoiding any and all eye contact with Hotty McHockeyson, four full times before Calliope said, “All right, I want you to split off into your numbered groups as I call them out.”

I, of course, was number three while Gisela was number four.

When I tried to switch with strong legs, she refused, saying, “I’m sorry, but four is my lucky number.”

The second person I asked gave me a death glare.

I gave up after the third told me that I should really work on becoming a better person.

Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

That’s when the torture started.

I was knocked down, over and over again, until I could barely stand.

When I finally went back to my seat after the fourth round of torture, it was Hockey Boy that said, “You’re anticipating the hit and flinching.”

I looked at him over my shoulder, very aware that my hair was an absolute mess and I had sweat staining my butt crack.

“What?”

“When they start to hit you, you flinch, and then close your eyes,” he said. “What you need to do is keep your eyes open, then drop your shoulder.” He touched my left shoulder. “Since y’all skate in this direction, you’ll always have this one lowered slightly. But they’re coming at you low because you’re staying at the top of the wall.”

I nodded.

“Drop your shoulder, twist, and then throw them into the wall,” he suggested.

“Also, my sister Eliska has a weak shoulder. If you twist and push her there, she’ll collapse on you,” Bryson offered helpfully.

Armed with this new information, I tried to talk myself into this next round.

“Come on,” Gisela urged as she all but pushed me up. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

I glared at her yellow jersey and wished I could whip it off and replace it with a red one that my teammate was wearing.

Gisela was, of course, amazing.

I was lucky she wasn’t coming after me like she was going after every other red shirt on my team.

“Come on, come on,” I tried to hype myself up.

---