Page 58 of False Start

thirteen

Two days passedsince that night at Banked Track.

Since the kiss I could still taste even now.

Since I caved.

I caved so fucking hard.

While Mayhem convinced her team to put their trust in me, I’d been gathering every last bit of information I’d need, starting with thick stacks of session plans both for flat track and banked track derby I hadn’t laid eyes on in ten years.

I hardly used them at the time. I didn’t need to. I’d been so immersed in the sport, the components of the game moved like fluid pieces in my head, shifting and changing with new circumstances.

Between playing banked track on my own and coaching flat track, I could easily shift from one to the other.

But a decade had passed since then. Rules changed. Requirements changed. As I stared out at the sea of notes scattered across my grandmother’s dining room table, I wondered if I’d be able to pull this off.

If they’d be able to pull this off.

This was the one and only time I got to linger in doubt. The minute the team showed up, I was all coach mode. I knew just how I’d get when I got into the infield again, the echo of skates reverberating from under the bank, the grunts, and shouts.

I’d become the bastard they hated to need.

They’d resist. They’d challenge me.

I would break down their defiance until they complied.

Then I’d build them back up.

That was the only choice with the little time we had.

They’d be going against some of the best. Skaters that practically lived on a banked track. They knew every bump, every angle, the shift in their center of gravity no longer even a blip on the radar for them.

And they’d look at Beautifully Brutal and laugh.

Flat track derby trying to make a mark on banked track? My team would be the interlopers. The team swooping in thinking they could invade banked track territory and take the prize.

Their competitors would be downright merciless.

But they would also dismiss them.

I was counting on it.

Their mistake would be the key to a shot at victory.

They’d never expect a flat track team to skate into a banked track exhibition and have a chance.

They wouldn’t have information on Beautifully Brutal going in. As an amateur league, there’d be little to find. Not yet being members of the WRDF would work in our favor.

Their competitors would have no history to go on. No video footage. No way of knowing my team’s bad habits, weaknesses, or strengths.

And those were the shadows my team had to operate in.

I had attitudes to curb.

I had personal weaknesses to hammer out.

And a love triangle.

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