“I’m just tired,” she said.
And it wasn’t a lie. Every single part of her body felt ragged. She’d spent half the night and most of the day worrying about Dark and reminding herself of every single moment where she’d been frozen by fear and how, always, it turned out to be nothing more than a trick of her splintered head.
Like when she went yelling for a security guard at the Mall of America because a father was pulling a baby bottle out of his diaper bag. Or at school, when she refused to go into the auditorium because the exits were too far from the seats. Or the one time she took the light rail alone and every single person that stepped onto the car represented a new threat that couldn’t be properly observed or neutralized or anything.
And now, Dark.
So, she was exhausted. She wanted to go to sleep and stay in bed until winter finally ended in this frozen state and she could hear the songs of new birds outside her window in a world that, for a moment, seemed unspoiled.
“Listen, we don’t have to go tonight,” Derrick said.
But even Claire could tell he was hoping she would rally. He’d already given up so much, competing when he had time and never complaining as sponsor after sponsor decided a pro skater in Hickory, North Carolina, wasn’t exactly capturing skate culture’s imagination. And that was before the move to Minnesota, before he became, essentially, a glorified front-end clerk at the Lair.
He wanted this and she knew it. Plus, skating had saved her before. So maybe it would one more time, if not for her sake, then for Derrick’s.
“Somebody has to bring home a paycheck around here,” she said, forcing her voice to seem light. And it worked, because Derrick laughed, which infected the room—pushing itself inside of her until she, too, was laughing deliriously and wondering if this, too, might fix whatever was broken inside of her.
The Lair was packed—more than usual, which was a good sign for Derrick. He always skated better when there was a crowd. However, as soon as he saw the room, he gave Claire an uneasy look, which she shook off like the snow from her jacket, and told him to “go rip it up,” which made him laugh again.
She put her board on the ground and, without thinking, pushed off and tried to disappear into the throngs of skaters. She had a clean line for about five seconds before a kid on a scooter came flying past her, not only knocking her over but nearly putting a crack in her helmet, too. She sat there for a moment, trying to push down the anti-scooter mentality she’d developed—and Derrick stoked—in the last year. She was still swallowing all the unsavory words she wanted to yell out, when Leg and God came rolling up.
“Fucking scooter kids,” Leg said, reaching down to help her up. “They’re a menace to society. Not just the skate park. Society.”
God gave her a quick nod as he scanned the skate park. “We want to get in a few runs before your brother starts tearing shit up.”
“Okay,” Claire said. “I don’t want to slow you guys down.”
God gave her a look. “What? No. Come skate with us.”
This time, Claire scanned the park. Still full. Still intimidating. Still impossible.
“I don’t think you’re prepared for how bad I really am.”
God rolled his eyes. “Trust us. We’re nearly professionals.”
Then he took her by the hands and they were going fast—faster than she thought was possible after only a few feet of buildup. For the first few seconds, Claire couldn’t breathe enough to tell him to stop. But seconds passed, and she realized it wasn’t panic, but, something different. Something closer to exhilaration.
Every few feet, God would yell out, “Left!” And she’d shift her weight to the left, hoping the board would respond, which it always did. Despite her inability to stay upright, she still had innate athletic talent and that, combined with God’s natural instincts on how to maneuver the board, seemed to be enough.
Leg came screaming up next to them, laughing hysterically and giving her fist pumps, hand claps—truly excited. And then God let go of her hands, and for a brief second it felt like she was flying, like she couldn’t be stopped.
A second later Leg had her by the hand and they were once again shooting toward the other side of the skate park. Claire was laughing now; it came in bursts between breaths, an uncontrollable action.
Leg passed her off to God again. As they were coming up to the ramp, she expected him to once again give her a direction, but instead he said, “You got this!”
And then he let go.
She told herself to breathe.
To focus.
Shift your weight, watch your feet, don’t be afraid to eat shit because none of that matters, just having the courage to go for it.
All of the lessons Derrick had taught her.
When she hit the ramp, she pivoted—a move she’d seen countless six-year-olds perform on their first day on the board—and came back down the ramp toward God.
The entire place exploded into applause. People slapping their boards onto the ground in appreciation, respect, the unspoken language of the skate park that acknowledged and applauded any growth—any moment of checking fear and all that other shit in the hopes of landing a trick you’ve never landed before.
Claire didn’t notice Dark sitting on the couches, head in his notebook, until she and Leg and God climbed up the ramp, still feeding off her success.
“Derrick better watch out!” Leg said loudly, clearly hoping his voice would carry to where Derrick was warming up. When it didn’t, he turned to Claire and said, “Next time we’re skating the bowl.”
“Yeah, no,” Claire said, but she couldn’t deny her excitement. “But maybe I’ll make it across the park without falling?”
“Perfect,” Leg said.
They dropped onto the couch next to Dark, who gave a momentary grimace and then scooted to the farthest cushion.
“Dark, did you see Claire?” Leg asked. “If she can do it, I’m a hundred percent certain your never-wants-to-go-out-in-the-sun ass could ride a board with your best friends every once in a while.”
“Moral support,” Dark said, turning his notebook to the side to shade a drawing. When he noticed Claire looking, he closed the notebook and avoided her eyes.
“What.”
“Nothing. I’m just—I don’t know. Sorry.”
God tapped his board on the ground. “But you’re going to come watch Derrick, right? Dude is brilliant.”
Dark mumbled something incomprehensible before opening his notebook once again. But he didn’t draw this time. Instead he began flipping through the pages, pausing only a second or two on certain pages the way her grandfather used to read the newspaper.
“Well, we’re going to go get a seat on the lip of the bowl so we can watch.” God looked at Dark and then at Claire. When neither of the moved, he slapped Leg on the shoulder and said, “Race you.”
And then he took off, cackling as Leg started swearing loudly and proclaiming that any result would have an asterisk. The last thing Claire heard him say before he was swallowed up by the sound of the room was, “Asterisk!”
Before she could even turn—and say what? She didn’t know, but she felt like she needed to say something—Dark said, “They’re both certified idiots.”