CHAPTER FOUR | RINK RASH

a burn injury caused by (bare) skin rubbing the rink floor.

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          Everything I had learned about Corinne Fontaine so far had been against my will.

          I did not want to know about her bike, or her blonde hair, or her expensive clothes. I did not want to hear about the cult that worshipped the ground she walked on as though she was some sort of goddess. No one ever told me what exactly she was the captain of, not even Katrina, and, if people wanted to be cryptic about it, then so be it.

          I couldn't care any less. The less I knew about Corinne, the better, as I was determined to avoid her as much as possible. Spending time with the person who nearly ran me over on my first day wasn't part of my to-do list while at Yale and it defeated the purpose of my entire presence there—all I wanted to do was finish my senior year in peace and she wasn't going to take that away from me.

          In early September, Katrina decided to throw me a birthday party.

          Had I asked for it? No. Did I want it? Absolutely not. Was I going to be a complete bitch to my roommate, who hadn't been anything but kind and welcoming? Probably not, but no guarantees.

          "I really don't need a party," I said, for the millionth time that week, despite knowing that, if I hadn't dissuaded her from throwing the damn party before, I sure as hell wasn't going to do it on the day before my birthday. Part of me worried about what my parents would think if they found out about what actually went down at Yale: a whole bunch of partying and not that much of academics. "Kat, seriously, it's fine. Redirect your energy somewhere else."

          She frowned. "You deserve a break. You've been working really hard since you got here."

          We both glanced at the piles of unfinished homework, assignments, and essays on my desk for two completely different reasons. I was slacking and everyone around me knew it—I knew it, my professors knew it, Katrina knew it. It was only a matter of time before I got called out or my parents got notified.

          Before any of us got a chance to say anything else, my phone rang. I rarely took it off silent or the occasional vibration mode, but I'd decided to leave the sound out to help me escape from potentially awkward conversations. It always worked like a charm.

          However, my mother was calling.

          "I should take this," I told Katrina. "It's my mom. She gets quite anxious whenever I take too long to pick up." She shrugged, so as to say 'by all means, do it', and went back to writing, as I picked up the damn call. "Hello?"

          "Hey, honey," she greeted. Her voice was chipper, cheery, and it was safe to assume the university hadn't contacted her yet. I was hanging on by a thread, alright, no doubt about it, and I definitely didn't want to push my luck. "How are you? Is Yale treating you well?"

          "Good. It's been good." I glanced at Katrina, just in case. She was no longer paying any attention to me, being entirely focused on whatever she was doing on her laptop. "How's Jordan?"

          "He's . . . well, he's pretty much the same." She briefly paused, voiced clogged with emotion, and my chest tightened with guilt. I tried to convince myself it was normal—both for him to not have improved in such a short amount of time and for me to ask about him—but hurting my mother's feelings in the process had never been part of the plan. "The team at the clinic are really optimistic and they say it's normal that there haven't been any improvements yet, but . . . you know. We always knew it wasn't going to be easy. They're restricting visits, too, at least at the beginning, and I can't understand why."

          I pinched my nose bridge. "It's probably a rewarding system. Behave, do good, get rewards. Including visits."

          "I suppose." She let out a pensive sigh. "I know you're probably busy, but try to stop by every now and then, will you? Even if you're still angry"—I gritted my teeth, as that remained the understatement of the century—"we're still family, after all. I'll let you know when Jordan's team asks us to drop by for an appointment, but don't become a stranger. You're my baby."

          Even if it wasn't her intention, my mother had successfully managed to make me feel guilty. I knew I couldn't avoid them forever and, even if I decided to not visit them, they'd drag me out of the campus to have dinner somewhere, not to mention I had to be there for Jordan's appointments. He was the main reason why we'd all moved to Connecticut and I knew I had to get over my pride.

          I couldn't resent my own brother. That was excessive, even for me, who was pathologically, physically unable to not hold grudges or get over anything that happened to me, ever, and my anger was primarily directed at my parents and Theo, wherever she was. She was still living her best life in California, surfing and getting a tan, while I had been shipped off to the other side of the country.

          "I should go," I told her, hoping she wouldn't notice I wanted to avoid the subject as one ran away from a feral grizzly bear. "I have tons of homework to do and I have to help my roommate plan a party."

          "A party?"

          "Yeah." Katrina's face was brighter than every star in the galaxy at the mention of my birthday party and I sincerely hoped I wouldn't end up regretting giving her a chance. If that sorority party had been of any indication, there probably would be plenty of alcohol, which I was far from excited about. "You know, for my birthday. I'll be turning twenty-one."

          I shouldn't have to explain that sort of thing to my mother.

          "I haven't forgotten your birthday. I hope you know that, Wren."

          I exhaled through my mouth. "Of course."

          "Your birthday gift is waiting for you here, at home." This was not home. Home was California; if the gift was metaphorical, she was certainly referring to my old life, the one where I reigned with an iron fist. Theo could classify, too, in a way, but I had been dodging all her communication attempts ever since classes started, so she would have to wait. "Come over whenever you can. Love you."

          "Love you, too."

          Once she hung up, I fell to Katrina's bed, trying to ignore the smug look she threw my way. She immediately straightened and presented me a list of party ideas, which she had been writing while I was on the phone. It felt like a douche move to tell her I had only used the party excuse to get my mother off my back and I truly had been trying to make an effort to not shut Katrina out, so I kept my mouth shut instead.

          She told me she wanted to run all her ideas through me, as if I had a choice, but that she was also late to meeting up with her friends, so there was only one option. I could tag along instead of sulking in our room, like I had been doing ever since my first day, and, though I didn't appreciate the tone, I had to admit she was kind of right.

          Not that I would say that out loud, obviously. I still had some self-preservation left in me.

          My main issue with Katrina's friends and hanging out with them was that it meant having to be in the same room as Corinne, in one way or another. I was certain she and her posse had all had a nice laugh over how she had soaked me in dirty water on that first day and, even worse, about how I had immediately jumped into bed with Marley later that day.

          Though I had no issue with my sex life, certain incidents had taught me to never be too careful. It wasn't even the slut-shaming that concerned me the most, as I couldn't care less about random people I didn't know projecting their insecurities onto me, but there was always a gnawing feeling in the back of my head that some people weren't as open-minded and accepting as they proclaimed to be whenever it was convenient.

          Cold sweat ran down the nape of my neck. Had I truly fucked things up?

          "Can I ask you something?"

          Katrina slowed down her pace just enough for me to keep up with her. "What's up?"

          "This is probably going to sound super awkward, but, um, do you know if people have been . . . talking . . . you know . . . about me?" She raised an eyebrow, silently asking for more details. "About the sorority party. Marley and me."

          "Great movie. I always cry at the end, though." I snickered, then remembered my clammy palms and my dry throat. It was no time to be joking around. "Not that I've heard, no. Marley's not one to kiss and tell and everyone was too drunk to care. Not that it'd bother the girls," she quickly added, possibly sensing my anxiety, which stemmed from both of the points she'd made. I didn't need more reminders about how everyone was proud to be part of the alcohol cult. "They're all really cool."

          "I've met people who seemed to be really cool at first and then turned out to be anything but that." I hid my hands inside the pockets of my jacket to warm them up. An obvious difference between California and Connecticut was the temperature; I couldn't remember the last time I'd had to reach out for a jacket—not even a cardigan—in September. "I don't want to be on the edge, but . . ."

          "I get that. Even if you don't think I do. Still, I don't think you have a reason to be worried about it when it comes to the girls. We look out for our own." I didn't know what our own meant—possibly something that had to do with Corinne's captaincy, whatever it was, and I couldn't help but wonder if they were trying to make me join a cult too. She held the door open for me, leading me to one of the campus cafés. "How do you feel about red velvet cake?"

          We walked towards one of the tables in the back, where the usual group of girls was hanging out, and, naturally, Corinne sat in the center. Katrina elbowed me in the ribs when she noticed my hesitance and I remembered I had never told her exactly why I didn't want to be here. It wasn't because of all the girls; it was just one.

          "You're here, Kat," Corinne commented, as Katrina occupied the last remaining empty seat, "and you brought . . . what's-her-name. Had we known you would be joining us, we would have saved you a seat." She slurped her strawberry milkshake. "Sorry."

          Her tone let me know she kindly wasn't actually sorry.

          "You can sit next to me, Wren," Katrina said, shrugging off Corinne's petty, passive-aggressive comments. I'd decided to stop assuming she didn't detect those things; she just chose to not partake in such conversations or retaliate in the same way, a clear difference from my approach. "Pull up a chair. There's room for you."

          As I sat down and Katrina ordered two doses of cappuccinos and red velvet cake, I decided I didn't deserve her kindness. She was being the better person by not giving my rudeness (or Corinne's, for that matter) the time of day, over and over, and perhaps it was best to start making an effort. If not for her sake, then for mine.

          I drank my scorching hot beverage in silence, wondering why in the world she had dragged me out to hang out with people I didn't really care about. I just wanted to help her plan a stupid party I didn't look forward to, and not just to annoy my mother. Roommates were supposed to spend quality time together, right?

          "I'm thinking about announcing try-outs by the end of next week," Corinne began, flipping through a baby-pink notebook, "and have them start at the beginning of the following week. It gives us enough time to prepare everything."

          "Sounds good," Marley supported. She sat right across from me, something I wasn't sure whether Katrina had planned all along, and shot me a small smile when she noticed I was staring. "Has Coach said anything about the co-captains situation?"

          "I'm currently not speaking to her at the moment, but, please, by all means, feel free to ask her yourself. Saves me the trouble of wanting to jam my fist through my forehead."

          Someone like Corinne didn't strike me as the type of person who would be happy to be a co-captain, so I wasn't entirely surprised by the sudden aggression in her voice. Perhaps their coach had done something to piss her off, possibly refused to let her have things her way, and had accidentally doomed the team, whatever it was.

          Marley, however, didn't seem fazed. "I might. Might not." She shrugged. "I'll think about it."

          "Good. Think." Corinne flipped her hair back. "Right now, I need you to focus. If try-outs this year turn out to be anything similar to last year's, we're going to have a miserable time. Personally, I don't want to spend an entire week watching people suck just for the sake of having their five minutes of stardom."

          "What is this team about, anyway?" I whispered to Katrina, who wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. "It sounds . . . hardcore."

          Katrina chuckled. "It's kinda hardcore, but not as much as Cor makes it out to be. She's just being dramatic."

          "Katrina," Corinne protested, her voice an octave higher than usual. "There is nothing dramatic about roller derby!"

          "See what I mean?"

          I was no longer paying attention.

          Under normal circumstances, I would have loved to join a roller derby team; I loved skating, genuinely so, and it would be a good use of my free time. Besides, I'd get to rub my natural talent on Corinne's face, which was always a welcome added bonus. However, my current circumstances were anything but normal or ideal and I'd sworn off skating ever since Jordan stopped playing ice hockey.

          It would never be the same without him. Ice skating and regular roller skating had some similarities, but they weren't the same thing, either, and I was best when I was on ice and wore bladed skates. Skates with wheels seemed so out of my league and comfort zone.

          "You should try out," Marley advised. "It'll be fun."

          "I'd rather not," I said, trying to ignore the truly murderous look Corinne shot my way. "It's not really my thing."

          "Roller derby is everyone's thing," another girl insisted. "Come! Didn't you use to skate? I saw your Instagram."

          I scowled. "I was an ice skater."

          "Close enough."

          "It's not close enough," Corinne complained. If she were anyone else—literally anyone else—I would have been thankful. However, she wasn't complaining to defend me; she was complaining because she didn't want me around. "It's one thing to slide around in the ice and do pretty pirouettes. Roller derby isn't about looking pretty."

          "It's about knocking your ass down," I retorted, through gritted teeth.

          Corinne's eyes narrowed. "I'd love to see you try."