CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX | INITIAL PASS

the first pass a jammer makes through the pack. no score is awarded on this pass; it is only used to establish the lead jammer.

▂ ▂ ▂ ▂ ▂

          I found myself in a stupor during the drive back to campus.

          Though Corinne wouldn't leave me behind to fend for myself during a storm, she wasn't in a particularly chatty mood, either, and rushed to start the bike's engine as soon as I sat down behind her. I never had a chance to touch the subject, to try and get some answers about what had just happened, and I doubted she'd want to talk after we got back to campus.

          The silence gave me time to attempt to process everything, even though my brain had turned into mush and none of my thoughts felt particularly coherent. After spending so much time agonizing over my growing feelings for her, pained with the reality where she wouldn't reciprocate said feelings, having it all change seemingly overnight had been the biggest mood whiplash of my life.

          My lips still tingled. I had to touch her if I didn't want to fall off the bike and even that had changed its nature thanks to the moment we'd shared back at the rink, where everything I did, everywhere I touched her felt a million times more intimate than before. If I were to change anything about it—if I loosened or tightened my grip on her waist, if I sat closer or further away from her—she could get the wrong idea.

          I didn't regret a thing. It had been one of the most explosive, electrifying moments of my life, but I wasn't sure how she felt about it.

          I knew she hated it when I assumed stuff about her, her feelings, or her thoughts, and she hated it when I said she was being cryptic, but that was the truth. I hated being kept in the dark, especially when it was over something that also concerned me, and there were so many other ways she could have told me she—maybe—had feelings for me as well. Nearly breaking my heart in the process hadn't been necessary and it would have saved me the heartache of having to rebuild myself.

          Even though the road was slippery and dangerous, we got back to campus faster than I'd expected and in one piece. Corinne waited for me to hop off the bike before doing the same herself, struggling to find her footing once she did, but she still backed away when I tried to help her, which wasn't a good preview of what was there to come.

          She didn't keep her distance while we made our way towards our dorm, walking as close as she always had, but I still knew something was amiss. Whether we wanted to or not, things between us had changed and we couldn't pretend they hadn't, but I didn't want this to be what would tear us apart for good. After all it had taken for us to get here, I refused to walk away like it was nothing and, most importantly, without a proper explanation.

          Inside, I didn't let her leave. When she turned her back to me, ready to leave me hanging for the millionth time, I pulled her back by an arm. To my surprise, she didn't fight it.

          "We need to talk," I told her.

          "I know," she replied, so quietly I barely heard her over the faint buzzing of the heating system in the hallway. There wasn't anyone around—everyone who was smart had sought refuge in their dorm rooms—yet she still couldn't bring herself to speak louder than a murmur. "I know that. It's just . . . it's complicated. I'm not sure I still can give you what you want or what you need, and—"

          All I wanted to do was grab her by the shoulders and beg her to have more faith in herself, in me, but the less selfish, more rational part of me understood where she was coming from. When she looked at me, she probably saw a reminder of everything she'd lost, everything I'd cost her—the captain position, Drew, her spot on the team—even if she didn't realize it at first.

          In a way, I'd broken her heart long before she'd done it to me. That still didn't change the fact that I wanted to try; I wanted her to try, I wanted her to give us a chance.

          "We can start by talking," I continued, aware I was threading through dangerous territory. She stepped back, making me drop my hand, and my stomach sank, clenched with fear over the possibility of losing her for good because I never found the right words to say. "I know you're scared, but I need you to let me in for once. It involves me, too, so it's only fair if we . . . try to navigate this together."

          "I just need some time to think about things, that's all."

          "Do you . . ." I gulped. "Do you regret it?"

          "No." She looked away, staring over my shoulder at something behind me. When her eyes found mine again, she looked sincere enough for me to avoid second-guessing myself and everything I'd done up until that point, but the sadness wasn't something I could ignore. "You've done nothing wrong. It's just . . ."

          "Please tell me you're not about to drop a it's not you, it's me excuse on me. We're better than that."

          "It's why I said I need to think about it. I need to convince myself I didn't just completely screw things up between us." She chewed down on her bottom lip. "Can you, at least, let me take a shower first so I can clear my head by myself for a bit? We can . . . think things through by ourselves and then we'll talk. You can talk to Kat about it, if you want. If it helps. For me, it's something I need to do on my own."

          "Okay." She nodded. I finally allowed myself to take a deep breath. "Can you just promise me one thing? Can you promise me you won't just . . . disappear? Pretending nothing happened isn't the right way to deal with things. It won't make it go away." I paused, bracing myself for what I needed to say next. It was make it or break it time. "I can't lose you."

          Corinne blinked. "You've never lost me. I've always been here."

          With that, she turned on her heel and walked away. All the while, I found myself thinking how many more times I'd have to watch her leave.

▂ ▂ ▂ ▂ ▂

          In spite of all the hurt and confusion, I still chose to believe and trust Corinne and made my way back to my dorm room, where I'd find the one person who would be able to provide me with some comfort. Unfortunately, I blew it as soon as I opened the door—slammed it open was more exact wording—and startled her to no end, nearly making her drop everything she was holding.

          "Jesus Christ," Kat complained, huffing and blowing her curls away from her face. "Would it kill you to enter the room like a normal person instead of almost giving me a heart attack every single time? One day, I'll start writing down how many times you—"

          "I need your advice." She immediately straightened, patting the empty spot in front of her on the bed, and I happily obliged. Now that I was sitting close enough to her, she could finally get a good look at me, not influenced by the rude awakening I'd put her through for the hundredth time. "So . . ."

          "Why are you dripping water all over my stuff?"

          "You asked me to sit here. It's pouring outside."

          "Yes, but why in the world would you be outside with this weather? I know you're from California and all, but, if after all this time you're still underestimating New England winters . . ."

           "Corinne wanted to take me out. She wanted to go to a skating rink and didn't want to go by herself, so I was the most obvious option." Kat's eyes narrowed. If there was one thing I was certain she hated, it was to be left behind and, with Corinne and me pretty much sneaking around behind her back and keeping things from her, we weren't doing any wonders in her eyes. "I didn't know that's what she wanted to do. As far as I was concerned, she just wanted to go out for coffee, or something innocent like that."

          "Well." She flashed me a tight-lipped smile. "I'm glad she has you to lean on, at least. I told you it would be easier for you to understand her than me. Is she skating again? Is she happier?"

          I stirred, my stomach turning like a tornado. The closer we got to the reason for this conversation, the more anxious I felt. "I talked her into skating with me, yeah, and, the longer we stayed there, the more comfortable she got. It was almost like she was the old Corinne again. Then, of course, we had to leave . . . and we had to think about what we would be coming back to. I get to keep skating, she doesn't. I can't help but feel like she resents me, even just a little." I shook my head, ashamed to even be admitting that out loud. I'd never been that important to anyone, not relevant enough to be resented. "I didn't mean to hurt her. I genuinely thought I was helping her when I pushed her into skating with me."

          "Wren, I've told you so many times—"

          "—to stop assuming stuff. I'm aware. I don't think that was even the issue here."

          Looking back, it probably was. Had I not jumped to conclusions about what she was talking about when she said she no longer wanted to be friends with me, a lot of the drama that followed could have been avoided.

          Kat sighed. "Go on, then."

          "We . . . argued for a bit outside of the rink. As soon as we got out, her mood instantly changed and she started pushing me away, like she always does, and I kept trying to get her to stop doing that. Since, you know, we're friends. Friends support each other, right?" She scoffed at my use of the word friends, well aware of my feelings, but she wasn't ready for the end of it. "We just went back and forth, Corinne started talking about me using her words against her as leverage, then had the nerve to say she didn't want to be friends with me anymore."

          I watched her reaction closely, searching for shock, surprise, even some compassion, but instead she just tried to fake all of those. I could tell when she did it, as she'd never been that great at hiding or faking emotions or feelings around me, but the fact that I'd been the one kept in the dark this time felt a lot like betrayal.

          Noticing this, her facial expression changed. She looked almost apologetic now. "Corinne talks to me too, you know."

          "Yeah, but you were the one who told me she and Drew—"

          "Things change. Obviously, they did now. I don't know—"

          "Like she could possibly ever like me back—"

          "That's not what I said."

          "But you knew."

          "Does it matter?"

          "Kat."

          She took my hands, thumbs gently grazing against my knuckles. "Wren, I love you, I do, but you need to understand there are things I can't talk to you about, even if they involve you. Had Corinne not asked me to keep it between us, I would have dropped a few hints, but I need to respect her privacy. She's my best friend."

          I nodded, head so stiff I feared I could headbutt her. "I understand."

          "Did she tell you anything? Or was she . . . just being Corinne?"

          "I wish she was more straightforward with me. It would have saved us a lot of pain." I let out a sharp exhale. "She could have said, 'hey, I like you back' instead of kissing me then leaving me hanging." Kat's fingers squeezed mine so tightly she nearly cut off my circulation, which was enough to tell me she didn't know about that part. Had the outcome been any better, I would have been excited over this reaction. "She's still shutting me out, still thinks all her baggage is somehow going to send me running for the hills, but I convinced her to talk to me after she showers, so I guess that's something. I'm not sure what to think or what to expect; maybe things will work out, maybe she'll say she doesn't want to see or speak to me anymore after this. I'm genuinely dreading this conversation, which is so stupid considering I've been the one pushing for it to happen."

          "Yeah, okay. I understand why you're upset. Anyone in your situation would be, too."

          I deflated, leaning forward to rest my head on our joined hands. "I have a feeling I might be overthinking things and maybe she just needs to clear her head to ease her doubts and concerns, but what if that's not it? What if we've completely ruined our friendship?"

          "Personally, I think some of your fears are completely justified. Corinne isn't . . . the most communicative person out there. Her relationship with Marley suffered because of that, then Drew . . ." I thought back to all those times I heard they were having issues, then to the night they broke up and she revealed things hadn't been okay for a while. Poor communication killed. "I'm sure it's not the only reason they broke up, but it must have played a massive part in it. She hasn't had the best role models growing up, either, so I can't really blame her for not knowing any better. I don't think she's ever had many people to talk to about her feelings. Look at me, will you?" I obeyed, clumsily wiping my tears on my shoulder, the lump in my throat tightening. "I'm not saying this is healthy behavior and I think it's completely normal for you to be nervous and scared of the uncertainty, but I also think there aren't many obstacles in your way if you two decide to trust each other enough to be fully honest about everything. Talk to her about her fears. Let her vent if she needs to. Remember to listen. Always listen."

▂ ▂ ▂ ▂ ▂

          I decided to trust Kat. I decided to trust Corinne, too, and made my way towards her dorm room while silently pleading she would trust me back.

          I found her inside, not looking nearly as miserable as when I first convinced her to talk to me before Christmas, but still looking nothing like the Corinne I'd met in the parking lot all those months ago. I wasn't quite sure I'd ever see that version of her again, but I knew she needed me to be there for her—not like an emotional crutch, but as someone who would listen and support her. That's all I'd ever tried to do, ever since we buried the hatchet, to varying degrees of success, and part of me feared I was overstepping a bit.

          She looked at me dead in the eye, so still, so nervous I could feel it emanating off her, then wrapped her arms around my shoulders for a hug. I was momentarily taken by surprise by the sudden affectionate gesture after all the effort she'd previously put into shutting me out, but I wouldn't leave her hanging, especially not now, and returned the hug.

          Her heartbeat thundered against my chest, shaky and fast and erratic like a hummingbird's, and I stayed. I stayed, I held her, and I needed her to know that I wouldn't leave her behind.

          When she spoke, she did so quietly, like she was afraid of something. "I almost thought you wouldn't make it."

          "I told you I'd be here," I said. "I've never left you."

          "Did you talk to Kat?" I nodded. "I figured. I think part of me expected you to change your mind after talking to her. I wasn't sure how you'd react once you figured out she knew I wanted to take you out, but she's my best friend and I needed to talk to someone. There was no one else but the two of you, I couldn't go to Drew without it being super awkward, and I obviously couldn't discuss the plan with you, so . . ." Her cheeks were flushed pink, though I couldn't tell if it was thanks to the topic of conversation or from the shower. I didn't want to give myself that much credit, but, somehow, I was still all giddy and smug over it. "I don't think I thought things through. I chickened out."

          "You don't need to shut me out. I've been here to listen to you ever since my birthday party."

          She took a step back. "Well, it's different now, isn't it? It's not my family drama, Drew isn't here to rescue me, and I'm saying stupid things while sober." I mentally winced at her choice of words. Everything I'd had to hear coming from Jordan when he was drunk were things neither of us could ever take back. She noticed this and a spark of regret flashed across her eyes. "Sorry. I'm sorry. See? I'm running my mouth. It's usually you who does that."

          "Look at me." My hands closed around her shoulders, locking her into place so I could at least try and ground her. "Just tell me what's on your mind, no matter how stupid you think it is. I don't think you're stupid. I think . . . I think you're incredible. Against all odds, I've found myself standing here and telling you this when months ago I threatened to slash your tires. You don't need to be embarrassed around me."

          "I know. I'm not embarrassed, but . . ." She ran her fingers through her damp hair. "The second we left the rink, I thought, 'well, time to go back to the real world'. The real world doesn't let me play roller derby anymore, but it also reminds me all the time you're going back to California after graduation, so I'm probably setting myself up for heartbreak by getting my hopes up. You didn't even do anything wrong, you didn't even say you were actually leaving after graduation, and I was just . . . freaking out over it anyway. I didn't want you to be yet another person I'd lose, but I couldn't bring myself to tell you that. I thought maybe it would be easier if you left earlier, if I pushed you away just enough so I wouldn't get my heart shattered, but . . ."

         ". . . I came back." She pressed her lips together to silently confirm this. "Corinne, I—"

          "No, it's fine. I know this is ridiculous and I'm being catastrophic for no reason, but I don't know how to see things differently. Everything I care about, I lose. Marley, Drew, the captain badge, the team. I couldn't go through it again." Corinne sniffled, wiping her cheek with the heel of her hand, half covered by her sweater's sleeve. "I panicked. I live in this . . . constant state of fear and paranoia that I'll lose everything as soon as I screw things up, and then I inevitably fuck it all up. I don't know how to break the cycle."

          This was the rawest form of honesty she'd displayed in front of me all year and I couldn't begin to imagine the amount of courage it had taken for her to do so. I feared regret was growing inside her once more, bottom lip quivering, and she was starting to look away from me, so I pointed her towards the bed so she could sit down. Maybe the familiarity of her surroundings would help her.

          "I'm not leaving after graduation," I assured her, sliding back on the mattress when she curled into a ball next to me, looking up through her eyelashes. "I wouldn't. I have to stay while Jordan is in treatment, probably even after he's discharged, and I wouldn't be flying back to California as soon as I can. Maybe that was my original plan when we first moved here, but not anymore. Things have changed."

          "Yeah?"

          "Yeah. I don't know what's coming next, but I want to take it one step at a time, day by day, and figure things out as I go. Figure things out as we go. You and I." Her fingers brushed against the bare skin of the inside of my wrist, just where her lips had been back in the rink, and rose goosebumps all over my arm. "This is not how you're getting rid of me. I don't love California that much."

          She smiled ever so slightly. "You also said you didn't do relationships."

          "I also said things have changed, didn't I?"

          "I suppose."

          Corinne sighed. The tension began to dissipate, and I slid down so we were both lying down, but she took that opportunity to prop herself up on an elbow. She slowly brought her other hand to my cheek, brushing my hair away from my face, and tentatively lowered her head to brush her lips against mine.

          While the kiss outside of the rink had been chaotic, urgent, explosive, this one was softer like a caress, like we had all the time in the world and nothing to worry about. Nevertheless, I could still feel her underneath my skin, in the spaces between my ribs, and, when I arched my back to get a better angle, her laugh reverberated across every single one of my nerves.

          When she pulled back, she looked at me with such adoration I could cry.

          Her thumb pressed gently against my bottom lip, then slowly slid down my chin, while her other fingers remained curled around my neck. She eyed me, quietly at first, watching my reaction, and, when I felt about to combust, explode, or even both, her lips curved into a wicked, playful grin.

          "Look who's all hot and bothered now," she muttered.

          "Shut up," I breathed.

          "Shutting."

          She dipped her head to press a wet kiss to the hollow of my throat, right between my collarbones, and, when I shut my eyes, I saw constellations.

▂ ▂ ▂ ▂ ▂

are we out of the woods yet are we out of the woods yet are we out of the woods yet are we out of the woods