Since I was already in East Nashville, and because I'd spent my whole month's food budget on roller skates and gear, I stopped by Lettuce Eat to see Olivia and scam a free meal. It was only a few blocks away. By some miracle, I found a parking spot on the street less than a block up from the restaurant. The short walk was ample time for people watching at its finest.

East Nashville, also known as "East Nasty" among the locals, was a bizarre nook of the city. A true melting pot of culture, the east side had no defined social climate—unlike other popular Music City hotspots like Green Hills, Hillsboro, or West End. The majority of the houses were old fifties-style cottages with a few elegant Victorians sprinkled among them. The few newer structures were built to look vintage, and the houses that had been renovated and modernized still maintained their throwback appeal. Despite the retro, cozy vibe of the neighborhood, nothing in the area sold for less than a quarter-million—or so Olivia said—and its inhabitants were the grass-fed type, the granola twenty- and thirty-somethings that sported man buns and shoes made of wheat.

Lettuce Eat was sandwiched between a hookah bar and a heavily graffitied tattoo shop that all occupied the same brick building. The restaurant's section was painted lavender, and green steps led up to the blue front door. Inside was just as random and eclectic with local art and license plates hung on the colorful walls. Old wooden tables were scattered around the room with mismatched, secondhand chairs surrounding them. Fortunately for Olivia, who had opened the restaurant on a startup's budget, frugality was all the rage in East Nasty.

In the corner, a man with a guitar (and a man bun) played an emotional acoustic rendition of "All Along the Watchtower."

"How many?" a bubbly redhead with a lip ring asked, stepping toward me with an armful of menus printed on shabby recycled paper and fixed to wooden clipboards.

I looked around the dining room. "Is Olivia busy?"

She blinked with surprise. "I'm not sure. She's in the office."

"Can you tell her Lucy is here?"

She nodded. "Sure. Do you want to wait at the bar?"

"Yeah. Thank you."

"You bet."

As she scampered away in her bright pink Converse sneakers, I walked to the long wooden bar near the small stage. Man Bun had shifted into a spirited cover of "D'yer Maker" by Led Zeppelin.

"Hello." The bartender stepped over in front of me. He was tall and skinny with a beard and a bald head. He wore jeans and a faded "D.A.R.E. to Keep Kids Off Drugs" T-shirt. "Can I interest you in our happy-hour special, God Save the Cream?"

I laughed. "What's in that?"

He shrugged. "It's a White Russian."

"I'm good. Just waiting for Olivia," I said.

He nodded and slung a white bar towel over his shoulder. "Let me know if you change your mind."

While I waited, I tried to call Ethan, but it went straight to voicemail. I hung up, then made the mistake of checking the balance of my bank account using an app on my phone.

I gulped.

Maybe this roller derby thing was a really bad idea.

Olivia walked through the door behind the bar that led to the kitchen. "Hey! What are you doing here?" She came over and leaned her elbows on the bar opposite of me. Her long dark hair was pulled up in a tidy bun on the top of her head like Cinderella.

"I was in the neighborhood."

"Why?"

I bit down on the insides of my lips for a second.

Her eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"

"Can you keep a secret?" I asked, lowering my voice.

She leaned closer. "Oh boy. This should be good."

"I was buying roller skates."

Her head dropped to the side. "Please tell me they are for a needy child."

I pulled the derby flyer from my purse and slid it across the bar toward her. She picked it up, read it, then peered over the top at me.

"Well?" I asked.

She laughed. "It was nice knowing you, my friend. Can you make sure to leave me a check for next month's rent?"

I scowled.

She looked at the flyer again. "You're doing this tomorrow morning?"

"Yes."

"And you went and bought skates?"

I nodded. "And a bunch of other gear. So I'm broke, and you need to feed me dinner."

"It says here you can borrow skates and gear," she pointed out.

"I know, but I really want to make a go of it. If I borrowed gear, it wouldn't be much of an incentive to stick with it."

Laughing, she handed the flyer back to me. "You've got balls, my friend. I'm impressed. Even if it does get you killed."

"I'm not going to die the first day," I said, putting the flyer away.

"I'm pretty sure they call it 'Fresh Meat' for a reason," she teased. "What do you want to eat?"

"The barbecue pizza, please."

She glared and shook her head. "That's not what it's called. Order it correctly."

I groaned. "May I have please have the barbecue You Want a Pizza Me?"

Chuckling with satisfaction, she looked back at the bartender over her shoulder. "Jimmy, can you put in an order for the barbecue pizza and pour her a Diet Coke?"

He nodded and walked to the kitchen.

My shoulders slumped. "You're so mean."

Olivia nudged my arm. "Sounds to me like you'd better toughen up. Why roller derby, Lucy? Is it the guy?"

"I don't think so. I mean, it started off as the guy, but I want to do it. It looks like so much fun."

Her brow pinched together. "It seems so unlike you though."

"I know. I think that's exactly what I need in my life right now. Anything that is unlike me. I moved here to start a different life, right? There isn't much further you can get from Riverbend than roller derby. I feel like I need to prove to myself that I can do this. Otherwise, what am I doing here?"

"You just squeezed a whole lot of life meaning into roller skating, Lucy."

"I know. It's all very metaphorical. But I really want this."

She squeezed my hand. "Then do it. I support you a thousand percent."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Please don't tell anybody."

She smirked. "Who am I going to tell? Besides, why the secret?"

My eyes fell to the bar. "Because if I don't make it, I'd rather people didn't know."

She slammed her hand down on the bar, making me jump. "That's not the attitude of a survivor, Lucy!"

I felt all the eyes in the restaurant on me, and heat rushed to my cheeks.

Olivia pulled two shot glasses from under the counter and put them on the bar. She reached for a bottle of peach schnapps (because she knew I couldn't handle anything stronger, bless her) and poured the glasses full. She handed one to me and raised hers in the air. I did the same.

"I have all the confidence in the world that you can do anything you set your mind to, Lucy. So here's to impossible dreams and roller derby!"

She clinked her glass with mine, and with a few patrons around us clapping, I laughed as we drank.

***

BRITCHES GET STITCHES...2 DAYS!