Whip It (19 page)

Going into the final jam, the score is Holy Rollers, 34, Hurl Scouts, 38. If Dinah’s blockers keep me from scoring, she could easily make up the difference. But that’s
if
—I don’t care what those naughty schoolgirls have up their dirty little sleeves, I am Not. Going. Down.

Dinah and I line up for the final jam, trading steely stares. She seems awfully confident for someone about to lose, although, upon closer inspection, you can see the psycho-ness brewing in her crazy eyes.

“You can’t win, Ruthless,” Dinah says coldly.

I smile. “Suck my skate, Dinah.”

The whistle blows, and we both take off like rockets, but Dinah cuts me off in the first turn, taking the lead. I push hard, getting all I can out of my hardworking thighs. Malice and Emma go for a wall to slow Dinah, but she ducks and spins between them.

The crowd loves it. I jump over Robin’s skate to get out of the pack as Dinah is already halfway around to get her points.
Push, push, push. Just don’t give up, don’t give up.

I’m fast, but Dinah’s sneaking into the back before me, the crucial three seconds where she can blow past my blockers and get the points before I have a chance to score.
Don’t give up, don’t give up.

Dinah cuts high to get around Emma, but Malice throws a Superman diving-block that times perfectly. She wipes Dinah out with such gusto all the other girls go down too.

So I’m flying not into a pack but into a seven-way, Holy Rollers, Hurl Scouts pileup. I close my eyes, say a little prayer, and jump over the wreckage. . . .

. . . And I clear them all! Okay, so I nearly fall on my ass, but I save it with a knee-slide, then regain my standing position. What I lack in style, I make up for in points—four for the Hurl Scouts, zero for the Holy Rollers.

We’re all hugging and crying like it’s the best moment of our lives. One thing’s for sure, seeing a bunch of badass derby girls bawling while their black eyeliner streaks their cheeks is pretty honkin’ hilarious.

I won’t go on and on and be super-gloaty about the whole thing, but I have to confess, winning the championship is pretty g.d. sweet.

Mom and Dad and Shania run down from the stands and swarm me with hugs.

My dad is beside himself. “Boy howdy, I tell you what, I have seen some ball games in my time, but this right here, that beats all!” Not that Earl would ever say it, but I’ve always had the feeling he would have loved to have had a football-playing son. I think me playing Roller Derby might be the next best thing.

I turn to my mom, who is clutching her green Hurl Scout pom-pom. “Oh, my goodness, that was so scary!” she squeals, then adds, “I can’t wait till next season. I gotta get me a
BABE RUTHLESS IS MY BABY
T-shirt!”

Shania looks up and says, “Mommy, when can I get some skates?” Brooke responds with an oh-shit look.

As my parents storm the merch table, I find myself briefly alone, observing the scene, letting this whole day wash over me. I know I will revisit it many times for the rest of my life. It’s good to have a few of these memories filed away.

And then I hear it—that voice, that familiar voice. “Nice game, sexy,” he says. My stomach drops.

I turn, and there _____ is.

“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to call. Everything’s just been crazy,” he says.

I wish I could say that he looks like hell, that he got fat, that he’s suddenly been plagued by disfiguring acne. But the truth is, the boy is hot. And nobody rocks a threadbare T-shirt like he does.

For the first time all day, I don’t feel strong.

So is this what life is? Even when you have the best day ever—your friends cheer for you, your parents finally understand you (at least for a moment), you accomplish something that you’re actually good at—a little spitball of suck has to come flying your way and ruin everything?

I glance at Pash and Bird-man lingering in the background by the track, shoving each other, laughing, and looking completely smitten. A ’50s bombshell and the dork who loves her. It’s so wrong it’s right.

And that’s when I realize. With _____, it was so right it was wrong. Too good to be true.

“So are we gonna hang out? Or what?” he asks, flaunting his cool yumminess my way. A quick make-out session is totally tempting, but I know better. I’m a smart girl.

I look him in the eye and answer, “Or what.”

Now, I will say this once and once only, and it shall never ever be repeated ever again, but my mom was right.

He does not deserve me. So I turn to go.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing my wrist, but I shake free. As I skate away, he is stopped by a wall of my teammates, who suddenly appear to back me up.

“A word of advice,” I hear Malice say. “Don’t fuck with a girl on skates.”

So, I guess I’m supposed to sum up my big Roller Derby adventure with some profound discoveries about what I learned. Yeah, right.

If I have learned anything, it’s that life is way more confusing than you think. Your lame parents can have moments of extreme coolness, while the people you think are extremely cool can turn out to be exceedingly lame.

And, honestly, if I can give you one teeny, tiny piece of advice, it is this: Do not date a boy in a band. I repeat,
DO NOT DATE A BOY IN A BAND
!

But if you insist on blithely ignoring the above wisdom,
DO NOT GIVE HIM YOUR BELOVED STRYPER SHIRT
. You will never see it again. Trust me. I had to learn the hard way. (And, hell, yes, it still hurts, but it does get better.)

My new & improved quest is to find a guy who is just as music-obsessed as I am but who isn’t a musician. I think that’s the secret.

So, if you know of any, send ’em my way. Yeehaw.

Go Fish!

GO
FISH

q u e s t i o n s f o r t h e a u t h o r

What made you decide to take up roller derby?

I went to one practice and it was love at first skate. The girls were misfits, but hilarious—a bunch of wild bandits who didn’t fit the mold of traditional sports. But, kind and encouraging.

I love that it’s a serious sport that doesn’t take itself seriously. Plus, roller derby enthusiastically celebrates a very healthy idea of sexuality. You’re sexy because you’re strong and athletic, not because you’re underfed and falling all over yourself to please some boy who totally doesn’t even deserve it.

It’s like self-esteem camp on skates. With a badass soundtrack.
Muy caliente
!

Bodeen, Texas, is a fictional town. Is it based on a real place?

Kind of. It’s loosely based on a small town called Brenham, Texas, home of the regionally famed Blue Bell ice cream (d-lish!). Small towns can be charming, but I think for a lot of teens, they are stifling and boring—especially if you don’t fit in.

Your descriptions of pageant life—the pushy mom, the social climbing, the pink suits—are extremely vivid. Do you have firsthand experience?

Just by observation. I never entered the Tiara Olympics myself. I was a competitive ice skater when I was a kid, which has its share of rhinestones and stage moms.

For the record, my own mom is super-rad and not the least bit pushy.

I’m also fascinated by the theme of finding your own identity, discovering who you are—I think it’s a really important journey. I’m forever intrigued by parents who try to put an identity on their kids. It’s so tragic.

How did you come up with Bliss’s derby name? What about your own?

“Babe Ruthless” just seemed to echo who she is—the youngest, but tough.

My skate name is “Maggie Mayhem,” but when I thought of “Malice in Wonderland” for the book, I wish I had that one! It was too late to change.

All the other names in the book are kindly on loan to me by the girls who really skate under them. They rule.

In derby world, your derby name is a big thing. And don’t even get me started on the drama that can go down if someone tries to take somebody else’s name from another league. Lord have mercy!

Bliss’s voice is very colorful in her use of contemporary teen language. How did you manage to capture the tone so accurately?

Um, that’s just totally how I talk. Is that a bad thing?

In junior and high school, I was an insane journal keeper, as well as note writer to my friends. (See, kids, back in the day we didn’t have texting, MySpace, or Facebook. We had to write our notes
on paper
. The horror!)

Anyway, I decided to write the book as if it were just a really long letter to my BFF.

What did you want to be when you grew up?

Anything creative. One day it was an actress, the next day it was a choreographer. But I was always telling stories, so, eventually, it seemed obvious that I’d be a writer (though I didn’t want to admit it for a long time. I thought it seemed boring).

When did you realize you wanted to be a writer?

High school-ish. Film is also a huge part of my life, so I still want to be a director too. And I will.

What’s your most embarrassing childhood memory?

I was a chubby kid, so my older brother got the whole neighborhood to call me “Jabba the Hut,” or “Jabba” for short. That sucked. But any kind of awkwardness makes you develop in other ways—for me, I became funny. And that has served me well.

Those who have a super-easy life don’t usually become the most interesting people.

What’s your favorite childhood memory?

Summer nights. All the kids out till midnight or 1
AM
playing massive games of hide-and-go-seek. It was epic and innocent.

As a young person, who did you look up to most?

Well, I really searched for cool female role models. And musicians, because I’m such a music nerd.

What was your worst subject in school?

Math. I still don’t understand algebraic equations. Why do you have to get the same answer every time? Isn’t it more creative to get a different answer each time? It’s such a cliché, but I wish I were better at math.

What was your best subject in school?

English. History. I LOVE history and it took me a while to figure out history is more than just “big men and big dates,” but also all the day-to-day info about living in different eras. How people survived, who fell in love with whom . . . the little human touches that shape us. I love that stuff. I gobble it up.