8. Nia

8

NIA

"Are you mad that I'm a better skater, or that I'm easier to like than you?"

A gasp to my side and a few murmurs tell me I might have gone too far.

I can't hold it back anymore, though. Being backed into a corner, pushed until there's nothing I can do but go to that terrible place inside me and reach for something cruel, a skill I inherited from my mother, honed with time under the cruelty of her steel tongue.

Nonetheless, it's a skill I both take pride in and am ashamed of.

"Everyone out." Her nostrils flare wide with rage, not a single person bothering to challenge her request, as if she owns the fucking building. In a few seconds, the entire locker room clears out.

"What, it's okay when you insult me, but if I finally bite back, you want it in private?" I scoff, tired of taking this girl's shit.

She licks her lower lip, walking toward me with hard, narrowed eyes. She steps, I move back. Another step, I mimic again. We continue the dance until my back slams against the metal locker.

"I get it, you have a problem with me. I took your spot. I'm faster than you. I knew Lonnie in a way you never will, and that bothers you. But that isn't my problem, and I'm not afraid of you, Harvey." I exhale it all out so fast, there's no way it's convincing.

Maybe I am afraid of her.

She huffs out in amusement, like she doesn't believe me either, a crooked smirk gracing her face. "Is that so, princess?"

Her left hand slams the metal behind me, just inches from my face. I gasp, too startled to mask my surprise, but I'm prepared when the right hand repeats the action, locking me in place between her arms.

"You don't scare me." I don't dare break eye contact, watching as her gaze softens and her eyebrows lift in amusement.

"Hmm," she hums closely in my ear, the hairs on the back of my neck all coming to stand.

She's fucking with me.

I can play chicken. I can play chicken really damn well.

Just barely enough room between us, I grab at the waist of my spandex shorts, shimming out of the material that's nearly damp with sweat. Just a slight movement of her eyelids, but she regains control, not yet daring to move. Fingers gripping at the hem of my practice shirt, I lift the fabric up and then over my head, dropping it to the ground between us.

Her gaze betrays her, but just as quickly, she corrects her expression, laying on that mask of indifference once again. It's only when I shimmy out of the fishnet stockings that I'm granted enough space to move by her, and with the next movement, I undo the front clasp of my sports bra.

"I need to shower." Each word is sharp as I push them out through clenched teeth. "Move."

Her hands fall, and with them, so does her gaze.

I lean forward, and she backs away, giving me the space I need to walk toward the showers, where I remove my final piece of clothing. Dropping my underwear to my feet, I turn the knob, waiting for the water to become warm before stepping inside.

I still feel the heat of her stare behind me, overwhelming and nearly suffocating, but I don't turn to face her. Closing the shower curtain of my stall, I make do with a bar of soap, the only thing I managed to bring with me while my heart was too busy hammering from the adrenaline of the confrontation.

Did I just do that?

Never the kind to speak up, always the doormat. Always accepting the conditions of my life for what they are and leaping over every hurdle thrown my way as if it was custom built for me. That is the reality of being raised by immigrant parents. Blend in. Don't let them notice you.

Well, fuck that.

She notices me now.

The heat of the shower is enough to settle the brutal pumping of my pulse, and when I've dried myself off, I see the rest of the skaters have made their way back inside. They're continuing on in the locker room with their after practice routines as if Harvey hadn't kicked them out, as if there's no sort of lingering weirdness or humiliation for me to mull over.

Was it just in my own head?

I'm already clothed and brushing my wet hair into a single braid to the side when I hear a husky voice behind me. "Hey, uh… Nia, right?"

"Ant?nia," I correct before I turn around, finally having reached a point in my life where claiming the power of my name in its entirety feels healing instead of triggering.

I stare up at piercing blue eyes and matching hair. K-Otic is already dressed in fitted jeans with classic low tops and a gray v-neck, though I can't recall having seen them inside the locker room. Their hair is wet, framing their face instead of slicked back like I'd seen before.

"Cool." They look me up and down with an awkwardness that triumphs my own but somehow seems entirely attractive on them, almost purposeful. Resting their forearm on the lockers and leaning over me, their voice comes out almost like a hushed sound. "I'm Kade."

"Hi." It bubbles out of me like an awkward laugh. I never know the right way to respond to someone introducing themselves when they already know my name. I rush out the easiest brain garbage fact to pull from my head. "You're fast."

"Yeah," they acknowledge, taking it just as a statement of fact and having no issue with it being a single sentence on its own. "Wanna grab a drink?"

"That sounds great, actually." My eyes can't help but glance over to where Harvey stood at her locker.

She's long gone now, surely, but there's an uneasy feeling lingering of something being wrong. It only takes me a few more minutes to gather my things into my bag, but Kade has no problem waiting.

They open the door, and as we step out into the rink, I hear DreadPool's voice. "I was gonna ask her out, but K beat me to it."

I follow the sound of their voice to where they stand in front of Lonnie's office, talking to someone out of sight.

"You heard K talk?" Harvey's voice is full of surprise, though I still can't see her. We walk toward the entrance where the two are talking about us. I can only imagine what her face looks like, but I avoid it like it's my job.

"To her, yeah." Just as DreadPool says it, we walk past them, Kade not bothering to spare a glance to their side as they push open the door and hold it for me.

They practically rip my duffel out of my hand, grabbing the passenger side door of their car before throwing my bag inside the trunk.

"Oh, I drove." I point back at my car.

"You shouldn't drive drunk." Kade stands at my side, as if waiting for me to make a decision so they can shut the passenger side door. My bag is already firmly secured in the back of their Mustang.

I'm stammering, not a coherent response that can be translated into any meaningful sentence in my head.

"I'll bring you back to your car in the morning," Kade says with a chuckle, not letting me overthink and making the decision for me.

"Okay," I sing, trying to mask my chronic anxiety but genuinely grateful to not be burdened with the paralysis that often comes with choices.

I'm only slightly surprised when we pull up to a red-brick townhouse just minutes from downtown. I can't help but wonder what they do for a living to be able to afford rent so close to the heart of Devil Town.

"I need to feed my cat first. There are a few bars in walking distance," they say, but I'm well aware.

"I know." I present it as fact, not as superiority.

I catch a smirk from just a sliver of their face. "You're from here, right?"

"Yup. Spent my whole life in this place before college." My fingers tuck into the fabric of my pockets awkwardly. "What about you?"

"I moved here two years ago. Didn't really mean to." They shrug, opening the front door to their house.

A cat nearly the size of a golden retriever greets us, their fur dramatic like a lion and a beautiful charcoal gray.

"Oh my God. I'm in love." I drop to my knees, and the kitty doesn't hesitate, brushing up against me and nudging me with their head.

"That's Tolkien." Kade introduces us, the name quite fitting for such a majestic creature.

"How did I ever live without you, sweet kitty?" I'm on the ground now, fully embracing my cat lady moment and letting a forty pound cat make biscuits on my chest.

He runs off once he hears Kade pouring food into his bowl, and I'm equal parts disappointed and relieved to not look so insanely obsessed. "Did you say you didn't mean to move to Devil Town?" I backtrack to our earlier conversation.

Kade scratches the back of their head, scrunching their nose in thought. "It wasn't supposed to be permanent. My aunt died and left me on her estate, and when I came to clean up and sell the house, I realized it was probably going to be my only shot at owning property in this lifetime. Devil Town's cost of living is manageable, so I went back to Maine for my shit and made this place home."

Had I been drinking something, I would've spit it out. "You moved from Maine to Devil Town? Incredible." I laugh, shaking my head.

And then I remember that my parents immigrated from an entirely different continent… for Devil Town. Well, the research facility at the edge of town, but the point remained the same.

"It's not that bad here." They shrug. "But I get it. I'd only been here a handful of times to visit my aunt. You grew up here—hometown blues and shit."

"Something like that," I agree, deciding for once not to trauma dump and word vomit my entire twenty-two year history with this town.

The truth is, this place is the cemetery that holds every mistake I made. This town is made from the bones of all my traumas and injuries and they're somehow all locked in a coffin that had once been metaphorical, but now, with Lonnie gone, seems far too real.

"You okay?" Kade asks, as if my face reflects how I feel.

I nod, searching for comfort in any way possible and giving the cat another head scratch as he eats from his bowl.

"I have to confess why I asked you out." Their tone sobers as they sit on a blue suede couch.

I tilt my head in curiosity.

"I've been…" Kade starts fidgeting with their fingers as they avoid my gaze. "I've been really lost since Lonnie. I know you really knew them well and… I just… I don't know. You showed up,and being close to you is kind of like being close to them again. That probably doesn't make sense." They finally look up, tears streaming down their eyes. "I lost my sister not even two years ago, and now Lonnie. It isn't fair."

"Kade." It's barely a whisper as I sit down, embracing them in a tight squeeze. K drops their head to my chest, a hearty sob exploding as they shake in my hold.

Grief is like that.

It can be the sticky glue that holds us together as much as it can be a searing hot knife that divides.