Whisper to Me(75)

“Disappointing.”

“Hmm,” you said. “I was picturing an arena with, like, sloping sides.”

“Me too. Same exact thing.”

“Oh well,” you said. “It’s—”

But I never knew what it was because …

“CASS! CASS, YOU ******** ****! CASS, I ********* LOVE YOU, YOU SPECTACULAR ******* PERSON! ****.”

Paris ran over. She had been standing in the shadows outside the gym, invisible, and I guessed we were late because there was no one else out there in the parking lot but light was coming from the windows of the gym. She picked me up and spun me around.

“You came!” she said.

“Evidently,” I said. But I couldn’t help smiling.

“I knew you couldn’t resist him.”

“Actually,” I said. “It was his sweet ride.”

Paris looked over at the pickup, nodded sagely. “The iconography of the Piers has ever been potent. Once I hooked up with a guy just because he was wearing one of those mascot costumes. You know, the Piers dolphins?”

“Ha-ha,” you said.

“No,” said Paris. “That’s actually true.”

“When he was in the costume?” I asked.

“Well,” said Paris, “he took the head off.”

“Wow,” you said.

“Follow,” said Paris, gesturing to the gym. “The game is already afoot and we squander precious time.” She led the way through double doors and then down a corridor with lockers running down it. She was carrying a really big purse. Prada, I think? Black leather with a gold clasp thing.

When we stepped into the hall the roar took me by surprise—the hall was flat, there was no sloping track, but there was a running track around the outside of the hall; it was big, I guess that was why it was chosen, and the bleachers were packed with people.

The skaters were already racing around the running track, some of them in yellow and black, like wasps, the others in bright red.

“Which is her team?” I asked.

“Places first,” said Paris. She pushed past people, alternately charming and elbowing them, until we came to a good spot roughly in the middle, one bench back from the front. A rigged-up fence was between the audience and the skaters, those metal barriers that kind of slot together?

You know this already. I keep forgetting.

Anyway, so we sat down and started to watch the … match? Game? I don’t know. I would look it up, but I’m conscious of not wasting your time. Ironic, I know. There were lots of people in the center of the gym, inside the track the skaters were skating around. More skaters, in the same uniforms but not skating. Plus coaches, I think? And also people in black-and-white-checkered tops who I took to be referees.

“See Julie?” said Paris. She pointed and, yes, I saw her. Yellow-and-black uniform, a helmet with a bright yellow stripe on it, her name emblazoned across her back: ONE THOUSAND MEGA JOULES. “They’re the Oakwood Miss-Spelling Bees,” she said. “Other team is the Wildwood Wild Kittens.”

“She’s fast,” I said. Julie was behind a pack of the red skaters and closing on them quick.

“She’s a jammer,” said Paris. “Well, right now, she’s a pivot, but—”

“Excuse me, what?”

“It means the jammer can designate her to take over as jammer, if she gets injured or whatever,” you said.

I raised my eyebrows at you.

“What? I read up on it.”

“Suck-up.”

“Scr—”

“Children,” said Paris. “No bickering.”

We watched some more of the play. I couldn’t really follow what was going on. After a minute or so they stopped skating and milled around, and then some of the players swapped with the ones waiting in the center space. It seemed like there were about fifteen girls on the team, but only about five of them were skating at any one time. Julie was one of the ones who stopped … playing? Competing? Skating? Anyway, she stopped. She looked around at the bleachers, finally saw us, and waved. We waved back.

Meanwhile the skaters were skating.

“Yeah!” you shouted at one point.

“Um,” I said. “What happened?”

“They scored.”

“Really? How?”

Paris turned to me. “You really don’t know anything?”

“Uh, no.”

“The jammer scores by lapping the pack,” you said. “The blockers from the opposing team try to stop them.”

I looked at you blankly.

“The one with the stars on her helmet has to pass the other ones,” said Paris. “Then she scores.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” I asked you.

You rolled your eyes.





I watched them play. Now that I had a vague idea of the rules it was easier to understand and I was less bored. There was one more two-minute jam (see, I am all over this stuff now) where Julie sat out, and then she joined the team again. Almost straightaway the jammer shot past the pack and I jumped up and whooped. Okay, I got into it for a bit. I don’t like sports usually, but it was exciting.

Paris and you stared at me.

“What?” I said. “They scored. Right? Right?”