I give Mack a pointed look. She smiles until her lip ring clinks against her bottom teeth. I flip on the overhead light in the car and dig around in my purse for my eyeliner pencil.
“I see a friend of mine.” Mack hands Jonah her keys. “Lock up when you guys are done. I’ll meet you inside. Take your time. No hurry at all.”
You’re killing me, Mack. Killing me.
“Can you come up here?” I ask Jonah.
Jonah slides into the driver’s seat and turns his body toward mine. Our kneecaps touch and the root beer bubbles up again.
“Tip your head up.” My left hand flutters around, trying to find somewhere to land. “Stop moving.”
“I’m not moving.”
“You are.” I put my left hand on Jonah’s face and tilt it toward the light more. The skin on his cheek feels smooth against my fingertips. His warm breath washes across the palm of my hand. A sizzling sensation travels up my arm. “Close your eyes.”
My right hand hovers over Jonah’s left eye. I will it to stop shaking. I do a couple of narrow swipes on his eyelid above his lashes. I stop, look at my work, and use my pinky to smear out the color a little. I have to push the hair out of Jonah’s right eye before I can line the top of that one. Jonah’s hair feels thick, stiff on my fingers.
“What do you use on your hair?” I say. “Mack used her gel on my hair, but I don’t have white-girl hair. I don’t think it’s going to hold.”
“Secret Korean stuff. Only people who are seventy-five percent Korean get to know.” Jonah’s lips brush my palm, making my hand quiver even more.
When I pull my hand away, Jonah opens his eyes and looks in the mirror. He yelps. “I look like my mom!”
“I’m not done yet. I still need to do the bottom lids.” I grab Jonah’s wrists to keep him from wiping off the eyeliner. “I promise. You’ll be K-pop idol material by the time I’m done.”
I have to remind myself to let go of him. I tip his head back toward the light. Jonah’s lips are only a few inches away from mine. I wonder what they feel like. I could lean in and … I clear my throat to end the train of thought that is sending electricity to the pit of my stomach.
“Look up,” comes out more like a squeak than a command.
I gently pull the lower lid of his right eye down, line it, and smudge the color out with my pinky. When the other eye is done, I lean back and let Jonah inspect my work. This time, he nods.
“If you’re not going to do it at a hundred percent, then why bother?” When Jonah leans between the two front seats to dig through Mack’s workout bag, his chest presses into my arm. He looks up at me with kohl-rimmed eyes. Challenging me. Little parentheses etch the corners of his mouth when I don’t move my arm.
“Ah-ha.” He pulls a piece of black cloth into the front seat. It’s Mack’s DON’T BE A HATER, BE A SKATER T-shirt. “On brand, if a bit big. It’ll do.”
Jonah pulls off his plain, royal blue, long-sleeved T-shirt. Maybe I should look away. But, as Jonah says, if you aren’t going to do it at 100 percent, then why bother? The smell of pine makes me feel light-headed. He slides the derby girl shirt over his finely tuned body.
“You know if this whole speed skating thing doesn’t work out”—Jonah messes up his hair and gives himself a seductive pout in the mirror—“maybe I could be a K-pop idol.”
“Wow.” I shake my head.
“What? I work out. I have a sexy American accent. I can sing, sort of. I’m sure Korean girls would be screaming ‘Oppa!’ and falling all over themselves to get to me.”
I shake my head again and put the eyeliner pencil in my purse.
“’Cause, God knows, they don’t give me the time of day in Phoenix,” Jonah says.
“Korean girls?”
“No, girls in general.”
“That’s not true. I’ve seen girls staring at you in English.” Okay, one of them was me.
“Because I’m new. And I’m one of two Asian guys in the tenth grade. Once the novelty wears off, I’ll start blending in with the cinderblock walls again.”
“Hey, Jonah.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s six thirty-seven.” I put my fist out for him to bump. “Try to keep up with me tonight.”
And he does. We barely make it past the food truck outside selling churros without me caving to its cinnamon-sugar goodness. The lobby of Ability360 is so packed that Jonah is practically standing on top of me. Somebody jostles us, and Jonah puts his hand on my hip to keep from colliding with me. It stays there longer than necessary. And I am totally okay with it.
I look around, trying to find Mack. Usually, she sticks out like a beacon, but tonight she blends into the kaleidoscope of colors. I finally see her in the derby girl prep area. She’s surrounded by women of all colors, shapes, and sizes in fishnet stockings and sexy pirate boutfits.
“Would you like a drink?” Jonah nods at the tiny, makeshift concession stand at the gymnasium’s entrance.
“Sure. Pepsi, if they have it.” I catch Mack’s eye, and she waves me over. “I’ll be back in a minute. Mack is hailing me.”
I’ve been to enough bouts with Mack over the last year that I recognize several of the women’s faces, even if I can’t remember all their names—their real ones or their over-the-top derby girl ones.
“Here she is.” Mack throws an arm around my shoulders. “My accountability partner. I teach her geometry. She teaches me self-discipline.”
“You’re going to come skate with us sometime, aren’t you, Olivia?” Up close, I realize this woman with the spiky blond hair, Barnacle Barb, is probably the same age as my mother. Maybe even a little older. “We need some more young blood. Are you eighteen yet?”
Though I am flattered, I think these women would eat me alive. “No. I’m sixteen.”
“Oh.” Barnacle Barb looks genuinely disappointed to hear this. “Do you want to join our new junior derby? We’re actively recruiting.”
“Nah, her parents won’t let her,” Mack answers for me. “They’re afraid she’ll get hurt.”
I cringe. Mack’s right, but she didn’t have to make me sound like such a baby.
“That’s understandable. A shame, but understandable. Parents want to keep their babies safe.” Barnacle Barb pats my shoulder. “Even when they are almost grown.”
I’m not sure if roller derby is really for me, but the one time Mack brought the idea up with my parents, Mom immediately shut it down with an uncharacteristic “Oh, hell no!” And, for once, Dad backed her up. Parenting. What a concept! The one good thing about being a “normal” high school student now is that I’m expected to hang out with friends on the weekends. Mack might be an odd choice for a BFF, but when my parents question it, I remind them that I could be going to parties instead of bouts. Parties like the one the Trout brothers threw while their spare kidney—and their parents—was out on the road competing with me at Nationals. Mack looks like an angel compared to them.
“You keep training with Olivia, Mack Truck.” Barnacle Barb puts on her helmet. “Your speed is coming up, but you’re not quite there yet. And work on your endurance.”