Silver Chips

Her world is is suspended in hues of electric magenta and shocks of vibrant purple. It is colorful fractals projected on the wall and sprayed up on the ceiling and silver chips of light refracted from a silvery mirror ball. 

Upon the polished wood below circles of blue, green, yellow, red, and purple cross over one another as they travel across the floor and over moving feet. Feet that glide in a circular orbit of their own. Smaller rings of light circles cut through these larger circles in a fixed position rotating faster than the larger circles trace their orbital path. 

The roller rink is just that circles within circles within circles, an endless plane of spinning and rotating and spiraling.

There is glitter and glitz it is decorates roller skates with flashing wheels. It comes as streamers tied to skate laces, as body glitter on exposed shoulders, as faux gems on expensive roller skates, purses, and fingernails. 

It is on Truaze’s face as an elegant sweep of dark purple eyeshadow. It is on Lilianna’s baby pink lipgloss that glimmers beneath the party lights, she extends her arms and reaches for Bellazhanna’s hands. “Come on! Dance with me!” She shouts above the house music pumping through the speakers.

That glitz is on Bellazhanna’s wrist, glinting off of a friendship bracelet that Truaze had given her at the start of the semester. It is on her own makeup–a highlighter pink brushstroke of eyeshadow dotted with tiny false diamonds–on the pink and silver glitter that she has sprayed into her hair. The glitter that has rubbed off onto her shoulders and neck. 

It twinkles upon all of their cheeks. That was their trademark for the rollerdisco, smearing their cheeks with as many sparkles, sequins, and rhinestones as they can before lacing up their skates and heading out. 

Bellazhanna throws her head back and laughs as Lilianna spins her around. 

Truaze winks when she meets her gaze.

Life isn’t always like this, so euphoric, so glamorous. 

Most of the time it isn’t.

Most of the time it is shame and guilt and inadequacy. 

But not under the flashing lights at the roller disco. Not where synth beats and techno basses drown out that voice in her head. The one that tells her that she doesn’t have what it takes. That she’s not going to make it. 

Here at the roller rink everything is free and flowing. Everything is light and dreamy. 

Tonight life is every bit as romantic as she was always told that city life and the high life would be. 

Squares of light slid across Lilinna’s face as she twirls Bellazhanna around. “Ready?” She asks. Bellazhanna nods and she lets go. Bellazhanna drifts backwards, letting her skates pull her until Truaze takes her hands and pulls her forward again. 

The disco lights twinkle in her hair. She thinks of unraveling her braids. Truaze beams at her, the metal of her braces flashing. 

“Watch this!” Lilianna calls. She swings herself into a twirl and dips down, still spinning she kicks a leg out. 

Truaze unlinks their hands to clap for the girl.

“If only I could do that.” She mumbles. 

“Have you tried?” Lilianna asks.

“I’d fall.”

“Me too.” Truaze laughs. “We could fall together, if you’d like.”

Bellazhanna considers. She isn’t exactly one to make a fool of herself in public. Not on purpose anyways, she has quite a running streak of spilling drinks on herself and other people or tripping over bags in aisles or legs suddenly thrust out in front of her. 

Maybe, for once, it would be nice to own her humiliations. To cause them for herself while trying something that she has always wanted to do.

“I don’t have the best balance…”

“And I don’t have the best coordination.” Trueaze confesses.

“I have the talents of a goddess, clearly!” Lilianna snickers. 

“Oh please.” Truaze rolls her eyes. 

“How’s this, you two catch me and I’ll pass my title onto the two of you. Maybe if you capture me some of my talent might even rub off on you guys.” She winks. 

Bellazhanna grabs her arm. “Caught you.”

Lilianna tsks and, waving her pointer says, “mm-mm, I didn’t say go!”

Bellazhanna unhands the girl. She takes a step back, the sequins on her top give winks of their own. “Alright.” She gives a half smirk. “On your marks…” she takes another slow and shimming step back. “Get set…” She turns around and drops into a starting stance. “Aaaaand…”

Bellazhanna and Truaze exchange a glance and take stances of their own. 

“Go!” She gives her feet a good push and bolts, weaving seamlessly in and out of bodies coming in the opposite direction. Bodies with mouths. Mouths that offer disgruntled shouts; “watch it!” and “you’re going the wrong way!”

For once Bellazhnna doesn’t care. It is fun to be pushing against the crowd for a change. Amazing to just let go. To let remarks–“Ugg, lane etiquette! Kids these days!”--roll off of her just as the lights do. 

Truaze breaks off and heads with the crowd. “We’ll trap her, you keep going that way, I’ll meet her on this side.”

Bellazhanna turns around and gives a thumbs up. “Oh!” She flinches, just narrowly avoiding…was that Mrs. Romaville? She hadn’t realized that the woman had a life outside of mathematical equations. 

“Detention, Ms. Ulsie!” 

“Not in school, Mrs. R!” She shouts over her shoulder. She hears a scraping of roller skate tires and another cuss as someone swerves to avoid her. She throws her head back and laughs. Because for the first time in ages she doesn’t care. For the first time their judging looks are funny–expressions like that? Priceless, she isn’t sure why she hadn’t realized how ridiculous they looked before!