Free Demon Derby by Carrie Harris Page A

your head would be impressive too.”
    I tried not to stare. His face was so perfect that it didn’t even look real, as if he were computer generated. It was gorgeous and freaky-looking at the same time, and that made not staring pretty much impossible, so I looked away entirely.
    “It’s not that cool,” I said, trying for nonchalance. “You should see some of the senior black belts. To get your fifth-degree black belt in ninjutsu, you have to kneel on the floor while somebody stands behind you with a sword. They try to whack you on the head with it, and if you move out of the way in time, you pass.”
    “You have to dodge it without seeing it?”
    “Yep.”
    “Cool.” He nodded, and I felt like I’d accomplished something. “And if you don’t, you get bashed on the head?”
    “Exactly. And the other black belts talk smack about you for the next year or so.”
    “I bet they do,” he said, grinning. “So you’re not a fifth-degree black belt yet?”
    “Nah. I’ve got years of training before that happens. If it ever does.”
    “It will.” He looked me over appraisingly. “I’ve done somecombat training, and you’re a natural. I can tell by how you move.”
    “Thanks.” I blushed.
    “I’m Michael.”
    “Casey,” I said, and then Darcy came back. This was probably a good thing, but I was vaguely disappointed.
    “So when are we obstacle-coursing?” she said. “I’m totally ready now!” Then she noticed Michael standing there and immediately went mute.
    “A few minutes, I think,” he said. “I should probably get back.” He nodded at me and then walked away without acknowledging Darcy’s existence.
    “Um … who—who is that hottie?” she stammered.
    “No clue. But I’d like to oil him up and make him feed me grapes and fan me with palm fronds.”
    She let out a surprised laugh, and the tension went out of her shoulders along with it. Then the dreadlocked girl called all of us back onto the rink.
    “All right,” she said with a smile everyone in the room returned even if they weren’t the smiling type. “I think I forgot to introduce myself before, and I see a new face in the group. I’m Barbageddon. I’m in charge of the Fresh Meat, and I’m begging you to not get yourselves injured and make me look bad in front of our new team manager.”
    She jerked a thumb toward Michael, who froze under the weight of all the female stares, and then gave a tentative wave.
    “Anyway,” she continued, “I want to give you a quick run-through of the course. We’ll be splitting you up into pairsthis time, so you shouldn’t need to worry about bowling each other over. The pads and helmet should protect your most important bits, but the floor still hurts, and we don’t want to break you just yet. That’ll come later.”
    She grinned and walked us down the length of the course, pointing out the sharp corners and narrow stretches that were most likely to take weaker skaters out. There were a lot of them.
    “Now we’ll be pairing you up randomly. Just do your best to cross the finish line on eight wheels, okay?” Everyone nodded, and she beamed at us in universal approval. “Good girls. Bear with me while we split you up.”
    Barbageddon grabbed the clipboard from Michael and rattled off pairs of names. Darcy and I got called first, so we rolled into a corner to stretch out again and keep our muscles from getting too cold. I wasn’t shaking anymore, but my limbs felt heavy with fatigue. A couple of weeks’ worth of training could get you only so far after about a year of inactivity and illness. I only hoped my strength would hold out. At least we got to rest between events; if they’d been all in a row there was no way I could have finished.
    “Darcy? Casey?” Barbageddon said, skating over. “Do you have any questions before we start?”
    “Yeah,” Darcy replied. “Is that really … That guy … Is he …”
    “She doesn’t deal well with hot guys,” I interjected.