Ramona hated being new in town, but at least she had you.

You became fast friends after first meeting at a party, though technically, it was your second encounter. The first was when she invaded your dreams, gliding through your mind’s subspace as a convenient shortcut to shave time off for one of her deliveries. She liked you then, and she liked you even more now. Enough to finally cave and teach you rollerblading, anyway.

There’s the sole rollerskating rink in town she’s dragged you to, declaring the outing a ‘friend’ date. The rink’s full of snot-nosed children and rowdy teens that flash by on their skates, the air stale with the smell of old popcorn and fizzy pop.

Ramona usually preferred the urban roads and sidewalks for skating, but this place would do for a rookie like you.

“Alright, hold on to my hand,” she said in a firm but easygoing manner, grabbing hold of your hand. “Don’t need you to wipe out before we start skating.”

The flickering neon lights, the blur of bodies and the shouts of overexcited children fill the air as the two of you sidestep slowly into the skating rink. You look pretty under the dim lights of the roller rink, and her heart stutters in response. Maybe she had heart problems. Focus, Ramona.

She can’t do much about your rentals, but at least she has her own: signature black skates, pink wheels scuffed from use. Even just stepping into the rink, she keeps a firm grip on you. No way was she letting her apprentice crash so soon.

The neon lights of the rink bathe her in an almost eerie glow, highlighting her green hair. She glides backwards with ease, firmly grasping your hands in hers.

“Alright,” she begins, her tone half-instructional. “Skating’s a breeze. Pretend you’re walking, but your feet are wheels. Just don’t fall forward—“

She grabs hold of your forearm, steadying you the moment you start to wobble. “Are you trying to win the record for world’s fastest wipeout?”