Salem circles me like I’m prey, adjusting my stance. “Feet shoulder-width. Front foot angled. Back foot ready to push.”
“Push,” I repeat.
“Push,” she confirms. “And don’t look at your feet.”
I immediately look at my feet.
Salem groans. “Ozzy.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“You won’t die,” she says. “You’ll just embarrass yourself.”
“That’s worse.”
Salem steps back onto her own board and glides forward, smooth and effortless. She turns her head to call over her shoulder, “Follow me.”
I push once. The board rolls, and I wobble. This shit is hard. My arms windmill like a man possessed.
Salem turns, eyes wide. “Stop flailing like that!”
“I’m not flailing!” I shout, flailing. “I’m adjusting.”
She bursts into laughter again, and it’s so contagious I start laughing too—even as I step off the board like it’s trying to murder me.
Salem skates in a circle around me, teasing. “I thought you were the tough guy.”
“I am tough,” I say. “I just prefer my violence… stationary.”
Salem snorts. “Okay, Mr. Keyboard Warrior.”
“I will end you,” I warn.
“With what,” she asks sweetly, “your inability to balance?”
I lunge for her, but she rolls away easily, laughing. I chase her on foot, and she keeps just out of reach, taunting me with little turns and stops like she’s dancing.
The sun warms the back of my neck. The air smells like pine. Salem’s laughter floats through the trees. For a few minutes, it almost feels like the world isn’t full of monsters. It almost feels like we’re just… two people.
I finally get back on the board. Salem guides me through pushing again, then rolling, then stopping. I manage a full ten seconds without looking like a complete amateur.
Salem claps dramatically. “Look at you! A baby deer learning to walk.”
I flip her off. “Your motivational style is toxic.”
“It’s effective,” she counters.
We skate for almost an hour, and by the end my legs feel like they’ve been personally attacked.
Salem’s cheeks are flushed, hair escaping the bun, eyes bright in a way I keep storing in my memory like ammunition against her bad days.
When we finally head inside, we’re both sweaty and laughing and starving.
We make lunch together—simple sandwiches and chips, fruit on the side—because Salem insists on eating like her body matters now, and I insist on not letting her slip back into survival habits. We sit at the counter, legs bumping sometimes. Okay, sure… it’s completely on purpose. At least on my end.
Salem bites into her sandwich and says, “Okay. Movie tonight?”
“Yep,” I say. “Pick your poison.”