#itno

The back door to the Whirling-in-Rounds plaintively creaked in distress to an audience of zero as Pomelo nudged it open. 

In their wake, an early sunrise stretched past their silhouette, illuminating a strip of dust motes by the rink; by their feet rested the strip of plastic they’d wedged under the frame during its open hours in order to prevent it from locking. Itno followed them inside; Lily followed Itno, Teresa trailed behind. Pom had a knack for planning these secret outings; the Whirling had been rented out for a birthday party the day prior, and opened late on Mondays. Or so they said. The chances of their little group being caught unattended in the rink were slim to none.

“Besides,” Teresa had replied to Lily’s initial noise of concern at the idea, “I bet you wouldn’t be caught dead renting a pair of those beat-up things they call roller skates, would ya? Not to mention how much it costs to step, like, three feet in there. It’d snap your sad little wallet in half!”

(In response, Lily had socked him in the arm and shot back that she bet his budget didn’t look much better, “huh, C? Unless you won the fuckin’ lottery and didn’t tell us?”)

With a quiet thunk, the back door shut behind them, but Itno was already busy with a lighting panel near the rental window—the world was bathed in darkness for only a second or two before the black lights in the ceiling flipped on. Neon decals buzzed on the far wall by the rink’s idea of a food court, and a small overhead light gestured dramatically to the rows of roller skates on the shelves in the cabin. 

Over the years, those skates have been handled by kid after squid after kid: perhaps by a young lover about to miserably embarrass himself on his first date, or an older sibling dragged along by the hand of her mother, with reluctance tumbling from her mouth. In the secluded space of the rental cabin, they were the only witnesses to Lily’s hesitance as she walked from shelf to shelf trying to find a pair her size.