The Beginning of Me and Ned

When Ned and I were first dating, he took me roller blading. I hadn't been roller blading in about 6 years, but Ned acted so cool, and excited about it, that I couldn't say no. He obviously thought this was the next natural step in our budding relationship. And I duuuug Ned, so off I went.
He picked me up and drove me to the bike trail by his dad's house. We walked into the kitchen, where Ned critically eyed my roller blades. (Yes, they were unused. No, they were not just purchased. I ain't pretending to be athletic, people.)  "Brakes?" he said scornfully. (I replied with an apathetic shrug. I didn't  know the right answer. "Yes, those are brakes, Ned.") "You don't need brakes, do you?" How do I answer that? "Uh, I guess not." Ned efficiently popped the brakes off my blades and happily handed them to me. "Now they're sweet. That's frickin sweet that you don't need brakes on your roller blades. You're such a cool girl. They're like hockey skates now!" Yippee, Ned. I DON'T F-ING PLAY HOCKEY.  I felt like I was in a movie where the dweeby girl gets singled out by the football captain. That's how Ned was acting. He had found his area of expertise and suddenly I was faceless, nameless, and opinionless. Ned was the leader of the cruel game called Sports.
Anyway, I put them on, trusting that I would be able to follow Ned's instructions on how to brake by using the inside of my foot. (Just like all the hockey players. Because I play hockey.) Next step, Ned? I wobbled after him across the street (and yes, I did wait until there was not a car in sight. Not chancing getting run down walking on roller blades in front of Ned.) Ned naturally went ahead of me, and was skating on one toe, waiting for me to just cross the damn street. Did it occur to Ned to cross with me? No. Ned glided in hockey stance across Main Street, assuming I was next to him, and when he realized I wasn't, yelled across the street "Come on! What're you doing?". It occurred to me, with Main Street between us, that communication might not be our strong point.
When I finally got across, Ned led the way. He took one turn, leaving me in the dust, which I really didn't mind, because I was getting the hang of it. Staring at my feet the whole time, but getting the hang of it. Ned would periodically (this was in a time span of about 30 seconds. Ned covers a lot of territory on wheels in 30 seconds.)  make laps around me, chuckling dismally at my weak smile. He looked almost deceived when he found out I couldn't make eye contact, or talk for that matter, while roller blading. His disappointment in me was not allieved when the next turn Ned took me down was a sudden, great steep hill that I took at full speed, arms flailing, all pride deceased as I desperately grasped at anything- trees, cars, Ned himself- to ctach me from this terrible fall.  Nothing caught me, and I fell. And ripped my jeans and skinned my knee. And finally told Ned that I can't stop without brakes, and that I don't play hockey, and that this whole day was a terrible idea. A terrible, terrible idea.