Motocross Me

by Cheyanne Young

  I check my phone for messages every two minutes. A normal person would know there is no reason to check if you don’t hear it ring when it’s right next to you in a quiet room. But I am not normal today. Fatigue, mixed with the sunburn on my shoulders is enough to alter my mentality.

  Even worse than the ache in my feet is the one deep in my chest. A thick, dull pain arrived the first day Ryan didn’t call me and has lasted all week. Every hour I don’t hear from him makes the time creep even slower than the hour before. I am stuck in a room with dreary ceiling blobs, while time drips like the clock on a Dali painting. This teen angst is going to swallow me whole.

  Why hasn’t he called? I smash my hand to my forehead. Thank God I don’t have his number or I would have succumbed to the craziness and called him first. And as every self-respecting girl knows, boys always call first, and I can’t break that rule. Sure, I’m becoming an over-dramatic diva, but I’m perfectly fine with that.

  I roll over and gaze at the wall for a change of scenery. The wall’s plaster blobs aren’t unlike the ones on the ceiling, but these are painted tan and thus slightly more pleasing to the eye. Too bad this small town has nothing to do if you aren’t a dirt bike racer. If only Felicia were here to cheer me up and tell me boys were a pathetic waste of time, not that she believes that because she loves boys more than I do. But she’d say it anyway just to lift me from my wallowing.

  Molly may be a good listener, but we aren’t at the stage where I can tell her about my boy troubles. The only friend I’ve made so far is Shelby, but I didn’t have a way to contact her.

  Teig plays Xbox in the next room. Every five seconds, a gunshot sound echoes through the wall followed by a cheer. Just as I decide to crawl out of bed and hang out with my little brother, his TV goes quiet and his door swings open. He bounds down the stairs. I roll out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a ninety-year-old lady, grab my cell phone – just in case – and follow him.

  The answer to my loneliness is right in our garage. My dad and Ash hang around Teig’s dirt bike talking about carburetors and suspension. Teig hands Ash a wrench from his toolbox.

  Ash wears jeans stained with black smudges and a blue and black baseball shirt. His hair is tied in a fat ponytail with a rubber band. He scrunches his eyes and bites the corner of his lip as he works. It’s a look I’ve seen before, but not on Ash. Though he has pounds of muscle and masculine features Shelby lacks, their expressions and mannerisms are almost identical.

  Dad once told me the Carters owned a small engine repair shop and they often worked on Teig’s bike, so I guess it makes sense for him to be here. Had I associated that with Shelby earlier, I could have saved myself seventy-two hours of miserable boredom.

  Three heads turn around, see that it’s only me, and then focus back on the bike. I put my hands and my phone in my back pockets and listen to the conversation for a whole minute before zoning out. Dirt bike-talk is boring, and sitting around the house is boring. Shelby is not boring and hopefully Ash will be able to help me – if they could just stop talking about guy stuff long enough for me to ask.

  That glorious moment of silence finally comes when Dad goes back in the house. Teig still wants to help Ash work on his bike, but there isn’t much for him to do, so he finds a rag and polishes the aluminum bike frame. Ash’s chair has wheels and he rolls around the bike, closer to me.

  “Your eye looks better.”

  “Thanks,” I say, not wanting to be reminded of that stupid accident.

  “How do you like your new job?”

  “Do we have to talk about that on my day off?”

  Work is hard, but work has brought me to Ryan, so it is, in fact, a great job. But that is none of Ash’s business. He removes the exhaust pipe and hands it to Teig, then he rolls past me and to the other side of the bike.

  “I hope you like it.” He concentrates on removing two small bolts. “You’re in a motocross family now. There’s no getting out of it.” He pauses while he wiggles something inside the motor. Then he adds, “Not like anyone would want to get out of it.” He flashes me a sideways smile. There’s that motocross family talk again – maybe Dad isn’t out of his mind.

  The bolts Ash removes next are as tiny as an earring post. He looks for a safe place to put them before holding them out to me. “Do you mind?”

  I take them while he replaces a metal part on to the bike frame. “I mean, not unless you go back to wherever you came from, then I guess it wouldn’t matter,” he says, taking the final bolt from my hand.

  Every inch of the garage has something to do with motocross, from the posters on the wall to the helmets and gear bags and dozens of Teig’s trophies stacked in a corner. There is no escaping it.

  “Guess I’m stuck here,” I say, holding out my hands in surrender.

  Ash grins without looking away from the bike. “Good.”

  He gives me Shelby’s cell number, and half an hour later she’s at my house. The look on her face is unmistakable as we walk through the living room and up the stairs. She too, is captivated by the beauty of the house designed by my step-mom and funded by my dad. I can’t blame her, the house is pretty baller as my mom’s last boyfriend would say.

  “Your room is so awesome.” She runs her fingers across the Eiffel Tower lamp that was there when I arrived.

  “Molly furnished it for me,” I say, knowing I can’t take credit for any of it. “I picked out the curtains, but everything else was like this when I got here.”

  I throw the bed together, flattening the silver comforter over the rumpled sheets so we have somewhere to sit. Social skills were never in my favor, and years of homeschooling stripped away any bit of skill I might have had. If she was Felicia, we’d be deep in conversation and laughing at inside jokes by now. Still, I don’t regret inviting her over. It’s been five minutes since I checked my phone for a message from Ryan. And that is a huge improvement.

  Speaking of, I should check for a message from Ryan.

  “I’m so glad you called me.” Shelby plays with the ring on her left ring finger. It’s a purity ring, something I’d seen advertised in the Christian bookstore at the mall. “My stupid cousins are spending the weekend with us.”

  “What’s so stupid about them?” I ask, grateful for the ice-breaker.

  “They’re just stuck-up brats. Christine is fifteen and Malissa’s only ten months older, even though they’re sisters. They are both cheerleaders, and my aunt is just a gold-digging – ” She stops and looks at me with her head tilted sideways like she forgot I’m here. “I just don’t like them.” She picks at a loose thread on my comforter. “Oh, and its MAH-lissa. Not Melissa like normal people. And I hate that they’re staying in my room.”

  “How often do they visit?”

  “Never, actually. They’re only here cause my aunt and uncle are on a cruise.”

  “Crappy luck,” I say, as an awesome idea forms in my mind. “Hey, if my parents say it’s okay, do you want to stay with me while they’re hogging your room?” Her eyes go wide and sweep across the room again.

  “I’d love to.” Her voice gets higher with every word. She bounces on the corner of my bed. “That would be amazing.”

  “Cool,” I say, pulling at that same comforter thread. “But I have work tomorrow. You want to come with me?”

  She nods. “That works. I’m so glad Ash and I graduated a year early so we can do stuff like this.” I had almost forgotten that normal teenagers go to school. Shelby continues, “Plus he’ll be riding tomorrow so I’ll just stay with him until you’re off work.”

  Molly knocks twice on the door and pokes her head inside. “Hey girls, we’re ordering pizza for dinner, is pepperoni cool?” Shelby and I look at each other and nod. “Great,” Molly says, closing the door.

  “Hey Molly?” I call out. Her head pokes back in my room.

  “Yes?”

  “Um.” As always, I’m at a loss for how to ask permission. Mom didn’t let friends spend the night unless she w
asn’t planning on coming home.

  “Do want something besides pepperoni?”

  “No, that’s not it.” I look at Shelby, and she’s staring at her hands, making us both cowards. “Would it be okay if Shelby spends the night? Maybe even two nights?”

  “That’s always okay.” Molly leaps fully into my room, holding a pizza flyer and her cell phone. “That is a great idea, Hana. I’m so glad you have a friend already.” She smiles at Shelby and disappears into my closet. My cheeks go red. She’s glad I have a friend already? Am I really so antisocial that it’s impossible to believe I’d make a friend in a week’s time?

  Molly emerges with blankets and hands them to Shelby. She opens the leather bench at the foot of my bed which is full of pillows. She tosses a pillow on the bed and takes out an air mattress. A minute later, it’s set up next to my bed with the air pump flowing. Molly calls for pizza as she stretches the sheets across the air bed. Shelby tries to help but Molly shoos her hand away, so we end up laughing while Molly shuffles around like a modern-day Wonder Woman.

  “Thanks Molly, you’re great.” I say, when she’s finally finished. “Kind of crazy, but still great.”

  She waves her hand at me. “Nonsense. Y’all rent a pay-per-view movie if you want, okay?” We nod. “And Shelby, make yourself at home.”

  I apologize the minute she leaves. “Is she always that nice?” Shelby asks.

  I shake my head, still wondering how I got so lucky with this new family. “I don’t know, I guess.”

  We paint our nails and flip through the channels on TV before settling on a rerun of The Simpsons. Shelby gives herself a French pedicure, and I do the same to my toes only using turquoise and pink instead of clear and white. Ryan is still on the back of my mind, but at least he’s no longer ON. MY. MIND. He’s just a mild frequency my brain keeps randomly tuning itself to.

  I check my phone every other commercial break, which is still a lot, but significantly less than before Shelby arrived. Hanging with Shelby is almost the same as hanging out with Felicia except Shelby doesn’t text-message her boyfriend every two minutes. She probably doesn’t have a boyfriend because all she talks about is motocross and her annoying cousins. Occasionally, she talks about Ash and how she can’t wait for Nationals. Her brother is going to make it big and finally move up in life, or so she says.

  “What exactly are Nationals?” I ask her between coats of Love Letter pink. She turns to me and gives me that fish out of water look.

  “Nationals are only the biggest race ever.” She refills her brush with clear polish. “And this year they are going to be at Mixon for the first time.”

  “What track are they usually at?”

  “Usually the Nationals are somewhere really famous within our region. Mixon has been getting really popular lately, so it’s no wonder they picked it. I bet your dad is really proud.” And rich, I think.

  Shelby continues. “We live really close. Last year Ash had to spend so much money traveling to the National race in New Mexico, and then his bike broke, so he didn’t even get to race. It sucked.”

  “So what’s so fancy about it? Do they get bigger trophies?” There’s the look again. She must think I’m the dumbest daughter of a motocross track owner to have ever lived next door to, and worked at, a motocross track.

  “Yeah, the trophies are way bigger. And if you win in the Amateur Pro class Ash races in, you’re basically guaranteed sponsorship and a ticket to the real pros. He’ll be famous.” She caps the nail polish and fans her hands over her toes. “It’s his dream. It’s the whole family’s dream.”

  “So you know he’s gonna win?” I ask, fixing a smudge on my pinky nail. Ryan beat Ash last weekend, and if these were Nationals, then he would have even more people competing against him this time. But I don’t say any of that.

  “Well, no,” she concedes. “But it would be nice.”

  The pizza comes from a family-owned restaurant in Mixon. It’s my favorite. Every time I visit Dad for the holidays or Teig’s birthday, we order it, and I eat until my stomach wants to explode. I fill my plate with a mound of cheesy bread and one slice of pizza. Oh, yeah baby. Cheesy, parmesan coated slices of heaven occupy me while everyone else talks.

  “Too bad I didn’t know we were getting pizza, or I would have told Ash to stay for dinner,” Dad says between bites of double pepperoni on a golden brown crust.

  “Well it’s a good thing, I guess, because he loves cheesy bread, and he’d have to fight Hana for it.” Shelby eyes the food on my plate while taking a dainty bite of her pizza.

  Everyone else looks at my plate while I bite off half the bread stick at once. Between chewing I say, “Yeah, he wishes.”

  Shelby brings up Nationals, and she and Dad start debating about the best new riders in the area. He says Ash has a great chance of winning because this is his home track, but that everyone would have the same disadvantage because the entire track is changing for the race. Dad hired a crew to demolish the jumps and turns and do a complete redesign of the layout. He says it insures that this year’s National will be equal to the professional races.

  Teig pokes me in the arm. “Is that your phone ringing?” I don’t hear anything, but he strains his neck and listens again. “Sounds like it.”

  I bolt out of my chair without excusing myself, run up the stairs and dive on the bed to grab my phone off of the nightstand. It’s still ringing, and the number isn’t familiar.

  Breathless, excited and on the verge of freaking out, I answer. “Hello?”

  “Hey there.” Ryan. It’s Ryan. He called. Say something, my brain yells. Say something cool, or casual, or just say anything because it’s already been three seconds, and he’ll think you’re an idiot.

  “Hey, who is this?” I say. Ha! Not only am I casual, I’m clever.

  “It’s Ryan, from the track.” He’s clever too. He can’t possibly think I wouldn’t remember him by name alone.

  My heart races as I run a hand through my hair. “What’s up?”

  “I was calling to see if you’d like to do me a favor.” He’s smiling on the other end of the phone, I can hear it. If the favor is making out with him, then yes, I would love do him a favor.

  “Sure,” I say, casual again. I’m getting good at this.

  “Can you save me an RV spot with electricity for Saturday but not Friday?” His voice is sexy on the phone. I can picture his face and his perfect white teeth and how his bleach blonde hair covers his eyebrows when he talks. I want to tell him yes and that I’d love to save him a spot, but electricity spots are first come first serve only. Dad made it really clear that I’m not supposed to reserve them. I don’t even know how I would. But then he gives me a “Pleeease” and I think of those blue puppy-dog eyes and I break down and make the stupid promise.

  “Wait, did you say Friday night?” I ask, remembering that races are on Sunday.

  “Yeah, it’s the regional qualifier this weekend. Races are Saturday this time.” He does this dramatic gasp. “You didn’t forget, did you?”

  “No, of course not.” I didn’t exactly forget, since I didn’t know. Maybe I should start paying attention to the race calendar in the kitchen, or to the flyers I Xerox, or to daily conversations with my dad.

  “Good, I’m not staying Friday, just Saturday.”

  “Okay, I’ll try,” I lie, knowing I’ll never be able to reserve a spot for him.

  “Thanks, you’re the best.”

  I lay the wrong way across my bed with my feet hanging off the edge for a full minute after we say our goodbyes. I save his number in my phone and analyze the handful of words we had just spoken to each other. It was pretty much business only – no hidden love messages for me to decipher. But there’s always hope for the next time.

  A voice at my door startles me and ruins my daydream of Ryan. It’s Shelby, hand on her hip and one eyebrow cocked.

  “Well well, who was that?”

  Chapter 7

  Shelby bounces on the ai
r mattress and listens to every single detail about my crush on Ryan. She doesn’t say a word as I recount walking past Ryan and his friends at the tower and when he asked for my number. She just gnaws on her newly polished thumbnail and looks around the room a lot.

  “And then he said it was great talking to me and we said goodbye,” I finish. Felicia would be freaking out by now, clapping her hands together and squealing in delight. She’d tell me how excited she was, immediately jumping into wedding planner mode and figuring out what kind of cake we should have. Shelby, on the other hand, stays quiet and bites her lip.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know if it’s a great idea to like him.” She says it in a voice only one level above a whisper.

  “Go on…” I’m all-ears now. I hope he’s not her ex-boyfriend or mega crush or anything else that would jeopardize our new friendship.

  “I’ve known him since we were five-years-old.” She curls her lip like the sheer thought of that makes her want to vomit. “Ash has too, obviously. They hate each other.”

  “Is that all?” I can breathe normally now. It’s just a hatred. Not a crush.

  “It’s worse than it sounds. They are both really good riders, but Ryan has a lot more money than us. He’s Ash’s only competition for making it to the pros, and he makes Ash’s life as hard as possible. Ryan knows everyone in the business and exploits that to his full advantage. Ash works hard for what he has.”

  “So that’s why they hate each other?” I ask. “Money?”

  “I don’t know actually – he’s never told me.” She frowns and fluffs the pillow in her lap. “It’s the only thing he’s kept from me. We tell each other practically everything.”

  “Will he get mad at you for being friends with me if I start dating Ryan?”

  “Yes,” she says with no hesitation. “But he’ll get over it.”