I sit next to him and return the smile he flashes me. Shelby dances with her eyes closed and still hasn’t noticed my arrival. She is barefoot and shimmying to the music like a child, innocent and free.
My clothes are radiant on her. It’s as if the clothes themselves bring out confidence Shelby never knew she had. She isn’t the same shy girl from the sidelines who freaked out this morning; she’s brighter. She’s happy. She’s dancing her heart out like no one is watching. I think I’ll let her keep that outfit.
The song ends and Ash asks if anyone has a song request.
“Wonderwall!” Shelby spins around, noticing me. “When did you get here?”
“Just now,” I lie. She runs over and sits next to me on Ash’s log. I scoot over an inch, knocking my arm into Ash’s guitar. The strings aren’t cut off at the ends and a sharp one stabs in my arm. I eep like a mouse, and jump back. A thick drop of blood pours out of the tiny stab wound. It all happens so fast, me jumping, and Shelby falling, and before I know it, I’m about to crash into the ground. Ash throws out his hand and catches me. He rubs my arm with his thumb.
“Aw, it’s bleeding a little bit.” He wipes off the blood, then tries to curl the wild guitar strings into themselves. “Sorry about that.”
Shelby’s eyes catch his, and she gives him a look. And that’s all it is to me: a look. I don’t understand twin language, but from the look on Ash’s face, it must have had a negative connotation to it. Maybe she was telling him he was gross for touching the blood of a stranger and oh my God, now he’s probably reeking with diseases. Well, probably not, but I don’t know why she’d give him a look like that.
“So…Wonderwall,” she says again. Ash strums the first chords to the classic Oasis song, and Shelby and I sing along. Malissa and Christine join in and together we sing the first verse, all out of pitch and off-key. The Carters laugh at our performance, and for that moment, my arm doesn’t hurt. No one is competing. Ryan totally kissed me tonight and everything is perfect.
“Thanks so much for letting me stay with you,” Shelby says as we make our way through the thick grass to my backyard. I want to say, “Are you kidding? I’m so happy I have a friend now, you can stay with me every single night if you want.” But I choose to go the less creepy route and say something funny instead. “It’s the least I can do. I’d hate to see you sharing a tent with your horrible cousins.”
It’s almost midnight when we get home, so everyone in the house is asleep. I dread the thought of waking up so early tomorrow morning. Though I’m sort of used to it by now, I haven’t tested my waking abilities after only five hours of sleep. At least Shelby is here to shove me out of bed if it comes to that.
I shower and let Shelby borrow some new pajamas. I have to tell her three times to stop thanking me because loaning out my clothing isn’t nearly as big of a deal as she makes it out to be. When I turn off the light, she kneels to pray. Guilt sweeps over me again.
My eyelids are heavy as I set my phone on the nightstand and feel around for the power cord. And then my phone makes a sound much like that of an incoming text message. Only this time, it isn’t my imagination. A chill goes from my chest and down through my fingertips as I reach for it and hope against all odds that it is him.
And it is.
For the second time ever, Ryan’s name is in my inbox. I open it and read the two most perfect words to have ever been typed on mobile keypad:
Goodnight girl
Shelby curls up in her comforter. I know we should be sleeping, but I’m wide-awake now and I just have to gush or I might explode. “Shelby?” I whisper. “Are you still awake?”
“Yeah, why?” she whispers back, yawning.
“I was wondering if we could boy-talk for a minute,” I say, eager to tell her about my kiss from Ryan. She stretches and sits up on her elbows. A mischievous smile spreads across her face.
“Oh my gosh, yes. I know,” she says, fully awake now.
“What do you know?”
I hadn’t mentioned the kiss but maybe she could sense something great happened because it’s probably written all over my face. She’s still smiling at me. “Well? What is it?” I ask, my heart speeding up. Maybe Ryan told her? Maybe she knows more than she’s letting on? She shakes her head, as if me making her say it is stupid since it’s just SO obvious.
“I know Ash likes you.”
Chapter 8
I hardly sleep at all, thanks to Shelby dropping the “it’s no big deal, but my twin brother totally likes you” bomb. She tried to lessen the blow by saying he never told her he likes me and that she can just tell with her crazy twin-powers. Since every inch of my mind had been swooning over Ryan for two weeks, it doesn’t seem possible to have room in there for another guy. But the foggy images of dreadlocks and deep blue eyes in my dreams last night tell me otherwise.
Today’s race is a regional qualifier and so mega-important it has Dad in a frenzy. I’m anxious to see Ryan again, and hoping work won’t interfere too much with my blossoming new social life.
I inhale a breakfast burrito while Molly and Shelby muse about Ash’s journey to turn pro this year. Shelby beams when Molly says Ash deserves it more than any other local racer. I want to mention Ryan, but know enough to keep my fat mouth shut.
Shelby follows me to the garage where Dad waits for me. I throw open the door and hurry inside, still swallowing the last bits of my burrito. Only Dad isn’t the only person waiting for me. I stop so quickly, Shelby slams into me. I saw him only an hour ago in my dream and now he is in my garage talking to my dad.
Ash pushes on the brake pedal of Teig’s bike and black liquid drizzles out. They focus on an array of engine parts laid on the floor, so they didn’t see our clumsy entrance. I take advantage of the moment by slowing down and walking with grace. Shelby does too.
“Good morning girls,” Dad says to Shelby. Then he turns to me. “You’re late.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine, you’re always late.” He nudges Ash with his elbow. “I just can’t hire good help these days. Ash, are you in the market for a job?”
“Da-ad,” I groan, unable to look directly at Ash. Dad chuckles and asks if anyone wants a breakfast burrito. Ash and Teig accept while I say no, like a lady, and choose to omit the fact that I’d already eaten one in the short trip from my room to the garage. Shelby doesn’t betray me.
When Dad heads back inside, Ash puts away the parts he’s working on. “I was just telling Teig about the horrible night’s sleep I got in the back of my truck last night.” The words are barely out of his mouth when he looks up and notices the new clothing and face of makeup on his twin sister. He gives her a look over, then his eyes shoot to me. I curtsey, accepting the credit of her makeover. He turns to Shelby again. An evil grin appears on his face. “Is it my birthday?”
“Shut up,” Shelby says, throwing a stray glove at him. He catches it in the air a second before it smacks him in the face.
“Teig dude, is it your birthday?” My brother takes it literally and shakes his head. Ash smirks. “I mean, it’s not every day a man gets to be in the company of two beautiful women.” He runs a hand through his hair. “But one’s my sister so that’s kind of gross.”
“Shut up, okay?” Shelby says again. She points at me. “Hana did it!”
Teig shifts on his feet. He doesn’t take his eyes off Shelby, and it makes me uneasy to think of my brother liking girls. I’ve only been living with him for two weeks, but I think he’s was growing up too fast.
Ash pushes dreads behind his ears and leans forward, resting his elbows on the seat of Teig’s dirt bike. He is attractive, but he isn’t Ryan. They both have killer bodies, but so does every motocross racer in the Pro class. Ryan is clean-cut and sexy. Ash is grunge and dread-locked… but still sexy.
“Wait a minute.” Ash’s tone is serious now as he lifts an eyebrow toward Shelby. “You aren’t getting all dressed up to impress a guy again?”
“No, but even if
I were, I can do what I want.” She stands her ground. He walks around the bike and throws his arm around her.
“Sorry Shell, I just don’t want you changing anything about yourself to win the attention of a guy. Especially a motocross guy.” He puts his forehead to hers for a moment. “You’re way too good for that, okay?”
She stares at the handlebars on Teig’s bike and nods. I’m sure he means well, but I’m furious at her for agreeing with him.
“What’s so wrong about getting a guy to like you?” I cross my arms and tap my foot on the concrete. Dressing up is how you win a guy’s attention. It’s simple facts. It’s not like I turned Shelby into a whore by decorating her eyes with a shimmery glow.
“It’s unhealthy,” he says, losing his smile. “For guys and girls. You shouldn’t go out of your way to make someone like you.” I uncross my arms and put a hand on my hip.
He shrugs off my glare. “Either they like you as you are, or they don’t.”
“So you think Shelby shouldn’t look cute because, god forbid, some guy might be attracted to her?”
Ash says calm. It annoys me because I’d like to see him show some emotion about something. “Looks aren’t everything, Hana.”
Anger builds inside me. I want to tell him he doesn’t know anything about dating or he’d have a girlfriend right now and wouldn’t have to waste time in my garage working on bikes or giving his sister dating advice. But I don’t want to blow up and cause a scene and make Shelby mad at me. So I smile the fakest smile I have. “Whatever you say, Ash.”
There’s nothing wrong with changing a few things about yourself to make someone like you. After all, this is what I do every day for Ryan. “Whatever kind of girl you want me to be” was without a doubt the craziest thing I’ve said that wasn’t part of a private daydream. And it worked, thankyouverymuch. Ash doesn’t know what he is talking about. I doubt he’s ever had a girlfriend in his entire life.
Dad returns with the burritos. Ash gives Teig some pointers for the day’s race while they eat. He tells Teig to stop looking behind him when he rides because it’s never good to see how close your competition is to passing you. “It’ll make you paranoid and you’ll lose all concentration,” he says. He also tells him to clutch in the turns instead of using his brake so he’d keep his momentum. This advice seems misleading and impossible to do, but I’m not in the mood to talk to Ash anymore. The clutch doesn’t operate like a brake. Maybe that’s why they wear so much protective gear; they go through turns without braking. But what do I know?
Teig hangs on every word Ash says and Dad does too, for the most part. If my dad hadn’t hurt his back in his twenties, I’m sure he’d still be riding today. He always says motocross was his life whether or not he’s on a bike.
When the burritos are gone, Teig dresses in riding gear and makes Ash promise to watch him race today. Shelby rides with Ash to the track, leaving me to ride with my little brother on his newly repaired dirt bike.
I wrap my arms around him and hold on as we ride through the back yard. He zooms across the wooden bridge, which is terrifying. My eyes snap shut and I clench my teeth together until we jolt to a stop in front of the tower.
Marty works on the paperwork for today’s race. He explains how the top six finishers in each moto will qualify for the Nationals in two months. It is imperative that the qualifying racers are recorded correctly. That will be my job. No pressure or anything.
Thanks to Dad’s friend who maintains the Mixon Motocross Park website, it now has an option to register and pay online the day before the races. A lot of riders took advantage of this so registration at the tower is slow. Dad makes me handle the in-person registrations instead of sign in duty. I don’t like the idea of sitting in the tower all morning, because I won’t get to see Ryan. During a slow time, I skim through the list of early registered racers. I don’t see Ryan’s name. Hell-to-the-yes! That means he’ll have to stop by and register. And see me.
I hold onto the hope of seeing his gorgeous face until his dad shows up – without Ryan. His eyes are lined with dark circles, probably from waking up so early.
“Good morning,” I say with more spunk than necessary. “Where’s Ryan?”
He fills out the forms and doesn’t acknowledge me until he finishes. “He’s not here yet.” He slaps money on the table, turns around and leaves without another word. Good freaking morning to you too, asshole.
Shelby joins Ash to register a few minutes after Ryan’s dad leaves. The pins are out of her hair and it’s tied into a messy bun with her bangs left to roam freely around her face.
“What happened to you hair?” I ask, annoyed that my artwork from this morning is now a mess.
“Malissa was wearing her hair the same way,” she says, reaching up and touching her bun. “I had to take mine down because I didn’t want her thinking I copied her.”
“That’s dumb.” I sigh. All of my hard work, wasted.
“I’m serious,” Shelby pleads, desperate to keep my feelings intact. “I really liked it, I swear.”
“This is true,” Ash says, glancing at the top of Shelby’s head where the pins used to be. He takes his wallet out of her hand and counts out five bills. I catch myself trying to discern some tell-tale sign that proves he liked me, like a wink or a smile or a glimmer in his eye. But his eyes are tired and he yawns instead of smiling.
“Two-fifty Pro and two-fifty Open. Ash Carter.” He leans in to the hole in the plexi-glass that allows us to talk to each other.
“Oh really, is that your name? I totally forgot.” I smirk as I write his info on the form. If I’m lucky, my friendliness will patch the sore spot from my rudeness earlier. Ash lifts an eyebrow as he signs the registration papers.
Dorothy has me watching the finish line like a hawk for the entire first half of the races. I’m not even allowed to go to the restroom unless someone can fill my place. We sit next to each other with clipboards and record the bike number of every racer as they cross the finish line, keeping track of how many laps they complete and what order they finish the race. There is a ten-second gap between each race. I take these opportunities to ask Dorothy to explain the more detailed rules of motocross to me.
Motocross races are divided into a series of several races and riders get points for each race they complete in the series. First place gets thirty points, second place gets twenty-nine, and so on. At the end of the series, all the points are added up to determine the overall winner.
Dorothy is excited about the series trophies they ordered for this year. She says they’re more elaborate than any previous Mixon trophies. First place is six-feet tall. The first place trophy we usually give out for series races is half that size. So the racer who earns the new one will have something to brag about. Teig’s bedroom and half of the study are filled with trophies, and he’s only nine years old. I can only imagine how many trophies guys like Ryan own.
Teig wins his first moto and I write the number fourteen with pride in the first place spot for his class. The next several motos run into one seemingly endless race. My eyes start to hurt from watching flashes of dirt bikes fly over the finish line jump and scrambling to write their number before the next one zooms by. Sometimes three bikes cross the finish line at once, and I write one long number and then section it into three when I have a second to spare.
Marty’s announcing voice goes from monotone to superstar sportscaster when the two-fifty Pro class starts. Unfortunately, I can’t watch any of it except the finish line. Ryan leads the first lap, followed by Ash. I write ninety-six and three-three-six on the paper, followed by the rest of the racers who are behind by more than five seconds. Five seconds in motocross is not good.
Ryan keeps the lead for three laps, but Ash pulls ahead by the forth lap. Although I can’t see it, the crowd’s reaction is loud enough for me to hear in the tower, even over the roar of engines and Marty’s excited cheers.
The white flag waves, signaling the last lap. This time Ryan and A
sh cross together, prompting me to write ninety-six with three-three-six on top of instead of next to it. Marty speaks faster with each second.
“WHOA! Ash Carter has taken the lead again,” he bellows. I struggle to find a gap in the riders so I can watch some of the race, but it’s never more than a few seconds before someone else zooms over the finish line. I scribble their nuisance of a number and try to catch another second of Ryan battling for first place.
The checker flag soars and a blurred three-three-six flies across the finish jump – a victory for Ash. Shelby must be jumping around, totally ecstatic.
Trophies are awarded after the races and the smaller kids are always first in line to claim theirs. Kids are excited to get a trophy, regardless of how big or small they are.
The winner of the women’s class claims her trophy and introduces herself as Kasey. She’s short and thin, with braided hair that’s messy from wearing a helmet all day. She has pink riding gear with plastic butterfly-shaped elbow guards on her jersey, which is the first feminine aspect of this sport I’ve seen.
“Shelby told me you’re Mr. Fisher’s daughter?” she asks, tucking the trophy under her arm as she shakes my hand.
“That’s me,” I say. A girl appears behind her and pushes her way next to Kasey in front of the window. She’s also wearing riding boots and pants but she’s replaced her jersey with a tank top. This new girl is stocky and with black cropped hair.
“Dude, Kasey, just take your dumb trophy and get out of here,” she says, tossing a wink toward me. Kasey holds out her trophy and admires it. “This is so much nicer than the second place one, don’t you think so, Hana?”
I shrug. The younger girl asks for her second place trophy and promises Kasey she’ll win the next race. Kasey leans toward me and fake-whispers, “She wishes.” I laugh as I watch them go back downstairs, taking turns shoving each other into the railing.
Motocross Me Page 7