Five seconds go by and he’s motionless. My sandwich falls to the ground as I bolt down the bleachers. My heart races. Finally, he moves. His arm flies up in the air. That’s the sign that he’s okay. Shelby had said that a wave means you’re okay. But he doesn’t wave.
His hand goes limp in mid-air and slams to the ground. I break into a run and yell for him to tell me he’s okay. When I get to him, he is crumpled in the fetal position, laying on half of his bike. I drop to my knees and shake his arm.
“Hey!” I scream, shaking harder. His eyes open and roll back in his head. A painful shot of fear blasts through my chest. Something is seriously wrong. I can’t think of what to do. I know I needed to do something, but my mind is blank.
Call 911.
Why did I leave my phone at home? How could I have been so stupid?
White foam drips out of his mouth. Tears sting my face. His body starts to convulse, slowly at first and then faster. I scream, and scream again.
I stand up and look toward the main track. “HELP! SOMEONE HELP!” I look all around for someone – anyone. Where is this kid’s parents anyway? Why aren’t they here watching him? What if I hadn’t been here?
“HELP!” I scream with every fiber in my soul, with all that I have. The earth spins and I can’t make it stop. This boy is going to die if someone doesn’t help us soon. I want to run but I can’t move, so I keep yelling for help.
I fall to the ground again and grab his gloved hand. The foam comes faster now, and his body shakes. I squeeze his hand.
Please God, please.
Someone runs up behind me, their boots striking the ground hard with each step. Ash drops to the ground next to me, startled, but in control like always.
“Ash, help!” I plead. My throat is dry from yelling and burns when I swallow.
He surveys the boy and pushes three buttons on his phone. Tears roll down his sweat-soaked face. Seeing Ash cry feels like someone kicked me in the stomach. This must be really bad. I watch him in disbelief, paralyzed with fear. His eyes meet mine, and my whole world stops when he speaks to the operator.
“We need a helicopter at Mixon Motocross Park. Now. My little brother is hurt really bad.”
Chapter 10
Three days after the accident, the image Shawn’s nearly lifeless body is still burned in my brain. His skin is pale white, cold and unnatural-looking, as he lays in a coma in the third bed of the intensive care unit. Someone who doesn’t take up even half of a hospital gurney should not be there. He should be watching cartoons and playing games with his big brother and sister. Even now, as I stare at a photo of Teig on the living room wall, all I can think about is Shelby’s brother – not my own.
Shelby isn’t her usual self anymore. She hasn’t changed clothes since she first arrived in the emergency room on Sunday afternoon. She doesn’t speak, she just cries. I had held her hand on the uncomfortable hospital bench for three hours as the doctors drilled a hole into Shawn’s skull to alleviate the pressure on his brain.
Ash comforts his parents and seems to be the most collected one of his family. He never cried at the hospital, but he often prayed while waiting, staring at the floor with his hands clasped together between his knees.
I left the hospital yesterday when the doctors said only family members would be allowed in the room from then on. When I went to tell Shelby goodbye, I found her sleeping upright while sitting with her legs crossed on a tall chair in the waiting room. An opened bottle of water was in her hand. I screwed the cap back on and let her sleep.
Also weighing on my mind is the last conversation I had with Ryan. He called me the day after the accident asking why I wasn’t at work, and had the audacity to laugh when I told him I was with the Carters at the hospital. He said he had caught wind of something happening to one of them and was hoping it was Ash, but “tough luck” to the little Carter boy.
My happiness at him calling was quickly diminished the instant I realized he was calling for gossip, not for me. I tried standing up to the criticism he spat about the Carter family, but it fell on deaf ears. He hated Ash and everyone associated with him. Ryan hadn’t stopped bad mouthing them until he heard the tears in my voice.
“Come on, Hana, you don’t have to cry about it,” he had said.
It didn’t seem possible that someone who was so perfect a week ago is now so indisputably not perfect. Had his charming smile and muscular physique blinded me? I slump in the couch and stare at a blank TV screen. If Ryan is no longer worthy of crushing on, then I had wasted so much effort trying to make him like me. I am better than this. I don’t make desperate choices like my mother, or rash decisions like Felicia. At least I thought I didn’t. Nothing makes sense to me anymore. My heart is breaking, and I don’t even have a boyfriend to break it for me.
Molly calls me into the kitchen. I leave the couch with a lack of enthusiasm as it has been my sanctuary for the entire day. But something delicious is cooking in there, and the scent starts to get to me. My empty stomach is eager to find out what it is and when I will be eating it.
The spring in Molly’s step is missing as she removes a lasagna from the oven and covers it with foil. Her hair is fashioned into a bun held in place with a pencil. She looks ten years older without makeup. Usually when I find her in the kitchen, she will give me a cheerful smile and convince me that I need something to eat. Now she’s scribbling on a piece of paper and doesn’t bother to acknowledge me.
I reach for a piece of garlic bread. Molly swats my hand away.
“It’s not for us,” she says. There is a fraction of charm in her voice. A small, tiny fraction mostly buried beneath the sorrow.
“Then who is it for?” I ask, hoping we aren’t having dinner guests.
“The Carters.” She hand me the paper she had written on. It’s directions to their house. “They have too much to worry about and I don’t want them going without dinner.” She wraps the garlic bread and puts everything in a cloth bag. “I know you’re missing Shelby so I thought you could take this to them.”
The directions lead me down a series of long county roads with houses varying from three-story Victorians to rickety shacks dotting the horizon. Unlike in Dallas, these roads don’t have streetlights, just the occasional stop sign likely to be perforated with bullet holes.
Mixon is little more than a dot on the map. It has one gas station, a general store and a McDonald’s. My dad’s motocross track is the only reason Mixon even has a dot because it’s the only reason someone would want to come here.
I turn right on County Road Forty-One and look for the first driveway on the left. When I approach the gravel driveway, I’m pretty sure I’ve made a mistake. A metal building stands at the end of the driveway next to it is an old mobile home that doesn’t look big enough to house a family of five. With a groan, I put the truck in reverse to backtrack and figure out where I made a wrong turn. Then a sign on the building catches my eye. In black painted letters are the words Rick’s Small Engine Repair. Maybe I am at the right house.
Ash’s Mazda is parked in front of the rundown mobile home, but the rest of the driveway is empty. It has a covered porch with a swing and an antique water fountain in the front yard. Their house is modest in the extreme, but cute in its own way, with white trim and stepping stones leading to the front porch. I call Shelby but she doesn’t answer.
If they’re all at the hospital then I came out here for no reason. If Ash is the only one home – well, I don’t want to imagine how awkward that will be. Sighing, I let my forehead fall to the steering wheel.
The crackling of tires on the driveway startles me from the depths of my thoughts, and I turn to see a black car park next to me. Mrs. Carter and Shelby are inside. Shelby gives me a surprised look as I get out of my truck, carrying the warm food.
“I expected Molly, but you’ll do just fine.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, “I’ve brought you dinner from Molly.”
“That’s wonderful. Molly is a fantast
ic cook.” Mrs. Carter wraps her arm around me and leads me to the front porch. The dark circles under her eyes are still visible through a thick layer of concealer. Judging from the uncertain look on Shelby’s face, she doesn’t think it’s great that I’m here instead of Molly. It’s almost like she’s embarrassed to see me.
I follow them inside. Shelby rushes down the hallway and into a room, closing the door behind her. Mrs. Carter doesn’t bother explaining what is wrong with her, and I don’t ask.
Their house has a charming warmth to it although everything inside is outdated. The suede couch is worn thin, and it faces a boxy old television. A shelf of VHS Disney movies line one wall and I’m pretty sure the Carter kids don’t watch them anymore.
I follow her through the open living room and into the kitchen. Pictures of Shelby, Ash and Shawn are everywhere, from the walls to the refrigerator. Shelby and Ash looked even more identical as children. Ash always had long hair.
“Where’s Mr. Carter?” I ask, setting the food on their table. Mrs. Carter places a stack of plates next to it, enough for every member of her family.
“He’s at the hospital. We’re taking shifts.” She sits down and cuts a piece of the lasagna for herself, motioning for me to take some too.
“How is Shawn?” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I regret saying them. Barb swallows, though she hasn’t yet eaten anything, and closes her eyes.
“He’s still in a medically-induced coma. He had brain swelling, and they are draining the fluid. They don’t know how much brain damage, if any, he may have.”
“So there’s a chance there won’t be any damage?”
“The Lord will heal him,” she smiles. “And my baby will be back home soon.”
I have nothing to say to that; words were never my specialty. A door in the hallway opens and Ash comes out wearing nothing but flannel pajama pants. He’s almost to the kitchen when he notices me. In the same micro-second it takes his face to register surprise, he covers it with a blank stare. Mrs. Carter makes a plate of food for him and he takes it, kisses her on the forehead, and goes back to his room.
So Shelby and Ash don’t want anything to do with me. I feel as though I’ve been punched in the stomach by a big platter of lasagna.
I stand. “I guess I’ll get home now.”
“Wait.” Mrs. Carter glances down the hallway, the lines on her forehead growing longer. “Could you go talk to Ash?”
I lift an eyebrow, wanting to ask if she’s out of her mind. Why would I talk to someone who so blatantly ignored me a minute ago? She pats my hand.
“He’s really upset about all of this – he won’t talk to anyone. I know he’s fond of you so maybe you can talk to him?”
“About what?” I plead with her. Please don’t make me talk to him. Please, please, please.
“About anything.” Her glossy eyes stare past me. “He’s not himself…make him be Ash again. I need my boy to be strong.”
I can’t tell anyone no. It must have been genetically programmed in me while still in the womb. I’ve never been able to say no to anyone but myself. So I palm my forehead to gather my thoughts, take a deep breath and head to his room.
The door is half-open as I knock and look inside at the same time. Ash sits on a futon, reading a tattered paperback book. His sandy-colored dreads are pulled back as usual. The dinner plate is already empty. “Hi Hana,” he says to the pages of his book. I look down the hallway and see Mrs. Carter watching me with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
“Can I come in?” Where is all of that confidence I had practiced just a minute ago? Right now I sound like a mouse asking to enter an alleyway packed with feral cats.
He lowers the book to his lap and looks at me for the first time tonight. He’s going to tell me no, I just know it. Or he’ll ignore me like Shelby and make this horribly awkward. I bite my lip.
“You are the reason my brother is still alive.” He rolls out his arm as if presenting the Queen. “Of course you can come in.”
I sit next to him on the futon that doubles as his bed. So, technically I’m in a boy’s bed right now. His room is small, probably no bigger than my walk-in closet at Dad’s house. Books line his walls, along with motocross plaques, and a few framed photos of him on a dirt bike throughout the years. One of them is a picture of teenage Ash before the dreads. He’s almost identical to Shelby, squinting into the sun, dirty-blond hair in his eyes.
A small desk and laptop are in the corner. His computer wallpaper is a picture of his dirt bike covered in mud with a six-foot-tall trophy next to it. I’ve been in a few guy’s bedrooms before, mostly by accident, and Ash’s room is lacking the one thing they all had in common – posters of bikini babes.
He puts down his book when he sees me checking out his room. “Like it?”
“It’s simple.”
“I’m simple.” He focuses on me now, the smirk of all smirks on his face. I can’t stand another second of looking into his eyes – the ones that are fond of me – so I divert my attention elsewhere.
And I see the sticker. It’s on his nightstand, right next to his cell phone. The small white sticker is taped over to make it stick to the wood. My name is written on it in Molly’s handwriting. It’s from the day Molly made the breakfast burritos extra spicy and I requested a normal one. She put my name on the sticker so I’d know it was mine. Before Ash’s race, I had stuck it on his helmet. I think I said it was for good luck. Truth is, I just didn’t feel like finding a trash can. I figured it fell off somewhere on the track. Guess I was wrong.
“Busted.” Ash says under his breath.
“You kept that?” I look at him, eyebrows raised while I wait for an explanation.
“It’s a good luck charm.” His face does something that resembles a smile. A smile! The first one since Shawn’s accident. His tough I’m-almost-an-adult-and-can-handle-anything exterior is in danger of breaking away. That sticker is the first piece.
One second passes where I feel insanely awkward. Then I can’t help myself. “Freaking A, dude.” I lunge toward him and wrap my arms around his bare chest. He stiffens at first, then gives in and hugs me back with one arm.
“What is this for?”
I’m eye level with his nipple, but whatever. “I don’t know.”
Our hug lasts a few seconds longer, and I let my head rest on his shoulder. He has a muscle there that I’ve never noticed on other guys. God, I’m such a pig. Here I am thinking about the gargantuan amount of sex appeal emanating from him and how I never noticed it until now, and Ash is mulling over something deeper than physical attraction.
“He wasn’t supposed to be riding.” He pulls at the rip in his pants with the hand that isn’t around me. “I told him to wait. I said I’d watch him. He didn’t listen.” He lowers his head and rubs his eyebrows. “And then I heard you yelling.”
I grab his hand to silence him. I know what happened. I don’t want to hear it again. My hand feels cold on his.
“If you’re trying to blame yourself for this whole thing,” I say, making up the words as I go along, hoping they come out right. “You can’t. It’s not your fault.”
He’s silent for a while. My cheek gets sticky pressed against his bare skin. I peel my face off him and sit back. He moves his arm from around me and stretches it. “Hey while you’re at it,” I ask, staring at the outline of his six-pack abs, “Can you put on a shirt?”
He laughs, and pulls a shirt off a hanger in his closet. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He slips the black T-shirt over his head. “You have a boyfriend. That was totally inappropriate of me.”
“Huh?” I blurt out, like the idiot that I am. Of course he thinks I have a boyfriend. I pretty much told him that the other day.
Fully-Dressed Ash is much easier to look at than Half-Naked Ash. Now I can think without that clouded fuzz in my mind that only allows me to see muscles and smirky half-smiles. And right now Ash looks at me from across his room, hand behind his head. He probably wants
to know why I just yelped “huh?” like some ghastly Scooby-Doo impersonator.
I confess while staring at his floor. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” His carpet is dark blue with a bleach stain under the window. “I never really did.”
The wall creaks as he leans against it. I steal a glance at him. He doesn’t look upset. If anything, he’s amused. “Okay,” he says, the cynical amusement still on his face.
“That day,” I begin, the day you asked me on a date…I shake the thought away. “I wasn’t officially dating anyone. I mean, not yet.”
“What about now? What are you officially now?” He’s like a cop interrogating me. I look right in his eyes, hoping it proves my good character.
“Nothing.”
He doesn’t say anything. Why won’t he say anything? I blew my chance of dating Ash a few days ago, and now I just humiliated myself for nothing. He’s going laugh any second now, tell me it’s too bad I didn’t choose him and then give me the finger and say see you in hell.
Okay, it probably won’t be that dramatic.
My heartbeat quickens. I don’t want to be rejected by him, in his own room. My fingers twist into knots. “I should go.” I don’t mean it, but I say it anyway. I’m pretty sure no one ever means those words in situations like this.
“Maybe I’ll ask again one day.” Ash leaves the wall and stands in front of me. “When my brother is better.” He holds out his hand and helps me to my feet. “Once I find a way to pick up the pieces of my shattered ego and all.”
If I say anything it will come out the wrong way, so I keep silent and let him walk me down the hallway and out the front door. Shelby is still in her room, and Mrs. Carter is no longer in the kitchen.
He takes me to my truck where I’m finally able to find my voice.
“I’d like that,” I say. We’re face to face now. Well, I’m face to chest. A bright yellow-green light flutters past my face and disappears. “Did you see that?”
Motocross Me Page 9