by Amy Sparling
So although I go as fast as I feel comfortable around the track, easily clearing few smaller jumps, I always slow down and roll the finish line jump.
Things are going great for an hour, and then everything changes. The new celebrity of the town shows up, and it’s obvious by the line of people who are hanging around his truck trying to talk to him. As if the guy needs any more of an ego…ugh.
When he gets on the track, I immediately pull off and head back to my truck. Practice days at the track mean everyone gets to ride whenever they want. But there’s this unspoken rule in small town motocross. If you’re crazy fast on a bike, you should be careful around everyone else. Just like when I’m riding and I see a little kid on a tiny bike in front of me, I’ll slow down and slowly ride around him so I don’t startle him, or worse, crash into him.
Guys like Liam don’t care about common courtesy. He doesn’t take fun laps around the track. He keeps the throttle pinned at full speed the whole time he’s out there, and for that reason, I don’t want to share the track with him.
He’s a show off, plain and simple.
I sit on my tailgate and bask in the hot summer sun while I wait for him to get off the track. He rides for forty-five minutes straight without ever tiring or slowing down.
This goes on for three days. I get to the track first thing in the morning to ride, and then Liam shows up at some point, swamped by adoring fans, and then he rides forever as if he owns the freaking track. By the fourth day of being unable to ride because of him, I decide to just pack up my stuff and go home. I’m tired of sitting here all alone waiting for some time to use the track.
Maybe I’ll start getting here at eight in the morning right when they open. Liam usually shows up around noon, so that’ll give me a couple hours to ride before he comes and ruins it all.
I pull off my gear and change back into shorts and a tank top, slipping my socked feet into some slides. I’m covered in sweat and completely exhausted from the heat and my annoyance with Liam, so instead of packing up my bike right away, I walk over to the concession stand and buy a sports drink. The stand is a little food truck thing that the owner brings out during the summer and during races. While I’m waiting for the girl inside to hand me my change, I look over and see Ryan sitting on the bleachers. This is the first time I’ve seen my former crush at the track in a while. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since graduation, when he smiled at me and acted like I hadn’t humiliated myself in front of him during AP Chemistry. I guess that was nice of him to do.
He’s flirting his butt off with another girl who doesn’t live in town but I see her here a lot. She’s tall and gorgeous and she rides a Kawasaki.
Ryan has to be aware of this fact because she standing there in her full riding gear, her hair all messed up from her helmet, and she is so very clearly a dirt bike rider.
But he looks smitten, and googly-eyed, and like he’s about to drool all over himself while he talks to her.
What kind of crap is that?
He specifically told me he didn’t like me because I rode dirt bikes.
I get my change and I crack open my lemon-lime Gatorade, trying to act normal as I walk past Ryan and his stupid girl crush. White hot rage and shame and all kinds of horrible feelings pour through my veins. Ryan lied. It wasn’t dirt bikes he didn’t like. It was just me.
I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t pretty enough or tall enough or funny enough or whatever this girl has that I don’t – I wasn’t that.
I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think a guy would like me. Clearly there’s something wrong with me.
“Hey, Bella,” Ryan calls out, holding up his hand in a friendly wave.
What a giant jerk. I give him a curt nod because now we’ve made eye contact and I have to do something, but I don’t have to be friendly about it.
Then, as if Fate decided that my day needed to get a little worse, Liam freaking Mosely comes riding up on his shiny expensive factory dirt bike. He leans it against the bleachers and then sits on the bottom row while his adoring fans gather around him.
His face brightens the moment he sees me. I wish I could walk anywhere else, but unfortunately the bleachers are right between the concession stand and my truck and I’m already here.
“Bella,” he calls out, waving his hand toward me. “Come hang out.”
“I’m actually leaving,” I say, shocking myself with how harsh my voice sounds.
“Because people like you hog the track and make it impossible for people like to me to have any fun.”
I walk faster, hoping to get back to my truck and get out of here before anyone else talks to me. But it’s just a few seconds later when I hear the heavy footfalls of motocross boots behind me.
“Bella, wait,” Liam calls out.
I can’t believe he left his bike and his fans back at the bleachers to follow me.
I keep walking the short distance to my truck and then I turn around, leveling him with a glare. “You heard me. You come out here every day and you hog the track as if it’s your own personal professional race, and guess what, it’s not.”
“You’ve been here every day?” he says, his face twisting in confusion. “I haven’t seen you.”
“That’s because you’re always on the track!”
He frowns. “It’s an open track. Everyone can ride at the same time.”
I shake my head as I grab my stuff and start loading it into the bed of my truck. “No, we can’t. You’re too fast. You tear around the track without a care in the world and it’s too scary to ride out there with you.”
I grab the metal ramp and slide it down the bed of my truck, letting it fall hard to the ground. It’s a ramp that I use to roll my bike up into the back of my truck. It’s also the worst part of riding motocross. Loading and unloading your bike is scary because the ramp is like four feet tall and my new bike is almost as tall as I am. I’m always afraid I’ll fall over or drop my bike or something equally awful. And now I’m even more nervous to load up my bike with Liam watching.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I had no idea.”
I scoff and reach for my bike, taking it off the stand. “Didn’t you realize that everyone gets off the track when you get on it?”
He bites his bottom lip. “I thought they just wanted to watch me ride.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh my God, you are vain.” I grunt as I pull my bike back and roll it around to line up with the ramp on the back of my truck. My hands are shaking because I need all of my concentration to get this thing into my truck. I wish Dad or Brent were here to do it for me.
“Everyone doesn’t love watching you ride, Liam. We come out here and we pay good money so that we can ride, too. But you’ll stay out there an hour sometimes, and it’s just not fair.”
“Why won’t you ride if I’m on the track?” he says, walking up to the other side of my bike.
“It’s too scary,” I admit, and the anger fades from my voice because this is embarrassing. “You’re too fast. I’m scared I’ll move the wrong way and you’ll slam into me.”
“I’m careful on the track.” He reaches out and takes the other handlebar of my bike with his right hand, his left hand going to the bike seat. “I wouldn’t slam into you.”
His eyes meet mine for just a moment, and then with all the ease of a professional, he walks my bike right up the ramp as if it takes him no effort at all. The whole process takes me like four minutes, one slow step up the ramp at a time. I want to hate him for it, but I’m grateful.
I reach for one of the tie down straps in the bed of my truck and hand it to him. He hooks it over my handlebars and then fastens the other one himself.
With my bike loaded, he hops out of the bed of my truck in another swift motion that makes my heart skip a beat. He’s so limber and strong, and it’s incredibly attractive. He takes the metal ramp and folds it in half at the hinges, then slides it into my truck bed.
“I’m sorry,” he says, as he closes my tai
lgate and then turns around to face me. “I didn’t know, but I’ll be better next time. I’ll take more breaks. Give other people time to ride.”
“Thank you,” I say, being surprised by him yet another time. I really want to stay and keep talking, but I know better than to do this to myself.
I open my truck door and Liam’s voice calls out my name. “Bella.”
I turn back to him. “What?”
“You’re a good rider,” he says. “I watched you when I first got here. But why don’t you go over the finish line jump?”
I shrug. “The same reason I won’t ride while you’re on the track.”
I close my door and start up my truck, and I refuse to look back at him as I drive away. I know why I don’t do the finish line jump, and why I don’t race, and why I shouldn’t have asked Ryan if he wanted to go out with me. It’s simple. Humans have been following this instinct for thousands of years. It’s the way people look out for themselves.
It’s fear.
Chapter Eight
I think about what Bella said all night, and I feel ashamed that it never occurred to me before. I am usually the only person on the track when I ride, but I just thought people stopped riding so they could watch me. Um, arrogant much?
Heat washes over my face every time I think about it. I’m basically a professional racer. Everyone else just rides for fun. I shouldn’t take the fun out of it by riding at full speed on the track. When I get up the next morning, I hope she’s there so I can prove that I can be a nice guy.
I see Bella the moment I drive into the motocross park. She’s sitting on her bike near that oak tree at the edge of the track. She’s watching other people ride, waiting for I don’t know what.
I park and unload my bike and get dressed, and she’s still sitting there straddling her bike with her helmet and gear on. She’s like a magnet, pulling me toward her even when she doesn’t know I’m here. I can’t help myself.
I ride up slowly, coming to a stop next to her.
“Good morning,” I call out over the sound of my bike engine.
“Morning,” she says, barely glancing at me.
“How’s the track?” I ask, just to make conversation.
“I haven’t been out yet.”
I glance over the track. There’s only a few people out there, none of them fast riders.
“Come on,” I say, revving my bike. “Let’s go.”
She probably scoffs or something that I can’t see because of her helmet. Her shiny purple helmet twists left and right while she shakes her head no.
“Come on,” I say. “Start your bike. I’ll follow you.”
“Not happening,” she calls out.
“Do a practice lap with me and then I’ll leave you alone.”
She studies me for a moment. All I can see are the narrow slits of her eyes under her goggles and helmet, but I think she’s actually considering it. I flash her a smile, hoping she can see that I mean no harm.
“Please?”
She cranks up her bike and rolls away, and I hope that’s an invitation to follow her. We make a practice lap around the track, going slowly and not leaving third gear. It’s always a good idea to take a slow lap before you pick up speed, that way you can get a feel for the track and any changes to the terrain or layout that happened since the last time you were on the track. After the lap is over, Bella picks up speed. I follow her, keeping close behind. She could easily wave me past her or pull off the track if she wants, but she doesn’t, so I keep riding.
It’s an old trick that was used on me when I was a kid. Now I’m using it on her. When you ride closely behind someone, they’re going to ride faster than normal. It’s just natural.
A lap passes, and then another. Bella is still in front of me, her form excellent as she sweeps through turns and soars over the jumps. This girl can hold her own on a bike, and it’s incredibly sexy to me. She’s doing great, and she has a real talent, but every time she gets to the finish line tabletop jump, she slows down.
I don’t know why she’s so scared of it. All she’d have to do is pin it in third gear, stand on the balls of her feet and hold on tightly. The bike can handle the jump. It’s her mind that’s blocking her.
Maybe it’s a little mean of me, but I start riding a little closer. I’m on her tail, keeping my tire just a breath away from hers. She goes faster. She clears more jumps. She tightens her form, sliding forward on the bike in the turns and pushing back on the straightaways. Someone has taught her well, and she’s no newbie to the sport.
So why doesn’t she race?
Is she scared?
I’m in the moment now, the background a total blur as I keep my bike right behind hers. We’re not going nearly fast enough for me, but it’s a hell of a lot faster than she’s used to. I get a rush of excitement and pride as I see her go faster and faster. We reach the finish line jump for the fifth time, and this time she doesn’t let off the throttle, doesn’t drop a gear. She stays pinned. She’s determined. She’s in the zone, just like I am. She’s ready for this. I can see it in her form, the way her head is ducked, shoulders tight, knees clamped to the bike frame.
She hits the ramp and it launches her into the air, with me right behind. For a moment, we are flying—we are bodies and bikes and nothing is tethering us to the ground. I count the seconds – one, two, three, four, five.
She lands a little wobbly, but she’s done it.
She’s cleared the jump.
I let out a whoop to myself and follow her as she takes a sharp turn off the track and back to the pits. She doesn’t drive to her truck, she goes straight to that oak tree that I’m starting to think is her favorite part of the track. Maybe because it’s so out of the way, tucked into a corner of the property that no one ever goes to.
She stops her bike and leans it against the tree and then yanks off her helmet as if she’s in a daze. Crap. I’m fully expecting to get a verbal lashing right about now. She might hate me for doing what I did, even though I was only trying to help her ride better. I stop my bike, but stay seated on it just in case she wants me to leave.
“Oh my God,” she says, pacing around in a circle. “I did it!”
She smiles at me and the tension in my chest fades away.
“You did it,” I say, taking off my helmet and setting it on my gas tank.
“How did you do that?” Her cheeks are flushed from adrenaline and her hair is all frizzy around her face and she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
I shrug. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes you did, you know exactly what you did,” she says, marching closer to me. “You pushed me. You made me do that.”
She doesn’t sound angry. I shrug. “Maybe I did something.”
Her chest heaves while she catches her breath. She runs a hand over her hair and gazes back out at the track. “That was amazing. I can’t believe I cleared it. I could kiss you right now.”
Suddenly every single sound in the world disappears and all I can think about is the echo of what she just said.
“So do it,” I say.
Her cheeks flush three times redder and she shakes her head. “That was a figure of speech…” she turns and paces back toward her bike. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
My heart seizes up and collapses under my rib cage, but I try not to seem disappointed. “Well, I accept your figure of speech. I’m glad you landed the jump. You looked awesome out there.”
“I like how you did that,” she says. “You did that on purpose, huh? Riding behind me, making me go faster?”
I grin. “It’s what taught me how to ride when I was a kid.”
She nods. “Well, thanks. It was cool. Now I hope I can do that jump again without you behind me.”
“You can, I say, tapping my head. “It’s all in here. Just tell yourself you’ve got it, and you will.”
Something shifts in her gaze. I might be wrong, but I think she’s changing her mind about me. Maybe she does
n’t see me as the bad guy anymore. I didn’t realize how much I wanted her to like me until I realize that she does like me.
Well… at least she doesn’t hate me.
“You want to get some lunch?” she says.
I nod quickly. “Yeah.”
I follow her as she rides through the pits and parks at her truck. I leave my bike next to hers and together we walk toward the concession stand near the bleachers. It’s just after noon, and there’s a pretty large crowd today. People call my name or wave at me as I walk by, and I wish they’d just leave me alone.
Can’t they see I’m with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met? I don’t have time for small talk with fans right now.
Bella orders some nachos and I get the same thing but add chili and jalapenos to mine. I try to pay for both of us, but she swiftly shoots me down, tossing a five dollar bill to the girl in the concession stand before I can argue.
Okay, so Bella doesn’t want a guy paying for her. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t like me. I still have all summer to convince her that I’m worth it.
Wait… when did I start thinking like this?
I take a deep breath but it doesn’t clear my head. I’m in deep here. I’ve got a huge crush on this girl but it all feels so pointless. I can’t start dating someone right now – especially when I’ll be leaving after the summer is over. And especially since she still doesn’t trust me.
“I wish we could eat in privacy,” I say as we get our food and Gatorades. “I would say we could eat at my truck but people always stop by and bother me.”
“I have an idea,” she says. “Follow me and act casual.”
She walks quickly, disappearing between the cars that are parked in the pits, and walking toward the back of the pit area instead of the front, where all the people congregate.
Soon, the trees thicken a bit since we’re at the edge of the property. There’s an old shed out here, with some picnic tables in front of it. One wall used to be a glass window I guess, but it’s long since been shattered and now it’s just a big hole in the building.