by Amy Sparling
Guilt consumes me as I head to the track on Friday for the races, but I’m not even sure if I should go. I’m hoping Brent would have gone back to college, so he won’t be there. I’m hoping Bella might say hello to me, but I’m not going to hope that much. She’s right to avoid me. It actually makes my life easier.
I’ve been telling Bella for weeks that she needs to believe in herself and pursue what she wants to do when it comes to racing. I’ve built her up and assured her that she is good enough. But when it comes to myself, what have I done for me? I posted one heartfelt selfie and smiled for some fans. But do I really feel like I can do this? Am I confident in becoming a professional racer? I don’t even know. Maybe the whole reason I let myself fall for the girl is because deep down I don’t feel like I’m capable of having the professional racing career I want. Maybe that’s why I didn’t put up a fight when Dad exiled me to my mom’s for the summer. Maybe I wanted to fall for Bella. Maybe it was all some ruse my subconscious concocted to keep me from pursuing my dream. I don’t know.
But I do know that Bella is racing tonight and I’m going to watch her. Even if she hates me now. Even if she won’t ever talk to me again. The girl has some amazing skills and she’s going to hold her own out there on the track. It’ll be amazing and I want to see it.
I pay my entry fee and then register for the race. My hopes crash and burn when I see Brent’s truck parked in Bella’s spot. He’s here tonight, and so is his bike. Oh well, I’ll park far away and keep to myself and I’ll watch Bella race from the bleachers. She won’t even have to see me if she doesn’t want to.
I unload my bike and get dressed in my riding gear and say hello to the fans who come up to me. It’s amazing how brazen some people are. They’ll see you standing there in your boxers trying to get dressed and they just walk up and start talking to you. But I smile and I deal with it because if Bella can follow her dreams, so can I.
The sun sets and a warm summer breeze floats through the air. The races begin with the singing of the national anthem, and then the first few races are the little kids on small bikes that sound like a swarm of bees flying around the track. The only good thing about being famous in a small town is that there are enough fans to keep me busy while I wait for my race to come up. I don’t have to sit here bored wishing I was hanging out with Bella.
Some older men who smell like beer come up and ask to take a picture with me. Then I’m asked to sign some girl’s chest with a Sharpie, which seems icky, so I sign her collarbone instead. I remember what Marcus said to me about keeping a clean image on Team Loco, and the last thing I need is a picture of me signing some girl’s boob on social media.
The races go by and I keep count of them. The lineup shows that the women’s race is number fifteen. Mine is nineteen. Right now we’re on race number six. I excuse myself from a group of fans and walk back to my truck to check my phone. She hasn’t messaged me in days, but I can’t stop checking.
When I turn back around, there she is. My beautiful crush, standing there in full riding gear with her hair in a French braid down her back. She has never looked more beautiful than she does right now.
“Hi,” she says, staring down at her hands. Her eyes flit upward and meet mine, and a jolt of electricity shoots down to my toes. “I missed you.”
My heart crushes into a thousand pieces. “I missed you, too.” I say, and I’ve never meant anything as much as I mean that. “I wasn’t sure you would talk to me again.”
Her lips press into a thin line. “We’re still cool,” she says. “We’re… friends. It’s just been weird with my brother hanging around.”
I nod. “I wish I could tell him that I’m sorry for what I did back then.”
She shrugs. “He wouldn’t believe it. He needs to be mad at someone, and he’s chosen you. But after I heard the story it seems like his ex-girlfriend is to blame.”
“We’re both to blame.” I take a deep breath and wish I had a magic wand to go back and erase the past. “It was stupid. I was stupid. But I’m not like that anymore. I hope you know that.”
Her lips twist up in the slightest smile. “You seem like a pretty cool guy.”
“Are we still doing this?” I take a step backward because without the space between us I might just kiss her right now. “Are we still pretending we’re just friends? Because I can’t do it any longer. I know it’s pointless and it’ll never work, but I’m crazy about you, Bella.” I run my hands through my hair in frustration. My heart is pounding but I can’t stop now. “I am fully, completely, insanely crazy about you. And I don’t care about your brother and I don’t care that I’m leaving at the end of the summer. All I care about is you.”
“Wow,” a voice says. It’s not Bella. She’s standing here, mouth open in surprise. The voice came from behind her and I realize about two seconds too late that I’ve totally screwed myself.
Brent’s expression is hard as stone. “Is that what you said to my girl when you stole her from me?”
“Brent…” I hold up one hand, hoping it looks like a surrender instead of a fight. “I’m sorry for that. I really am.”
“Why are you even here?” Brent says. “You seriously think it’s okay to show your face at my track?”
“Your track?” I say. I’ve been nice to this guy, nicer than I should be. I’m tired of him talking to me like he’s better than I am. “It’s been my track this whole summer. I’ve only seen you here once.”
“It’s my home track.” The words grind out of his mouth like he’s having a hard time saying them. “And she’s my sister, and I won’t allow her to date you.”
“She’s an adult. She can date who she wants.”
Brent takes a step closer, bowing up to me, and I get a sudden flashback of a few months ago when I got into a fist fight on the track. It started in a very similar way, two guys with anger issues and no one to stop them. “You want my sister? Fine,” he says. His sneer shifts into a smile. “I’ll see you on the track. Whoever wins the race gets to make the final call.”
“Brent you’re being stupid,” Bella says, but her brother ignores her.
He glares at me. He’s bigger than I am, but we’re the same height and I won’t back down. “You win the race, you can date my sister with my blessing. But if I win, you’ll never talk to her again.”
“Brent, please!” Bella says.
I glance at her, and then I look at my old friend who is now my enemy. “You’re on.”
Brent seems satisfied. He turns to leave and grabs Bella’s arm and pulls her along with him. Rage roils up in my chest. He can’t just pull her around like she’s some kid. But I’m not going to stop him right now because I know that would end in a fight. And it won’t help anyone.
Brent still thinks of me as the kid who is younger and weaker than he is. But he’s been away at college and I’ve been riding every single day. I know I’m faster than he is. I know he just made a bet he’s going to lose, and it’ll only enrage him further. If I race him tonight, I’ll win. And I’ll have made an enemy for life.
I’m not about to win over the girl of my dreams in some stupid caveman-like bet.
I pull off my jersey and kick off my boots and load up my bike.
I’m not going to race tonight.
Chapter Seventeen
I wait until we are back at Brent’s truck, away from all of the random spectators, and then I tear into my big brother.
“What was that?” I yell as loud as I can without causing a scene. “You are not in charge of me! I’m an adult, Brent. I can do whatever I want.”
His jaw works, like he can’t quite figure out what to say. I’ve never seen him so angry, so irrational. I suddenly feel like I’m five years old again, and I want to call my dad and tattle on Brent for being mean to me. And maybe that’s why this is so weird. Brent hasn’t been mean to me since we were little kids and he was just being a punk. We’re best friends. We always have been. He’s got my back and I’ve got his. After he and
Samantha broke up, I spent two weeks sitting on the couch with him, being slovenly and eating junk food in front of Netflix marathons while he worked out his sadness.
This angry, demanding, bowed up Brent is not the Brent I know.
I exhale and throw up my hands. “What’s going on, Brent?”
He takes a deep shuddering breath and then lets it out slowly. “I don’t know, Bells. I’m sorry.”
“You just made a bet to race him,” I say, shaking my head. “You know you can’t win that, right?”
He runs a hand through his hair, which is short and neatly trimmed. Just like the rest of him, his haircut is always up to date. Never sloppy, never out of place. “I have to beat him, Bella. Otherwise, he wins. He wins you, he wins Samantha. He wins everything.”
It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes and ask my brother why he’s still obsessed with some girl he dated years ago. I didn’t even like her that much. “I wish you didn’t feel this way,” I tell him, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “I really like Liam.”
Brent scoffs. “Why? Because he’s famous? Because of his stupid hair? Because he told you a string of lies and compliments to make you want him?”
“You think I’m not good enough for compliments?” I say, holding my head high.
Brent looks like I’ve slapped him. “Bella, no. That’s not it. I think you’re amazing and any good guy would be lucky to date you, but not him. He doesn’t deserve it. You’re better than him.”
“Do you know why I like him?” I say, feeling my heart crack open with insecurity and awkwardness. I don’t talk to my brother about boys. I only talk to Kylie, and maybe-maybe my mom. But this needs to be said. “I like him because he’s kind. And smart. And he’s never lied to me or made me feel less than. He’s fun to be around, and he’s nice and I like him. After you confronted him earlier, he told me about Samantha. He told me everything because he’s honest and he’s changed and he’s not the jerk you used to know.”
Brent watches me intently but he doesn’t say anything.
“I love you,” I tell him, and I hope he knows I mean it. “You’re my best friend and my brother and I trust that you want the best for me, but you’re wrong on this one. Liam isn’t a bad guy anymore.” A desperate laugh escapes my throat. “And it doesn’t even matter anymore because he’s leaving after summer is over. It’s not like I’m going to marry the guy. He’s just a friend. Just a crush I had that didn’t mean anything, and now you ruined it.”
Brent turns toward his dirt bike and messes with something on the engine. “Guess this is the first time you won’t be rooting for your brother to win a race.”
“That bet was stupid,” I say. “You shouldn’t have agreed to it.”
“I’m going to win,” Brent says. “I beat him as a kid and I’ll beat him now.”
I don’t say anything. I just turn around and walk away. There are still several races left until mine, so I have some time to kill. My brother is stupid if he thinks he can beat Liam in a race. He hasn’t been on his bike in weeks and he’s not a trained professional like Liam. He’s just going through with this bet to save his stupid pride, and it’s going to end up ruining him.
I don’t even realize I’m walking toward Liam’s truck until it’s too late to turn around. He’s sitting on his tailgate, watching me approach. I get caught up thinking about how handsome he looks with that white t-shirt clinging to his biceps and it takes me a second to realize what happened.
“Why is your bike put up?” I say.
He shrugs. His fingertips touch together and he looks up at me. “I’m not racing.”
“Why?”
He steps forward, sliding off the tailgate. Now he’s standing in front of me, wearing regular clothes instead of his riding gear. I’ve never seen him in jeans and shoes, all normal and not covered in sweat. He’s pretty hot when he’s sweaty, but he’s even hotter right now.
“Fights like this are what got me in trouble in the first place,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want to race your brother. I don’t want to make bets or have enemies. If I race him tonight, I’ll win.” He shrugs, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip. “And sorry, but I’ve got too much pride to go out there and lose to him on purpose,” he says, giving me a grin, “So it’s just better if I don’t race at all.”
There’s no arguing with that. He’s made the right call. “Will you stay and watch me race?” I ask.
His smile brightens. “Yes, ma’am. I can’t wait. You’re going to be amazing.”
I can’t help but smile back. “Morgan is here. And so is Alicia.” They’re both in college and they’ve been racing their whole lives. There’s no way I’ll beat them, and we both know it.
He shrugs. “Who cares? This race is about what you can do, not what you can’t.” He taps me on the shoulder. “It’s not about winning. It’s about going out there and proving that you can do this.”
“Well isn’t that inspiring,” I say sarcastically.
He laughs. “That reminds me…” he walks over to the cab of his truck and reaches inside the driver’s side door. He walks back with a stack of black vinyl numbers and holds them out to me.
“You need a bike number.”
I take the numbers and spread them out. There’s nine of them, three for each number plate on my bike. The front, and the two sides. I spread them out.
“Four, five, one.” I look up at him. “What do these mean?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Nothing. They’re just numbers.”
I give him a confused look. “But…”
He shakes his head. “You think my bike number is something special?” He glances back at his bike which is loaded in his truck. “Nah. I was six years old and I needed a number for my first race. I stared at the rack of numbers at the bike shop and then just chose some randomly. I mean who cares, right? It’s just a number.”
“But…” I say, looking down at the numbers in my hand. “Everyone chooses a number that’s special to them.”
“Mmhmm,” he says, nodding. “That’s just it. That day in the shop I chose 136 and I put it on my bike and I signed up to race with that number, that number that meant nothing to me…” His eyes stare off as if he’s recalling the memories right now. He looks down at me. “Now those numbers are the most important numbers in the world to me.”
I grin. “It doesn’t have to start out as something special,” I say. “I can make it special.”
He taps me on the shoulder. “Bingo.”
My chest floods with warm fuzzy excitement. I can’t help myself. I throw my arms around his neck and hug him hard. “Thank you,” I say against his chest.
“You’re very welcome,” he says. He holds me just as tightly and I wish this hug could last forever. But even as I’m holding onto him, I know it’s just the beginning of the end. My brother hates him. He’s leaving after summer. This can’t possibly work out.
I slowly pull away and I’m surprised to feel tears in my eyes. “I guess I should get ready to race,” I say.
He nods, a sad smile on his face. “Good luck.”
Back at Brent’s truck, I move around the numbers until I decide on their order. 451. I peel them off the backing and apply them to my number plates. Brent watches me from the fold out chair next to his bike, but he doesn’t say anything.
His bike number, 888, stands for August 8th, 1998. His birthday.
Mine stands for something. I’m not sure what, yet, but it’s my number. It’s officially mine and its symbolism is yet to be discovered. I hope this is the first of many races for me.
When it’s almost time for my race to begin, I suit up in my gear and strap on my boots. I start my bike and climb on it, then pull my gloves on.
“Bella,” Brent says, standing next to me. “I’m sorry. For everything—for all of that. I’m really sorry. I don’t want you to go into your first race with all this drama weighing on you.”
I can tell he means it by the s
incerity in his eyes. “It’s okay,” I say.
He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to him, kissing the top of my head. “I’m your brother, and I should support you. That’s what I’m going to do. You’re right… you’re an adult. You can make your own decisions.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling tears pool in my eyes for the second time tonight. “But you were a little bit right.”
His eyes widen. I frown. “This thing with Liam will never work out.”
“There will be other guys,” he says, as I pull my helmet over my head. He raps on it with his knuckles. “And I’m sure I’ll hate those guys, too.”
I laugh. “That’s so big brother of you.”
He winks. “Good luck out there. You’ve got this.”
I crank my bike up and let the roar of the engine drown out my beating heart. “Thanks.”
On the starting line, I’m so nervous I can’t think straight. There’s fifteen of us racing in the women’s class tonight. I tell myself as long as I don’t get last place, I’ll be happy, but then I feel bad because someone has to get last place. But that’s not a bad thing. The fact that we’re out here racing, despite how scary it is, says something great. Whoever loses tonight, even if it’s me, I’ll still be proud of them. We’re doing something amazing by just being out here.
A woman walks out into the middle of the starting line and holds up a giant board with the number 30 on it. That’s the thirty-second signal. It means the gate will drop and the races will begin in thirty seconds.
Oh God.
I can’t do this.
But I’m doing it.
My heart pounds so hard I can’t even feel it anymore. Adrenaline and fear and nerves and excitement all convalesce in my chest and pulse through my veins. I keep the throttle revved, the clutch engaged, and my toes on the ground while I wait for the gate in front of me to drop.