Double Clutch

by Liz Reinhardt

  “What did you tell him?” Saxon looked straight ahead, probably to avoid the sickeningly good smell of chili sauce and onion.

  “I told him every little thing, Saxon,” I admitted. “Every look and conversation and kiss and even what I felt.”

  “What did you feel?” He leaned back in the stands and gave me a long look.

  “That you were intriguing. That you were at least worth my friendship.” I drank from one of the cups of Coke. Even though there were two, Saxon took the one I was drinking out of my hands and drank from it. I knew exactly why he did it, but I had no idea how I felt about it.

  “You’re using the past tense, Blix. Can I assume that means you don’t find me intriguing or friendship-worthy anymore?”

  “No.” I put the half-eaten hotdog down in the box. “I should have used the present tense. You are those things for someone. Just not me. And more important than all your good qualities put together is your one main bad quality.”

  “Enlighten me.” He shook the cup, took a sip, and crunched some ice between his teeth.

  “You’re toxic.” It sounded awful and nasty, but it was the honest truth. “You poison good things, and I don’t think you even do it on purpose.”

  “You don’t think so?” He was mocking me, but there was a strain in his voice.

  “I hope you don’t. Because otherwise the alternative is that you’re a total sociopath.” I could see the guys on the bikes lining up. I squinted and was pretty sure I could see Jake. The announcer was a mumbler; I couldn’t fathom why anyone would put someone so inarticulate in charge of announcing important things to an entire audience.

  “He’s the fifth in from the outside.” Saxon leaned forward, watching.

  “I thought that was him. So is it one lap?”

  Saxon laughed. “No. It’s twenty.”

  “Oh. What’s he doing?” I watched Jake fiddle with his bike. Was it safe?

  “Nervous habit. He’s making sure his fuel switch is on.”

  “But aren’t they all on?” There was a dull roar coming from the gate.

  “They’ll run for a minute or two if they’re switched off. No one wants to be the dipshit who loses the starting advantage because his fuel switch is off. He’s waving at you.” Saxon’s voice was bland around his last words.

  But I had seen Jake’s wave before Saxon mentioned it. I already stood on the bench, waving back like an idiot. “Go Jake! Good luck!” I screamed.

  Saxon pulled me gently back down. “Alright, Blix. The enthusiasm is admirable, but he can’t hear you.”

  “He knows,” I said confidently. I chewed on some vinegar fries. “You used to race?”

  “Yeah.” Saxon winced and rubbed his temples. “But I got tired of the humiliation of getting my ass handed to me by Jake every time we competed. So I just stopped racing and started going to cheer him on. And make bets on him.”

  “You bet money on Jake?” I had no idea there even were bets made on these races.

  “Always have.” Saxon leaned forward again. “He’s a sure thing on the track. I have close to a grand riding on this race.”

  I felt dangerously close to choking on the fry I was in the process of swallowing. “A thousand dollars?”

  “Every one of these hot shots thinks he’s gonna come out the dark horse. Not with Jake Kelly on the track. He should go pro.”

  The flag dropped and the bikes roared out of the gate. Jake was a few feet in front of every other bike.

  “That’s my boy.” Saxon’s slow smile widened. “Got his lead early on, and he’ll keep it.”

  I stood with my hand over my mouth, willing Jake to go faster and keep ahead of everyone else who wanted to take his lead.

  “Sit back and relax for a few laps,” Saxon advised. He leaned his head back and groaned. “I guess I’m out of the loop for head rubs?”

  “Yeah.” I only took my eyes off Jake for a second. “You really are.”

  He laughed. “You’re a stone bitch. I mean that in the most complimentary way possible.”

  We watched Jake race around the track. He flew over a jump a few laps in and took both hands off of his handlebars.

  “Jake! You idiot! Jake!” I yelled.

  I think Saxon had been napping. He sat up and his glasses slid off of his nose. “What’s wrong?” he asked sleepily.

  “Jake’s just being stupid.” I looked closely. He was holding on again. “He did some kind of stunt.”

  “What kind of stunt?” Saxon yawned.

  “He took his hand off the handlebars while he was jumping,” I said hotly.

  Saxon let out a short, harsh laugh. “Calm down. He was changing the film on his goggles.”

  “What?”

  “The goggles he’s wearing. They probably have a good inch of mud on them. So he’s peeling the film off so he can see.” He chuckled again. “Don’t worry. Jake loves to win. He won’t do any stunts.”

  “Oh.” I felt incredibly dumb. “I don’t really know much about dirt bike racing, I guess.”

  “Motocross,” Saxon corrected. “That’s what it’s called. Didn’t you two talk about this before his race?”

  I felt a wave of embarrassment when I thought about what we had done so often instead of talking about dirt bikes. Or talking at all.

  Instead of answering Saxon, I took a sip of Coke and watched Jake. He was really fast. It was exciting to watch, but a little scary too. It was also really nerve-wracking. I didn’t want him to crash and burn, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of the race because I was afraid that was exactly what would happen the minute I looked away.

  “You guys going to the Folly show tonight?” Saxon rubbed his temples hard, and I could only imagine the pain that was pounding through his head.

  “Yeah. My shirts are going to be selling tonight.” I was proud of that, and thought I should be. I worked hard on them.

  “Well, I’ll make sure I buy one. I like putting my money towards any good charity.”

  “Do you have to work hard at being an asshole, or does it just come naturally?” I asked cheerfully.

  He grinned at me and took his sunglasses off.

  “Saxon!” I kept half an eye on the race and tried to look at his face at the same time. “Seriously. What happened to your eye? And, you know, the rest of your face?”

  “I started out being my natural asshole self. Then I worked on it for a few minutes. And this is what I got.” He slid the glasses back on and winced.

  “Who did it?” I felt a surge of anger. I couldn’t help it. Saxon might be a deranged lunatic, but I couldn’t help feeling like he was something damaged that needed my protection.

  “Some senior who wasn’t particularly happy I was making out with his girlfriend.”

  “Was she someone special?” I hoped it might be for a lot of reasons.

  “Yeah, Bren. I proposed to her right after she let me feel her up in someone’s parent’s bathroom at a house party. It was magical.”

  “Whatever,” I muttered, and turned my full attention back on Jake’s race. If Saxon wanted to purposefully stick his face in front of angry fists, that was his deal.

  I made it a point to move far away from Saxon. I got my camera and took a bunch of pictures of Jake. Thorsten had gotten me a really high speed camera the Christmas when we were in Denmark. One of the features was supposed to be that it took really great action shots. It was how I got the one of Mom rocking out to “Yellow Submarine.” But I never had the chance to try it out on an actual sport. I was happy with the results so far, and I was already trying to figure out how they would look on silk screen.

  “These are the last two circuits,” Saxon said, sitting up. “Come on.”

  We left our seats and went to stand by the guard rails where the bikes flew by so quickly and so close we could feel the heat of the bike engines.

  We watched for a minute, and Saxon pointed to the tower where they waved a white flag. “We’re coming on the last lap. He still has the lead, bu
t that bastard on the yellow bike is right on his ass.” And then Saxon did something that shocked me. “Come on Jake!” he screamed. “Don’t be a pussy! Watch your turns!”

  “I thought he couldn’t hear you.” I had never seen Saxon get so worked up and excited.

  “He knows.” He looked straight into my eyes. Then he turned back to the track. “Win this bitch, Jake! Come on, Jake!”

  I screamed along with Saxon. Jake took the first turn wide and the yellow bike inched up behind him. I put my hands to my mouth and pressed, nervous for him. At the next jump, Jake gunned it and he flew past the others. I knew it must be risky from the way the front of his bike wobbled.

  “Oh God, don’t be stupid, Jake,” Saxon said lowly.

  “What’s he doing?” I felt a wave of panic overtake me.

  “He’s taking the jump way too fast so he can make up for lost time. But if he doesn’t land just right, he’s going to crash and burn.” Saxon gripped the guard rail, his knuckles white. “He’s going to get himself killed.”

  He was genuinely worried about Jake. I put my hand on his, and he looked up at me and smiled a little.

  “Don’t worry, Blix. Jake will make the landing. Watch.” He didn’t sound sure so much as hopeful.

  The bike was on the descent, and when it landed there was a shock of rubber and metal on dirt. My breath caught in my lungs as the bike skidded across the lanes. It looked like there was no way Jake could stop the inevitable tilt towards complete wipeout.

  The stands were unusually quiet as everyone watched. Despite the laws of gravity, despite all reason, Jake righted the bike and sped ahead. He rounded the final turn and the checkered flag went down. The other bikes sped in behind him.

  Jake won the race.

  Saxon looked at me and held his arms up, screaming in triumph. He grabbed me and lifted me up, shaking me and screaming with happiness. He dropped me back with a thud and screamed again.

  They announced Jake’s name as the winner. He rode to the stands and hopped off of his bike, pulled his helmet off, jumped the rail and grabbed me, covered in mud and sweat. I didn’t care.

  “You won!” I grabbed his face in my hands.

  “I did,” he grinned. “You were right here for me.”

  Then he kissed me. His arms were around me and the roar of the crowds was behind us. I could feel his excitement from the win, and it was like I could taste the adrenaline on his mouth. He held me for a few more seconds, kissed me again, then jumped back down to get his bike.

  Saxon grabbed my hand. “Come on. He’ll need help with his bike.”

  We went to the truck. Jake was collecting his prize, a check for a hundred dollars, Saxon explained.

  “He could make a lot more. He could be a pro, no question.” Saxon pulled out a cigarette.

  “Does he want to?” I asked.

  “I don’t know anything about what Jake wants anymore.” Saxon’s mouth was set in a line. Jake hadn’t even acknowledged him when he jumped into the stands. I realized it had probably hurt Saxon.

  I scanned the crowds for Jake. “Why are you here, Saxon?”

  “I had a grand riding on this.” He took a long drag.

  I put a hand on his elbow. “Why did you bet on him?”

  “I told you, he’s a sure thing,” he growled. He didn’t shrug my hand off, but from the way he stared, I got the message that I was playing with fire, and I let it drop to my side.

  I didn’t say anything else to him. Jake came over a few minutes later. He was breathing hard, and he looked exhausted.

  “Let me help.” Saxon stubbed his cigarette out under his boot sole.

  Jake didn’t look like he had the energy to protest. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat, his shoulders sagged, and his eyes were red rimmed.

  He and Saxon pushed the bike back up the dirt ramp and into the bed of the truck.

  “Good job, man,” Saxon said.

  Jake squinted at him. “Thanks.”

  They stood in awkward silence.

  “I’ll see you guys around.” Saxon turned on his heel and stalked away, hands in his pockets.

  I watched Saxon walk away while Jake kept his eyes on his bike. “He bet on you.”

  He swung his head to look at me. “What did he bet?”

  “A thousand dollars. Or he won a thousand dollars. Maybe you should bet on yourself sometime,” I suggested.

  Jake looked at me hard. “He told you that?”

  “Yeah, when we were in the stands. He explained about the race. I didn’t realize how much I didn’t know.” I looked at his face, trying to gauge if he was angry, but it didn’t look that way. Mostly he just looked tired.

  “Do you mind going to my place so I can shower?” he asked finally, dropping the whole issue.

  “No problem.” I pulled him to me and kissed him again. “I’m really proud of you. You did great out there.”

  “Thanks.” He wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug for a few long seconds.

  We drove to his house, Jake singing along to the classic rock station at the top of his lungs. I laughed hard and joined him.

  I was totally curious to see his house. We pulled into the lake and drove for a few minutes, winding down a few different roads until we came to a neat, boring white house. It was clean and maintained, but it was completely bland. There was no landscaping, no ornamentation, no decoration. It was just a little white box.

  He parked and came around to open my door.

  “Am I going to meet your dad?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “He bowls all day Saturday, then watches ESPN with the guys all night.”

  “He went bowling instead of going to your race?” I linked my hand in Jake’s.

  His eyes looked hot and angry, and I wished I had kept my big, direct mouth shut for once.

  “Yeah.” He opened his front door and led me in. We stood in a small, depressingly plain living room. The walls were stark white. The carpet was brown. There were two old LazyBoy recliners and a plaid couch. I followed Jake to the kitchen, white with dark cabinets and a dingy yellow laminate countertop.

  There was a small dining alcove with a dark wood table and four straight-back chairs.

  “You want something to drink?” Jake asked. “All we have is soda.”

  “I drink soda sometimes.” I smiled and looked around, taking in all the boring nothing in Jake’s house. “I’ll have one.”

  It was the store brand, but I wasn’t brand picky when it came to soda. It all tasted like sweet bubbles to me. He led me to his bedroom.

  There was a twin bed with a dark blue cover. There was a scratched desk with a lamp and a plain chair. A dresser in the corner supported a fairly old TV with an Xbox and a banged up PS3. A few motocross posters were tacked neatly on the wall, and Jake had printed the picture of me at the movie theater and taped it neatly right next to his bed.

  “I know.” He smiled apologetically. “It’s pretty boring.”

  “It is,” I agreed. “We could redo it sometime, if you wanted. If your dad was cool with it.”

  He shrugged. “I mostly just sleep in here. My father never ever comes in here, so it wouldn’t matter to him either way.” I sat on his bed and he sat next to me. Then he pulled me back and we bounced against the mattress and laughed. He started to kiss me, but I, for once, held back. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry. You’re getting dirt all over me.” The dirt on his gear was drying and crumbling.

  “I’ll fix that.” He jumped off the bed and stripped off his clothes, right down to his boxers.

  “You’re pretty comfortable getting undressed in front of me.” I had a hard time taking my eyes off of him.

  “You’re always figuring out some way to get me out of my clothes,” he accused. He put his stuff neatly in the hamper and smelled his own armpit.

  “Jake!” I yelled. “That’s gross.”

  “What?” he balked. “I stink. I was doing it out of consideration for you
.” He pounced on me and pinned me to the bed. “I was just going to tell you I need to get in the shower before I overpower you with my pit stink. I’m a pretty nice boyfriend, aren’t I?”

  I pretended to gag. “I can’t think. You smell too disgusting.”

  He kissed me all over my face, and I giggled because his good mood was contagious. He jumped up and headed out of the room. “Five minutes. Try not to get in any trouble.”

  The minute I heard the shower come on, I started to conduct a thorough search of his room, and I didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it. It was my right as Jake’s girlfriend to spy.

  It was fairly disappointing.

  His closet was disgustingly neat and tidy. He had barely any clothes, and they were all clean, hung up, and neat. The drawers of his desk held fairly normal things; a Swiss army knife, thumbtacks, scissors, a razor knife, a ruler, some glue and rubber cement. Next to his bed was a small nightstand. I was not surprised to find a bottle of lotion and a box of tissues. There was one little box under his bed. That was the only thing that made me feel at all guilty, but I looked in it anyway.

  It had some Boy Scout patches, an old Spiderman action figure, a little first place MiniMotocross ribbon, and some pictures. They were mostly Polaroids, and mostly blurry. One was a woman with long brown hair wearing a tube top and big sunglasses. She was smiling and there was a baby on her lap. He looked like he could be Jake, but I couldn’t be sure. Babies mostly looked the same to me. There were a few more pictures of little Jake, some really cute school pictures and a Halloween picture where he was dressed as Dracula. There was one where Jake was probably six or seven. A dark eyed boy with spiky black hair had his arm around Jake. Saxon?

  In the bottom of the box there was a little folded note. When I opened it up, I felt a warm, sweet heat flow through me. It was the note I’d written him in class, the one where he invited me to the race. He had kept it tucked in the box where he kept all his most valuable possessions. I ran my fingers over the creased edges.

  I heard Jake come out of the bathroom and shoved the box back under the bed, then sat very still on his mattress, wearing my best innocent face.

  “Were you snooping?” Jake asked, a good-natured smile on his face.