Captivating Clay (Team Loco #3)

by Amy Sparling

  Someone makes a gagging sound—probably Zach. It echoes exactly what I’m thinking.

  “Oh hush,” Marcus says. “This is a good thing. In today’s world of shitty celebrities, it’s a good thing to be the good guys. That’s why we’re hosting an event.”

  I groan quietly to myself. Here I thought I’d get to spend the month at home, alone with my surfboard and television.

  “I can’t miss Christmas,” Jett says. “I’ve got plans with my girl.”

  “Same,” Zach says, or maybe it’s Aiden.

  “Yeah, I’m not missing the holidays,” Aiden says. This time I know it’s his voice. “I’ve missed too many of them lately.”

  “Calm down,” Marcus says, his voice taking on an annoyed tone that I imagine someone with parents would understand all too well. Having been raised by a nearly deaf grandfather, I was never disciplined. Luckily, I didn’t need it.

  “Your Christmas is safe,” Marcus says. “And New Year’s, for that matter. But the four of you are my shining examples of wholesome celebrities for the next three weeks.”

  I resent being called wholesome. I’ve spent my entire life just keeping to myself, and that’s how I like it. Sure, I’m no criminal, but that doesn’t make me wholesome. The tats lining both of my arms can confirm that. You don’t see me smiling at people on the sidewalk or anything. I’m pretty sure my own landlord is terrified of me, and she’s been renting this place to me since I turned sixteen and got emancipated.

  Over the next few minutes, I listen in horror as Marcus describes Team Loco’s new initiative to take advantage of all the good press we have and kind of brag about how we don’t have drug addicts, rapists, or other assholes on our team unlike the rest of the professional racing teams.

  We are going on a three-week tour of the country, stopping at five small motocross tracks to meet the fans.

  And that’s not the worst part.

  Marcus wants us to host a one-day training camp at each track. He said the big bosses of Team Loco are coordinating it all now, signing up kids at each track, and all of the registration fees are going to charity.

  We’re supposed to show up at random cities across the nation, shake hands and mingle with the fans, and then try to embark motocross knowledge onto little kids. Ugh.

  “You can’t teach motocross in a day,” I say, gazing longingly at my empty box of cereal. I could use more sugar right about now.

  “It’s just for fun,” Marcus says. “There will be four teams at each track—one for each of you. You guys will get about five kids each and you’ll train them and give them some riding tips, then we’ll hit the road and go to the next town. It’ll be fun.”

  “In no way, shape, or form will this be fun.”

  “Chill out, Clay.” That voice is unmistakably Jett—the youngest member of Team Loco who is somehow also our leader. “This will be good for you. You need to learn to be nice.”

  “I am nice,” I say.

  Everyone laughs.

  “That reminds me,” Marcus says. “Team Loco is officially the wholesome racing team of the year. You need to live up to that image, Clay.”

  My jaw tightens. I get this talk every few months. I should be nicer. I should smile more. I shouldn’t answer all my interview questions so seriously.

  Why do I get so much shit for being myself? I’m not some bubbly friendly kid like Jett, and I’m no flirtatious womanizer like Zach. Aiden has pretty much always been the golden boy—always smiling and taking pictures and never refusing an autograph. They do a good job of all that wholesome bullshit that Marcus wants. Why can’t it just be enough that I’m a good racer?

  “Yeah, okay,” I say because I know my boss wants an answer.

  “This will be fun,” Aiden says. I don’t think he’s talking about the new kid-teaching tour we’re going on. I think he’s talking about me.

  “Are we done?” I say.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Marcus says. “I’ll email you the itinerary and your flight confirmation. We’re all meeting in Dallas for the first training camp.”

  I hang up without saying bye and then I sit up on the couch and run my fingers through my hair. It’s only been a few months since I let it grow back out, so it’s still pretty short. It’s also a lot darker than usual. My hair used to be blonde when I was a kid, and the older I get the darker it becomes. It might be because I’m rarely in the sun anymore. Any time I am outside, my helmet is covering up my head.

  I stand up and pull open my front door, breathing in the scent of the west coast. I can only see a sliver of the beach from here, which is why my apartment is so cheap for being in Laguna Beach. But I don’t need a fancy view. All I have to do is walk across Coast Highway and around the stores that face my apartment and I’m at the beach. Next to motocross, surfing is my favorite thing. I picked it up on a whim after moving here once my grandfather passed and left me everything he owned. I wasn’t that good at surfing and it definitely didn’t come naturally to me like motocross did, but it’s fun. I can relax on a surfboard. I can’t relax on a dirt bike. I’m always focused on improving my form, shaving just a few seconds off my lap time. Motocross is my career.

  Surfing is for fun.

  After the news that my month off is totally screwed, I change into my wetsuit and grab my board.

  The best part of living in California is that December is never that cold. Surfboard in hand, I jog across the highway and down the concrete steps to the beach. Not many people are out here today, and I’m grateful for the solitude. Unlike my teammates, I don’t need to be surrounded by friends. I prefer being alone. Maybe that’s why people think I’m an asshole.

  I’m not. I just have no desire to be all friendly for no damn reason. Can’t a guy just be left alone?

  I step out into the water, trying to clear my head. The sun makes the ocean sparkle. I take a deep breath and try to clear away all the annoying thoughts about the next three weeks. Kids? Parents? Teaching? I’m not a trained coach. I’m just a racer. I know what works for me. How the hell am I supposed to teach some random kids about riding?

  Dropping down on my surfboard, I paddle out further, trying to leave my stresses behind. It’s not really working today. But I’m going to stay on this surfboard until I’m not as annoyed anymore.

  Chapter 3

  I can’t believe this is happening. I got the reply email two days after I submitted my internship application. And now, here I am, nervous as hell, about to head to my interview.

  “You be careful,” Mom says. She’s shivering in her pajamas as she stands next to me in the driveway. It’s six in the morning, and she doesn’t have to get ready for work yet. Dallas is an hour drive from Green Leaf, and my interview is at eight sharp. Luckily Mom can get a ride to work with Dad since their schools are next door to each other.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, flashing my mom a confident smile.

  Mom’s worried expression doesn’t go away, despite my best efforts to reassure her. “You drive safely. Keep an eye on the road. Dallas drivers are terrible,” she says with a grimace. “I hate driving to Dallas.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say. “I promise.”

  She smiles and gives me a goodbye hug. Dad has never been much of a morning person, so he’s still asleep, but he’d given me the same “be safe” lecture last night.

  It’s just an hour’s drive. It’s really not that big of a deal. I’m almost nineteen years old and I’ve been driving for almost four years now.

  Once my mom finally lets me go, my nerves ramp up to crazy levels. I haven’t even driven out of town yet and I’m already so nervous I think I could puke.

  I had one phone interview with a man named Marcus, and it went well enough that he’d invited me for the second, official interview. I have to remind myself about the great phone interview every time I start getting nervous. The first interview went well! This one will, too.

  I’d felt stupid as I admitted that I didn’t know much about motocross when he aske
d. And I might have fudged my experience a little, by saying I “loved” watching the Dallas professional races. I didn’t tell him I’d only been to one race my whole life. But he hadn’t asked me much about the sport. Instead, he verified that I’m free to travel and that I can stay busy and work hard.

  Check, and check. I am so ready to leave this town. I’m ready to get out and experience the world. Of all the internships I’ve applied for since summer, this is my first call back. I grip the steering wheel and take a deep breath. I can’t blow it.

  In the two days since I got the call, I’ve been studying Team Loco and motocross online. I learned that there are regular dirt bike riders who ride just for fun at local tracks, just like how you’d play basketball for fun at a park. Those tracks have races, too, but they’re just a local thing. Then there are the big leagues. Like pro football, only with dirt bikes. That’s what Team Loco is—a professional motocross racing team.

  They hire racers to represent their brand and race in the supercross and motocross seasons each year. From what I gathered online, supercross is what they call races that take place in a stadium, like what I saw with Mandy and her family. The supercross races travel from state to state and they build an entire dirt bike track on the floor of the stadium and then tear it down after the race so that the stadium goes back to normal for football games or concerts or whatever. I read that the stadium in Houston has a big storage facility where they keep all the dirt they use for the races, and it gets trucked in every year to build the track again. That’s so much work for just one day of racing.

  Motocross is a little different. It’s the professional races that take place outside on real tracks that operate all year long. There are both motocross and supercross seasons each year, and people really seem to love it.

  I was practically dancing up and down when I read the list of states that host professional races. California, Arizona, Colorado, Florida—just to name a few. If I get this job, I’ll get to travel all over the country and visit the biggest cities. I’ll finally get out of my small town and maybe I’ll discover what I want to do with my life. Maybe I can find myself. If not, at least I’ll have an adventure.

  So much is riding on this internship and before I know it, the sun has risen over the horizon and I see the Welcome to Dallas street sign on Interstate 45.

  I can’t believe the time has flown by so fast. As people start heading to work, the road fills up with cars, and I check the time on my phone, worried that I might be late. I’d left early enough to give myself half an hour before my interview, but by the time I pull up to the address Marcus gave me, there are only seven minutes to spare.

  Crap.

  The Hilton hotel has a separate business entrance off to the side, which is where Marcus told me to meet him in conference room 2.

  I take one last look at myself in the rearview mirror of my car. There are only five minutes until my interview starts and my heart is pounding. But at least my makeup looks good.

  I had my hair trimmed recently, so my light brown locks are neat and not one long tangled mess like they had been before school ended. My hair is smooth and silky thanks to a conditioning treatment I did last night, and my makeup is soft and professional. I have a nude lipstick and a soft smoky eye. It felt good putting on makeup and nice clothes after so many months of lounging around the house. I’m wearing a gray pencil skirt, black heels, and a deep purple blouse that makes my eyes pop. Mom said I look like a “young professional,” which I hope is a good thing.

  I also hope I won’t have to wear this sort of outfit every day if I’m going to be traveling and doing work for a sports team. But first impressions matter.

  I take a deep breath and leave the safety of my own car, walking quickly into the building. The conference rooms are easy to find, and soon I am standing just outside of conference room 2.

  I keep my shoulders back and I try to look as confident as possible. The man sitting at the table smiles when he sees me, and he stands up and walks over to shake my hand.

  “Good morning,” he says, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “I’m Marcus. You must be Ms. Dunn.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Have a seat,” Marcus says. He gestures to the table against the wall that’s set up with coffee, pastries, and a fruit tray. “Would you like something to eat?”

  “No thank you,” I say, leaving off the fact that if I were to eat something right now I’d no doubt be puking it up a few seconds later. That’s how insanely nervous I am right now.

  Marcus wears jeans and a black button-up long-sleeved shirt, and I feel overdressed. He’s in his forties, with dark hair that’s been highlighted and gelled at the tips. He’s very tan, and has a distinct pale tan line on his face from where he wears sunglasses.

  Overall though, he seems like a nice guy. Hopefully he’ll also be great to work for.

  Marcus takes a donut and refills his coffee and then sits across from me at the circular table. “I know I told you a lot on the phone, but I’ll try to elaborate more here,” he says, taking a bite of his donut.

  I relax a little. Never in my life has an interviewer eaten a donut during the interview. Maybe I shouldn’t let myself get so nervous.

  Marcus continues. “This is actually the first time we’ve ever had interns. I suggested it a couple of years ago and corporate finally agreed this year. So, I can tell you the job description, but honestly, it might change a bit over time as we figure out what’s best for you to do. Basically, the team travels to the racing location each week during the season, and we stay in hotels and for the race. I’m in charge of coordinating the TV interviews and fan autographs and stuff like that, but a lot of times it’s overwhelming. I need someone to be my assistant, but someone who will also find ways to help out wherever they’re needed. Maybe that’s helping me book a hotel room, or ordering dinner for the guys, or running back to the big rig to get a new set of gloves if one of the guys rips a hole in one just before the race. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in?”

  Hell yes.

  I smile brightly. “Yes, sir, that actually sounds fun. I love staying busy and I’m very organized. I’d be happy to help you schedule and keep track of things.”

  “Perfect,” he says, finishing his donut. “That’s what I want to hear. And how do you feel about flying? You scared of it?”

  “As long as the flying is in a plane, I’m cool with it,” I say.

  He laughs. “Good. I’ve interviewed two people who said they were terrified of flying. They thought we’d be driving everywhere like a tour bus for a band or something.” He shakes his head. “No way—we fly. First class most of the time. If you’re good with that then you’re my best candidate so far.”

  I grin. “I love flying.”

  I’ve only been on an airplane once, for a family vacation to Disney when I was twelve, but I loved it, so I’m not exactly lying.

  There’s a tap on the door, and I turn around to see a guy about my age standing in the doorway. “Hey, boss?” he says, glancing at me. “Oh, sorry.” He flashes me a bright white smile.

  “What’s up, Jett?” Marcus says.

  “Some lady on Facebook has been sending messages to all of us asking if she can pay us to give private lessons to her son while we’re in Dallas. We’ve all politely said no and she won’t stop and now she’s demanding that we put her in contact with someone on Team Loco’s management.”

  “Of course,” Marcus says with an annoyed sigh. “I’ll deal with it in a minute.” He glances at his watch. “Hey, Jett? Ya’ll got five minutes until the thing in the lobby.”

  “I know,” Jett says, tapping the door frame. “I’m on it.” He disappears and I turn back to Marcus.

  Marcus sighs. “See what I mean? I’m always putting out fires. I need someone to help me with them.”

  “Consider me your fire extinguisher,” I say with a grin.

  This makes him laugh. “I like you
, Miss Dunn. You have a good personality and a willingness to learn. Are you available for next year too?”

  I tell him I’m free, and that I have no other obligations that would get in the way of working for him. He tells me again about the per diem and the accommodations that Team Loco provides, and the way he’s talking, it’s like I’ve already gotten the job. I’m scared to ask, though. Maybe he talks like this to everyone who interviews?

  How many more people will he interview before he makes his decision? I bite my lip while he talks, wondering if this will all be for nothing.

  Marcus checks his watch and stands up. I stand up, too, and we walk toward the door together. “If you’ll follow me,” he says, leading me out into the hallway.

  There are more people than earlier in the hallways, and they don’t look like business people. Teenagers, kids, and parents are all walking toward the same direction that I am with Marcus. He leads me past the crowd and into a large event room that is set up with tables and chairs, like a panel at a comic convention. There are Team Loco banners everywhere, and even four shiny clean dirt bikes sitting on aluminum stands. There’s a rope partition keeping the spectators away from the bikes, but kids are lined up, pushing past each other to see them.

  “We’re having an event today,” Marcus says, gesturing to the surroundings. “Team Loco is visiting five different cities this month and putting on a training camp for kids at each one. We’re starting off with a meet and greet, some PR, that kinda thing.”

  I nod along like I understand even though I’m still taking all of this in. There’s another roped off area in the corner, with leather couches and a catering display of foods set out. A woman with a cameraman by her side is talking to a muscular guy wearing jeans and a red shirt. His messy brown hair looks like he just woke up, but he grins into the camera as he answers the woman’s questions.

  “This is the team,” Marcus tells me. But there’s so much commotion and stuff going on that it’s not really a personal introduction. He’s just showing me the guys that are all behind the VIP-only barrier. I see the first guy who is giving the interview, and then the guy named Jett is sitting next to another guy with broad shoulders and a sharp jawline. A beautiful girl sits in Jett’s lap and she’s laughing at whatever jawline dude said.