My heart swells. No instruction on which brake to use—the rear, not the front or I’ll pitch over the front of the bike—or coddling words to be careful. Just ‘see you at the bottom.’
He stands on the pedals, his body pushed back so his butt extends beyond the seat to keep his weight at the back of the bike. The muscles in his arms ripple as he navigates the turn and he’s almost out of sight when I snap out of my daze.
My turn.
I flip my pedals around so I can stand without pushing off and let gravity pull me forward. I mimic his stance, using my arms and legs to support myself. The front tire bounces over loose rocks and I apply the rear brake—the one on the right—so I’m barely rolling downhill. I keep my left fingers gripped around the handlebar so I don’t accidentally use the front brake. No headers for me today.
My speed picks up and I squeeze the brakes lightly. I’ll never get to the bottom if I don’t build some momentum, but I’d rather get to the bottom in one piece slowly than wipe out. But I loosen my grip on the brake. My bike vibrates over the uneven ground, shaking my arms and rattling my teeth. A cool breeze winds through the trees, chilling my skin and reminding me that I’m just a small part of the forest. There’s a whole world here carrying on with its day-to-day business of foraging for nuts and providing oxygen, not worrying about the girl cutting through their home on a bike.
I round the last bend and skid to a stop. Mica’s talking to a guy at the edge of the trail and they’re both looking at the guy’s bike. It’s a sleek matte black Specialized and looks like it’s barely been ridden. His helmet and clothes look new too—but who am I to judge?
“Everything okay?”
The guy looks up. He’s older than us—like my dad’s age old—and blood’s oozing from a cut on his forehead. “Got a flat.”
“And a cut,” I reply.
He touches his forehead, then looks at the blood that comes away on his hand.
I reach into the front pocket of my shorts and pull out a bandage.
Mica cocks his head. “You have Band-Aids?”
“I have everything.” Mica already has his flat kit out so I leave mine in my pocket, but I’m bursting with pride at being prepared and able to help someone.
Mica gets to work on patching the guy’s tire tube so I step closer to look at the wound. “I’m no nurse, but that might need stitches.”
The man pales. I touch his arm and he lets out a breath and closes his eyes. “You really think so?”
“Dude, I’m sixteen. I have no idea.”
Mica looks up from the tire, a question in his eyes, and I bite my lip. I just gave away my age.
“Can you use your shirt to wipe up the blood?” I may not be a nurse, but I know better than to let some stranger bleed all over me.
He lifts the hem of his shirt, exposing his pale, hairy belly, and blots his forehead. The sweat-wicking material isn’t the best for soaking up blood and streaks color his face and run into his hairline.
“That’ll work.” I open the bandage and stick it over the cut. “I’d check a mirror before you go home. Your wife might have a heart attack if she sees you like this.”
He touches the bandage and smiles. “Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do if you two kids hadn’t come along.”
Mica stands, stretching his back. “You’d be walking outta here is what you’d be doing.” He smiles, but it’s not the same gentle smile I’ve grown accustomed to. He pulls a small pump out of another pocket and connects the nozzle to the tire. The man and I watch as Mica pumps air into the patched tire. When he’s finished, he pockets his tools and hands the man a business card. “You need to carry equipment if you’re riding solo.”
He laughs nervously. “Yeah, I must have left my tools in the car.”
Mica points at the card. “This’ll get you fifteen percent off.”
The man studies the card for a second before slipping it into his apparently empty pockets. “Thanks.” He faces me and holds out his hand. It’s covered in blood and I recoil. “Oh, sorry.” He chuckles. “I appreciate the help.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Ready, Mike?” Mica’s already back on his bike.
I get on my bike and wave at the man. “Ready.”
He pedals hard on the straight-away, and my mind swirls with this different side of him, adding to the pieces I already know. I like that he took charge and didn’t hesitate. That he knew exactly what needed to be done to help the man. And most importantly, that he managed to reprimand the guy for not being prepared without coming off like a jackass.
We wind through the trees, low branches brushing my arms and legs. The hills aren’t as steep on this stretch and I’m able to concentrate on my form. I try to mimic how he tackles tight turns so I don’t lose my balance, leaning into the turn to maintain momentum and switching gears to help on inclines. A thought flits through my mind to try to pass him, but I chicken out. When we reach the stream, I’m ready for a break.
Mica stops right at the edge and straddles his bike. He sucks on his water bottle for a long minute, then slides it back into the holder. “How are you feeling?”
I take a drink before answering. “Good. Getting tired. We should probably head back soon.”
His smile fades, but he covers it by looking up at the trees.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” He lets out a breath. “That guy.” He shakes his head. “They come into the store to get fitted with all the top gear, drop thousands of dollars on a bike, but when we show them the tools, they leave ‘em on the rack.” He looks at me. “Everyone pops a tire or wipes out. It’s just a matter of time. It’s irresponsible to be out here without the right equipment.”
My hand drifts to my pockets. I’ve got a kit similar to Mica’s but the bandages were a last-minute addition.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a smile that sends my heart racing. “You got any snacks in there?”
I make a show of patting every pocket—and there’s a lot—then hold up my empty hands. “I got nothing.”
“Bummer.”
He flicks the brake lever—something I’m starting to realize he does when he’s nervous—but whatever he’s thinking is cut short by a fog horn blasting from my pocket.
“Shit.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Storm rolling in?”
“That’s my you-better-be-in-the-car-heading-home reminder.”
He takes in the wall of trees surrounding us. “Does that mean we have to save the stream for next time?”
Inside, I’m jumping up and down, but I keep my smile at a normal level. “Afraid so.” I look around, trying to soak in the woods before we have to leave, and notice a section of trees with black scorch marks. “Is that from a fire?”
Mica follows my gaze and frowns. “That’s from a couple summers ago. This underbrush is all new since then.”
Lush plants as high as my knee surround the blackened trees. It’s like they hold the only evidence of what happened. “That’s scary.”
“Kurt’s always saying that it’s natures way of hitting refresh, but I kinda like it the way it is.”
I look at him like I’m seeing him for the first time. I knew he loved it out here, but I didn’t realize just how much. My phone buzzes again and I sigh. “Any chance there’s a shortcut back to the parking lot?”
He leads me on a different route, cutting through trees to switch trails.
“How do you know these trails so well?” I shout at his back.
“I practically live in these woods,” he calls over his shoulder.
I’m so focused on staying close behind him that I don’t see the chipmunk until it darts in front of me. I let out a squeal and squeeze both brakes. My back tire lifts from the sudden stop and I close my eyes, not wanting to see whatever’s about to happen, but it slams back to the ground in a thud. I slip off the pedals, scraping my leg against the metal teeth of the pedal, and slam my crotch into the crossbar. But I’m upright.
> Mica’s at my side in a heartbeat. His fingers graze my hip, leg, shoulder, then finally my chin. “You okay?”
My heart hammers in my chest. His hazel eyes dance in the light trickling through the trees and his touch sets my skin on fire. And it feels like someone slammed me in the crotch with a metal pipe. “Chipmunk.”
He laughs softly, the skin around his eyes crinkling, then slaps his hand over his mouth.
I cock my head.
“I promised I wouldn’t laugh if you screamed.”
I laugh, then grab his fingers without thinking. We stare at our hands, touching for the first time, and our eyes meet again. Is he going to kiss me? The thought runs through my mind so fast that I don’t realize I’m licking my lips until his gaze drops to my mouth.
But he steps back, slowly releasing my hand. “So why do you have a crazy early curfew?”
Panic crushes the lightness inside me. “My parents. It’s a long story. I’m supposed to be studying.”
“For a test?”
“In general.”
He nods. “Then we better get you back.”
When I turn the corner onto my street, the excitement from the past couple hours deflates.
Mom’s car is in the driveway.
“Shit!” I smack my hand on the steering wheel and the horn honks, startling my neighbor walking her dog. “Sorry,” I call out the window. I knew I’d be cutting it close, but we were having so much fun I didn’t want to leave. At least I was so rushed by the time we got back to our cars that there wasn’t time for an awkward goodbye. He helped me shove my bike in the Bronco, I gave him a quick hug, then took off.
And now I’m going to pay for it.
I pull into the driveway and look down at my dirt-streaked clothes. There’s no way she’ll believe I’ve been studying at the library.
Trail Rule #9: If you screw up, own it.
I leave my bike in the back, throw my bag over my shoulder, and walk through the front door with my head held high. Mom’s sitting at the kitchen table reading her tablet. “Hi. Let me shower quick and I’ll help with dinner.”
“Wait just a minute, young lady.” Her clipped tone leaves no room for getting out of this, but I turn back to face her and smile sweetly anyway.
“What’s up?”
“What’s up?” she repeats. “I believe your father and I told you that you’re to stay home after school to study. This,” she waves a hand at my general being, her eyes narrowing at my dirty clothes, “is not studying.”
“So now I’m not allowed to exercise?”
She lets out a long sigh and stares at the ceiling. “Mike, our rules aren’t meant to punish you. We’re trying to help you prepare for the future. College will come as less of a shock if you buckle down now.”
My mind jumps back to my Ethics test. Sure, I could have studied a bit more but who knows if it would actually help. I’ve never been good at school and I don’t see how that’s going to suddenly change now. “I went for a bike ride. It’s not like I’m backpacking across the country and skipping class.” Although that sounds pretty tempting right about now.
Her glare softens. “Who were you riding with? I thought Evan has practice.”
Her words are like a dagger to my heart. Does she seriously not remember that we broke up?
She must read it in my face because her eyes go wide and her hand flutters to her throat. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
I push past her on my way to the stairs. “That must be where I get it from.”
“Mikayla!” She gasps behind me but I don’t turn around.
After showering, I don’t go downstairs to help with dinner. Cally should be home from practice soon so I send her a text. It was just us.
I flip through my homework until she replies.
So a date?!?!
I smile. Seemed like it.
My screen fills with heart emojis. How was it?
Fun. Relaxed. He got me on a blue AND a baby black.
And I didn’t even feel the ground shake.
I snort.
Too soon?
Nah, I was thinking the same thing.
So did anything happen?
I kind of wanted him to kiss me, but I’m glad he didn’t.
Liar.
I laugh. At least not yet. It feels too soon.
So when do you see him again?
I’m an idiot.
What’d you do?
I was in a hurry to get home so I bolted.
He’ll ask you out.
I think back to the moment when he suddenly seemed nervous—right when my alarm went off. Maybe he was about to ask me out. We were talking about food. I hope so. How was practice?
Brutal. But awesome. I’ve missed this.
We chat about practice and school and the upcoming ski season until Mom calls me down for dinner. For a brief moment I consider not eating, but whatever they have waiting for me won’t go away because I skip a meal. I plug my phone into the charger next to my bed and hum a funeral march tune as I enter the dining room.
“Very funny,” Mom says when I sit down. She doesn’t seem as prickly as she was when I got home, but maybe she tasked Dad with the heavy lifting this time.
I look her in the eye. My chest is tight, but she might go easier on me if I’m the one who brings it up. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier.”
She freezes, one oven-mitted hand in the air and the other on the oven handle.
“I know I shouldn’t have reacted that way when I’m the one breaking the rules.”
She opens the oven and pulls out a glass baking dish. “We’re not trying to ruin your life, Mike.”
“I know.” It just feels that way sometimes. “Where’s Dad?”
“Right here,” his voice booms behind me and I jump.
I press my hand to my heart. “Jesus, Dad.”
He sets a bowl of green beans on the table and takes his seat between Mom and me. He smiles, and it’s a tired smile, perhaps even sad—but it’s a smile, not a scowl. “How was school?”
I cut into my chicken breast. “It’s school.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell them how weird Brianna’s acting, and how it’s awkward sitting next to Evan in Chemistry, and how I’m slowly making friends with Hannah’s group—but that’s not what they want to hear. “I have a test coming up in History, and we’ve done some cool experiments in Chem.”
Mom spears a piece of chicken with her fork and points it at me. “How’s Chemistry going with Evan? You’re partners, right?”
I nod, unsure where this is going. “It’s okay. We have to talk during the experiments, but today was just a lecture.”
She leans forward on her elbow, still not eating. “And how are you doing—with the breakup, I mean.”
I shrug. It’s not like them to ask and I can’t shake the feeling this is leading someplace I won’t like. “I’m fine.”
“I hope you didn’t think we meant you couldn’t date him at all,” she says, and it’s like another dagger to the heart.
“It’s been coming for a while.” I push the beans around my plate. Talking about our feelings is not typical dinner-time conversation, but they aren’t harping on me for going out after school, so maybe I should throw them a bone. “I miss talking to him. And I worry about how he’s doing, but it’s better this way.”
“I didn’t realize you were the one who ended things,” Dad says.
I glare at him. “Does it matter?”
He holds up his hands. “I didn’t mean to imply it was the other way around, I just didn’t know.” He lowers his hands. “You don’t share much with us, Mike.”
I look between the two of them, and my defensiveness softens. They aren’t attacking me or criticizing my poor decisions—they seem concerned. “Where is this coming from?”
“We realize we may have been a little hard on you before,” Mom says. “School is important and we don’t want you to miss any opportunities, but Maddy—”
I hold up a hand and close my eyes. “I don’t want to hear about how fabulous Maddy is and why can’t I be more like her.”
“Can I finish?”
I open my eyes.
“Your sister suggested that we lay off a bit.” She smiles. “Her words.”
Interesting.
“We haven’t been fair to you,” Dad says. “You and your sister are two very different people, as she not so gently pointed out when I talked to her last.”
And as I’ve been telling them for years.
“This doesn’t mean we’re going to stop encouraging you to do the best you can,” he continues. “But we realize that cutting you off from your friends isn’t the way to do it.”
“As you clearly demonstrated this evening,” Mom says.
Point Mom. “Does this mean you’re lifting the ban on doing stuff after school?”
“If you’re home by dinner, then we’re okay,” she says. “We know other things will come up. All we ask is that you talk to us rather than hiding what you’re doing.”
I look down at my plate. Elation and guilt swirl through me, leaving me exhausted. “I’m sorry I lied.”
Dad grabs my hand and I look up. “We didn’t give you much of a choice. We see that now. But you need to talk to us more.”
Mom clears her throat. “We’re on your team.”
“But no more lying,” Dad says. “Or you’ll be grounded for real.”
I bob my head. “Thank you. Really. And I’m sorry that school doesn’t hold the same fascination for me as it did for Maddy, but I do try, I swear.” I take a breath. “I hate that I don’t know what I want to do when I grow up, but I don’t.”
“It’ll come with time,” Dad says. “I didn’t declare my major until my junior year of college.” My jaw drops, and he laughs. “We can’t all be as perfect as your mother.”
She swats him with her napkin and they share a laugh, leaving my head spinning. Who are these people and what have they done with my parents?
“So I’m cool to go riding again tomorrow?”
“Who are you going with?” Dad asks.
“My friend Hannah.” I hope they don’t ask who I was with today because I’m not ready for a full-on truthfest. Not yet.
“You’ve never mentioned her before,” Mom says.
The Trail Rules (The Rules Series Book 2) Page 17