Lindsay's Joyride

by Molly Hurford

  “Crush it,” Phoebe whispers. She squeezes my shoulder and steps back.

  I take a deep breath.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” one judge says as the kid who just finished his set collapses on a bench, looking almost as drained as Jen.

  I step onto my bike, put one foot on the pedal, and clutch my handlebars. I tell myself to breathe and relax. For a split second, I consider turning around and running away, but I can actually hear Ali, Jen, and Phoebe cheering for me. I have friends. They think I can handle this.

  I think I can handle this.

  I drop in. Thankfully, I manage to get my other foot onto my pedal and get three quick pedal strokes in before hitting the first of the four bumps. Up and over, nice and smooth, though no air. I push down to get more momentum on the backside of the bump, and when I crest over the second one, I have enough speed to lift my wheels just a bit above the surface. Two down. On the third, I get nervous and almost bobble at the top but push my front wheel forward to make it over without pedaling. I don’t have enough time to start panicking before the fourth and last bump looms in front of me, so I push my weight into it and try to think light at the top. I manage to lift myself a couple of inches, but it feels like I’m getting a foot of air.

  When my rear wheel touches down on the ground, I realize that I’ve made it. I survived! And I don’t think I even did that badly!

  The judges are at the top of the jumps when I get there, out of breath and my heart racing. They’re smiling when I glance over, and I just know that I’ve advanced to the next round.

  I can hear Dave cheering from the stands, but it’s not just him—a few seats over from where he is, I see Phoebe’s parents holding up a sign with my name on it. I can’t believe they’re here! (Tía Maria has a combination of terror and pride on her face, and I imagine this is hard for her to watch since she’s so nervous about crashing.)

  As I sit down, I glance over my shoulder and see Ali, looking grim and determined at the start line.

  All of a sudden, a trio of voices boom out, “ALI!” and all of us jump—including poor Ali, who’s already nervous enough. A herd of massive boys is making their way through the crowd, and even though a judge tries to protest their passage, they all swarm Ali and give her a huge group hug.

  “I think those are her brothers,” Jen whispers.

  “Lucky her,” I say, and I really do mean it—they form a wall around her and seem to just be projecting strength and excitement.

  Unfortunately, Ali doesn’t seem as psyched in the middle of the huddle. In fact, rather than seeming relieved to see familiar faces, she’s turned a light shade of green. She looks more nervous than Jen and me combined—and we were pretty nervous.

  The judge leans over and says, “It’s your turn, Ali,” and she swallows hard.

  Her brothers shift from the group hug and gather right at the finishing platform, loudly calling her name and hooting. I’m both jealous that she has brothers who seem to be excited for her, and glad that I didn’t have a cheering section–slash–peanut gallery when I had my turn.

  She almost stutters as she starts—I can see her foot twitch before it lands safely on the pedal—but she’s off. That nervous energy must have helped, because she’s going just a bit faster than we’ve done in practice, and when she hits the first bump, she pops up in the air, just hovering slightly over the jump before precisely landing on the backside.

  “Textbook perfect,” I hear one brother say to another, surprised.

  The next jump is even higher, and the third is equally well done. She pumps her arms heading down the back of that one and pulls her body up for the last jump, going higher than any of the guys did on the three-foot bump. The crowd—her brothers especially—goes wild.

  She seems stunned when she gets back on the platform and steps off her bike, especially since her trio of burly brothers bum-rush her for more bear hugs. Ten minutes later, when the judges tack up the score sheet from round one, I’m too scared to look, so Jen and Ali go over together. They return, grinning from ear to ear.

  “We made it!” Jen declares, and we start jumping up and down. Again, this is new for me. I’ve never squealed or jumped up and down with a group of girlfriends in my entire life, but you know what? It feels right. Phoebe bounces over and joins in the jumping, telling us that she’s super proud of how far we’ve come.

  Suddenly, it hits me. We’re going to have to do this all again, on bigger jumps, in an hour. Instead of being nervous, I’m just thrilled.

  A few minutes later, when the excitement has finally started to wear off, I’m sitting on a bench hidden away from everyone, shaking a little and trying to keep my cool. Speaking of cool, Phoebe pops up behind me and leans over the bench.

  “How are you doing?” she asks sympathetically. “You’ve had a pretty crazy day!”

  “Well, I was good before, but now I’m getting a little nervous,” I admit, trying to look casual even as I feel like I could vomit everywhere.

  “It’s scary, isn’t it?” she says, and I nod. “You know, I feel the same way when I do these competitions too. But didn’t it feel awesome finishing that last round?”

  I nod again.

  “The thing is, if you don’t do the scary stuff, it’s way harder to get that feeling,” she says. “Besides, chasing down Sam and doing that crazy trick was way harder than these bigger jumps, trust me.”

  Ali and Jen roll up on their bikes, cutting off our heart-to-heart. Ali slumps down beside me, looking exhausted. “Tough day?” Phoebe asks.

  “My brothers are here,” Ali replies weakly, as though that explains everything.

  “And they were cheering like crazy!” Jen says. “I don’t get why you’re so bummed about it. I love it when I have a cheering section….I kind of miss it, actually. You’re lucky!”

  “It’s just that they’ve always been really hard to impress, and I’ve never been able to get as good as they are,” Ali says.

  “Wait a second,” Phoebe interjects. “Your brother is Joe Deign, right?”

  Ali nods.

  “Ha!” Phoebe barks out a laugh. “You think he’s always been that good? I was in a competition with him a few years ago, and he bobbled so hard on the first round that he fell off the jump!”

  Ali looks stunned. “Seriously?” she asks.

  “Seriously. You don’t get as good as your brothers without taking a few spills,” Phoebe explains. “That’s all part of it. So even if they’re being tough on you, they’re just trying to help, in their own really, truly, incredibly dumb way.”

  Jen jumps in: “Also, they probably smell awful.”

  “That too,” Phoebe says thoughtfully. And just as we all seem like we’re calmed down, we hear our names being called over the loudspeaker. Everyone in round two is to line up at the platform for the next set. We all look at each other, panicked.

  “Girls,” Phoebe says, a teensy bit impatiently. “You got this.”

  We all clasp hands again, before hopping onto our bikes and pedaling toward the platform. As we roll up, Ali’s brothers pat her on the back excitedly. Dave, standing across the platform, gives me a crooked grin. And an older couple wearing matching Joyride T-shirts, looking almost as tiny as some of the really young riders, are holding up a sign that says, “Go, Jen!”

  “My grandparents,” she explains. “I tried to tell them they wouldn’t fit in with the crowd here, but they insisted on coming anyway.”

  “They’re awesome,” says Phoebe enthusiastically. “I think it’s great that they’re here.”

  And it really is. Except maybe in the next thirty seconds, when her grandmother reaches over and yanks up one boy’s dropping jeans. “I can see your underpants,” she squawks.

  “Grandma!” Jen hisses furiously.

  “What?” she asks, all innocent. Behind her, Jen�
�s grandfather looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

  The judges call up the first rider, who—thankfully—isn’t any of us. I watch him take off and, after a slight bobble on the first bump, make a strong recovery as he hits the next three jumps with finesse. That makes me feel better about my chances. I don’t have to do anything earth-shattering, just reasonably controlled. I can handle that. Controlled. Collected. Like how Catwoman would be facing down Batman. I’ve totally got this.

  Jen is called next, and her grandparents get even louder, despite her frantic hushing noises as she heads to the line. She stares down the steep drop-off that starts the set. Jen looks a little paralyzed while also managing to look like she’s about to throw up. It isn’t a pretty picture, and just seeing her face makes me clench in sympathy, and nerves.

  “You can do it, snookums!” cheers her grandfather. Ali stifles a giggle—I can tell she’s relieved not to be the only one with embarrassing family present. But before we can start giggling too much, Jen has dropped in and she’s heading up the first jump, and we’re holding our collective breath.

  She makes a slight bobble at the top and only lifts her front wheel off the ground, but she comes down the backside of the bump smoothly. She hits the next one a lot better, getting a few inches off the ground and looking a little less rigid.

  By the third one, she tries to show off, and that’s when she botches the lift, slamming her wheel down a bit hard on the backside. Her last jump is pretty tiny and she just barely gets air, but it’s clean otherwise.

  She rolls back up on the platform, drops her bike, and hurls herself into her grandfather’s arms, who hugs her tightly. I’ve never seen her get emotional, but it’s obvious how much she loves her grandparents and how much they love her. Her grandma has enveloped both of them in her arms. I can see tears in her eyes. I don’t think Jen will win, but it looks like her grandparents are about as proud of her now as they would be if she took home a gold medal.

  Ali is starting to look green again, since she’s up in a couple of minutes, and Phoebe comes over to pat her back and whisper a few words of encouragement.

  She’s sweating even before she starts, lining up and wiping her forehead on her sleeve. And then the judge blows the whistle. Ali doesn’t hesitate for a second, just dives in.

  And she absolutely nails it.

  It’s the best run of the day. Phoebe is shrieking, and so are Jen and I. Ali hits all four jumps, using her momentum to pop up both wheels into the air, and doesn’t even need to push the pedals slightly to keep her momentum going. She’s got a natural flow, and it looks beautiful. She doesn’t look like the nervous girl who started the run anymore—she looks calm and confident.

  When she pops back onto the platform, she smiles so wide that I think her face is going to crack, and this time when her brothers rush her and start hugging her and shouting, she doesn’t look terrified. She looks stoked.

  The kid who drops in as Ali is still getting hugged looks ultra-confident, and for good reason. He might technically be a beginner, but he clearly has some serious skills. He looks effortless as he glides up and over, with casual jumps at the top of each bump. It’s pretty clear that he’s going to be a top contender by the way the judges are murmuring and smiling, and I’m prepared to hate him for stealing Ali’s thunder. But when he finishes and looks relieved and also nervous enough to throw up, I realize that he’s just as scared as I am….Maybe even more, since clearly he has a ton of natural talent, and a lot more to prove. I’ll feel good if I finish this without falling over, but it’s obvious that he knows he’s good and wants to do well. He kind of reminds me of Jen—come to think of it, maybe they should hang out.

  Jen does seem to be staring pretty hard at him, and I can’t tell if she’s jealous, if she wants him to give her some pointers, or if she’s developed a crush. Possibly it’s all three.

  And then it occurs to me that, in about ninety seconds, I’m going to have to drop in, and the fear strikes again. Is this going to happen every single time I compete? I’m not sure whether this makes things better or worse, but once again, my knees feel like jelly, like when I’m going over a particularly bumpy section of pavement on the bike. I can actually feel my stomach turning. It’s not a great sensation—I wish they provided barf bags on the platform like they do on planes.

  I walk my way to the starting grid like someone who’s about to walk the plank. I mean, really, other than the bike involved, it’s kind of a similar thing. This is starting to seem a little cruel and inhuman. Phoebe waggles her eyebrows, and if you ask me, she does it kind of villainously.

  I can tell that the judges are about to signal my start. When I hear the high-pitched shriek, I drop in.

  It’s not my smoothest tiny hop at the top of the first whoop, but it’s certainly not my worst. Honestly, I’d say it’s in the top ten. I don’t get a lot of air, but my wheels come off the ground and I land at a perfectly straight angle, so I smoothly roll into the second without any problems. In fact, my second one is even better, even though I can hear the blood rushing in my head.

  I actually get both wheels off the ground slightly higher and land it neatly again, going fast enough that the third bump feels like I’m flying. I almost bobble as I touch down, and I’m sure the judges noticed me tense up, but I think I recovered smoothly enough, since I clear the fourth and final bump with no problems. Dimly, I realize that Phoebe is shouting my name, and she’s gotten the crowd to join in.

  When I roll onto the deck, sweaty, shaking, and completely wiped out, I realize two things: (1) that people I don’t know are still chanting my name, and this has never ever happened to me before, and (2) I’m done. Finally. And while I thought I was going to throw up this morning, and I still very well might, I actually had what could be considered fun. In a weird, weird way.

  Ali and Jen rush me and I’m enveloped in yet another big group hug (I could get used to this). When Phoebe joins in, I let my bike topple over behind me, dropping it exactly like she told me not to. We’re all jumping up and down and squealing.

  “You were amazing!” Jen yells.

  “You were fantastic!” I yell back at her.

  “We’re all pretty awesome!” Ali shouts, and then it sinks in.

  I’m finally part of a team.

  We’re waiting together as the judges confer on their scores. In the other room, we can see the pizza party being set up, and I’m finally feeling hungry again. But food is a long way off—they still have to do the advanced competition, and, of course, the prizes get handed out. Sure, I’m getting a little ahead of myself, but still, I can’t wait for it to be over….I’m starving, and I’m definitely ready to party! And I’m also not very patient, as it turns out. Waiting for results is harder than competing!

  Superhero Tip: I feel like I write about food a lot in this journal—superheroes and cyclists need to eat a lot to fuel their training. A hungry superhero isn’t a happy superhero.

  I’d rather be snacking,

  Lindsay

  (A little too Shaggy from Scooby-Doo.)

  CHAPTER 29

  Jen, Ali, and I huddle on the bench. We’re just waiting for the judges to put the final list on the wall. We’re pretty sure Ali’s got it in the bag. She’s at least got to be on the podium in the top three.

  Dave did swing by to high-five us all and winked at me when it was my turn—which Phoebe definitely noticed, judging by the smirk she gave me after. But now he’s over with some friends, probably glad that Sam isn’t there and that his race went well. He finished fifth in a really big field—fifty guys competing—so I can tell he’s pretty happy. Which is good, because I’m hoping to be calm and collected enough to have a real conversation with him later, one where I’m not just stammering along.

  While I’m daydreaming, I miss the fact that the judges have stopped consulting one anothe
r and are moving to post a piece of paper on the bulletin board. I’m clammy with sweat.

  We all rush over to look, and the first thing that hits me is a huge wave of disappointment when I see that none of us won. It’s some kid named Jeremy, who I guess was the guy who went right before me who rode so smoothly on everything.

  But as my eyes go slightly farther down, they almost pop out of my head. There’s Ali in second place, Jen in fifth….My eyes start to blur before I can find my name. Phoebe rushes behind me, practically shoving me into the board in her hurry to look.

  And then I see it. My name, in third place. I got third.

  I got third!

  I feel a punch on my shoulder—it’s Phoebe, and she spins me around and grabs me in a huge hug. “You killed it!” she shouts, and Ali and Jen are right behind her. Jen’s looking a little less excited, but she’s still smiling, so I guess we’re okay.

  “Can’t win ’em all,” she says, but adds, “I’ll get you both next time, though.”

  It’s a great feeling—but before we get a minute to really process it, the advanced competitors are being called up to get in line, and next to me, Phoebe does something surprising.

  She pulls a total Clark Kent move, peeling off her sweatshirt to reveal a Phoebe and the Chainbreakers T-shirt with a competition number pinned to it, and elbow pads already in place. She hands me her sweatshirt and just says, “Hold this for a second, okay?”

  We all just stare as she walks over and grabs her bike from the bike rack, tugs on her helmet, and pedals over to the start platform at the top of the biggest jump line in the park. The guy holding the microphone reading competitors’ names starts talking again. “First up, we have…” He pauses. “Umm…Phoebe Gomez?” He seems confused, probably because there aren’t any other women up on the platform and Phoebe is surrounded by big guys.