Fierce as the Wind

by Tara Wilson Redd

  “No. That was ridiculous. I’m so sorry. It’s just, I get jealous. I always have. Jealous of you and X, jealous of Wyatt and the imaginary person I made up for him to cheat on me with. I hate feeling like I’m the one in our set that doesn’t belong because of money or whatever. I can’t take what I said back, but if you can find it in your heart…”

  But I don’t have the patience to listen to her apologize all flowery like she wants to. The Rei Show has more entertaining episodes I want to see. The ones where we go to the mall and try on clothes, and go to the beach in 1920s swimsuits. The ones where we watch HBO on her parents’ flat-screen, or spend hours doing each other’s hair. Even though I’m still angry, I put my arms around her because she’s Rei and I love her, and even if she feels like she’s on the outside looking in, I know she’s not.

  “I’ve worn your underwear, Rei,” I say when I finally let her go. “That’s a bond that can’t be broken.”

  * * *

  We sit outside the Marriott for a while, catching up, waiting for something. I’m not sure what it is we’re waiting for until X pulls up.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “Rei invited me to come consult.”

  “I invited you because I’m about to show off. I got Miho the greatest late birthday present of all time, and we’re going to go pick it up.”

  “You already got me an early birthday present.”

  “And if you merge an early birthday present with a late birthday present, they average out to a birthday present delivered on your birthday, that I wish I hadn’t missed.”

  “You don’t have to buy me things,” I say.

  “Well, if we’re being honest, it was a gift to myself.”

  I raise my eyebrow at X. He shrugs. He genuinely has no idea what’s going on.

  We go into the hotel, and all the signs in the lobby say multisport fitness expo. It’s packed. We follow Rei, struggling to stay together in the crowd, until we reach a space bigger than my high school’s gym. It’s blocked off with curtains. Behind them, it sounds like a carnival. People are laughing and talking.

  We line up. Everyone around us is an adult. I make myself remember that technically, I’m an adult too. Still, I huddle a little closer to X. A woman scans a QR code on Rei’s phone. She hands us some lanyards, which we shove in our pockets, and we head through the curtain.

  “Welcome to triathlon heaven,” Rei says.

  “Whoa,” I say.

  Inside, there’s a million different booths. I see a weird little pool set up for “wet suit testing,” and at another, a very underdressed lady is giving out samples of an energy drink. There are booths for every schmancy bike brand I can name. A lecture about hydration. Professional athlete signings. Bikes everywhere.

  I see everything in here so differently than I would have at the beginning of the summer. I recognize the cone-shaped helmets as aero helmets, and those shoe covers I used to think looked like moon boots. I know what a trisuit is, chamois butter, arm warmers, why you would need special sunglasses, what all of these strange bumpy rollers are for. I have questions for that expert who’s speaking about periodization, about critical swim speed. I recognize all the training toys I’d love to try out, all the bizarre metrics that Wyatt’s a huge nerd for. What would we learn if we had a heart rate monitor, a power meter? How good could I be? Could I be great at this? Who knows.

  I’m surprised more by what I do know than what I don’t.

  Who cares if we’re the only kids here. These are my people. This is freaking awesome.

  “I have to go on a secret mission,” Rei says.

  “I’m going to go find the gents,” X says.

  “I’m going to go spend every dollar I have,” I say.

  “Meet back here in fifteen?” Rei asks.

  “Deal,” X says.

  “Deal.” I practically float away from them toward the glorious tri nerd market.

  My eyes scan the logos on the canopies. I notice Pipeline Tri Club’s flower in a bike wheel. The charity bike they’re giving away is standing on a pedestal under a spotlight. That Corneille time trial bike is a thing of beauty. I do want to at least sniff around it. Possibly lick it. Haven’t decided.

  I make a beeline for the booth. Maybe I should join their club. Then I would still have a club even after my friends are gone. I’m a little younger than most of them, but I looked online and you only have to be eighteen, and the dues aren’t bad. I almost signed up online, but I got so shy thinking about showing up. I wondered if they’d look at me, look at my junky bike, and think, You?

  But hey, everyone’s gotta start somewhere.

  As I’m walking to check it out, I spot the most bizarre bike I’ve ever seen. I do a double take. I look at my phone. I’ve got fifteen minutes.

  I approach the booth like a moth to the flame. One bike is all angles. Another doesn’t have a seat tube. Sharp bikes that look like one giant knife, like you’re cutting into the wind.

  They’re called “concept bikes.” I’ve seen them online. It makes you wonder what’s possible. There are all kinds of regulations on road bikes you ride in races. But these are bikes without anyone saying “you can’t.” I’m fascinated.

  Except.

  There’s a security guard looking at me.

  I see him out of the corner of my eye, hovering. He’s in a brown uniform. Hotel security.

  No, he’s not watching me. I’m being paranoid. He’s doing his job. He’s looking around.

  I am wearing black sweatpants that I cut off at the knee and an “Uncle Tuba” T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. My hair got sweaty under my helmet on the ride over here, and I didn’t bother to fix it. I have a gym bag full of sweaty clothes from my ride over that probably makes me look a little like I might be homeless.

  I smooth my hair down. It springs right back up.

  I look again.

  He is watching me.

  No, no, no.

  I make myself turn around and look at the bike. It’s like Rei is always saying: I feel like I don’t belong, but that’s just a feeling. This is exactly like J. Crew. I get to be here, same as anyone else. I should be enjoying myself. I am enjoying myself.

  “Miss?”

  I don’t turn around. There are a lot of misses here.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  “Miss? Can I see your badge, please?” the voice asks.

  I turn around. It’s the guard. He doesn’t look angry or cruel. He looks like they all look: suspicious. They’re trained to see things that don’t belong. That’s their job.

  But, joke’s on him: I belong here. I have a ticket. I have every right to be here. So what if I’m the only teenager I see and everyone around me is a middle-aged, super-skinny white guy. Except, I’m not the only girl here. I’m not the only person who isn’t white. The whole Pipeline Tri Club is right there in the corner, and they’re almost all women of color. There are a few others. So why me? Why did he single me out?

  Wait, badge?

  “My what?”

  “Your badge. This is a private event.”

  “Oh, my…my badge,” I say. I am so freaked out that my hands are shaking. He must mean that thing on a lanyard that Rei handed me. Where did I put it? I open my bag and look desperately inside. The stench from the clothes I wore to bike over here hits us both in the face, but I dig deeper. I have so much food in here, because I’m hungry all the time, that it absolutely looks like I’ve been living out of this bag. I glance up. He’s seeing exactly what I’m seeing, smelling exactly what I’m smelling.

  “You’re not allowed to be here,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Without a badge, you’re not allowed to be here.”

  “But I—”

  I stutter out a few more things while I look for it
. The guard rolls his eyes, knowing I’m looking for a badge I couldn’t possibly have. I look up. I’m about to start crying.

  “There’s no need to make a scene. Could you please come with me?” the man asks. He puts his hand on my shoulder.

  Everyone’s eyes are on me.

  I want to disappear.

  * * *

  I am sitting in the manager’s office alone. The security guard deposited me here while he went to find his boss. I am crying now, dumping my entire bag on the floor. His words echo in my head. “You’re not allowed to be here.”

  I give up on my bag and start checking my pockets. I feel it immediately. It’s in my right-hand back pocket. I was too panicked to think of that when he yanked me off the floor. I give a sigh of relief as the door opens.

  The man who steps in isn’t wearing a uniform. He’s in a normal suit. He’s going bald, but he looks friendly.

  “I found it,” I shout. “It was in my pocket.”

  “Oh?” says the manager. “Can I see?”

  I hand it to him. He gives my badge a cursory glance, then hands it back.

  “Second door on the left down the hall, then take the elevator back down,” he says, pointing to the door.

  “That’s…that’s it?” I ask. He laughs, and his smile makes me smile, like a defensive reflex.

  “What were you expecting?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I thought it was more…serious, I guess.”

  He helps me gather my things up off the floor where I dumped them.

  “No, you’re not in trouble. The organizers have our staff being extra vigilant because there’s a lot of expensive junk out there,” he says. “You doing one of these, uh, triathlons?”

  “Yes,” I say quietly. Too quietly. He laughs at me again.

  “I’m sorry we scared you, kiddo. Go out there and have fun. Just keep your badge visible.”

  “Thanks.” I clutch my bag to my chest and head for the door. But something makes me turn back around. He’s already settled into his desk.

  “Why…me?” I ask.

  “What?” he asks, looking up.

  “Why did that guard pick me?”

  “Oh, didn’t they tell you at the door? Security’s supposed to make sure everyone’s got their badges.”

  “Nobody else was wearing a badge.”

  The manager pauses. He stands up from his desk. He comes around to the front of it, then leans back, crossing his arms. I cower a little, like somehow he’s threatening me.

  He gestures to me with two fingers, and it’s like I can’t disobey him, even though I know I don’t have to do what he says. He’s just some hotel manager. I could turn around and run away. But I’m too terrified to do anything but walk toward him.

  I stand in front of him, like a kid about to get scolded.

  “Now, look. Nobody ‘picked’ you. You weren’t wearing a badge. Our guards have instructions to make sure only ticketed guests have access to that space. If you had found your badge and showed it to him, he would have gone on to someone else.”

  “But no one was wearing a badge. And I didn’t see him ask anyone else.”

  “The fact that you didn’t see it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

  “But he was watching me,” I say. I don’t know why I’m still talking. I just want him to say it. I want him to admit to me what happened, so I can believe it myself.

  I know what happened.

  That guard saw someone who didn’t belong here. Someone in cruddy clothes, with messy hair, who wasn’t a skinny white guy. He knew I wasn’t the kind of person who did triathlons. He knew I wasn’t like all the other people around me.

  I know it. I don’t even want him to do anything, I just need someone to say it.

  “Look, kid,” the manager says, his voice low. “What you’re saying, it’s a serious accusation. Now, we had a misunderstanding. See? I’m saying we had a simple misunderstanding. I’m apologizing to you for the inconvenience. But my guy did nothing wrong. You were not ‘profiled’ or ‘singled out.’ ” He makes air quotes, and you can almost hear his eyes rolling. “The rules say you have to wear your badge. You’re welcome here same as everybody, but make sure your badge is visible.”

  “But no one else was wearing their badge! Why did he pick me—”

  “Do you want to get this guy fired? Is that what you want? You want to ruin a man’s life because you had to spend, what, five minutes in this office? I know where you’re going with this. You want to turn this into an ‘incident,’ right? You want to say this was some kind of racist thing. But the truth is, my employee was trying to keep everybody safe. He’s a normal guy, doing his job. And if you pursue this, if you make me file an incident report, he’s going to be unhirable. He will be out of a job before you can blink, because this hotel does not tolerate discrimination. We are a family establishment, and we strive to provide a welcoming environment for every guest.”

  I can’t speak. He’s talking real quiet, like someone might overhear us. He leans back, and I get smaller as he looks at me.

  “So what do you want to do, kid? We’re all happy now, right? You go back out and enjoy yourself. No harm done.”

  I bite my lip. He’s right. No harm done. What did I lose, sitting here in this office?

  “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, cool. No harm done.”

  But as the manager ushers me out of his office, my face is burning, and my heart is pounding. I get off the elevator, and I know people are staring. Maybe they’re not. Maybe I should have been wearing my badge. But even now, no one is wearing theirs. I pull mine out of my pocket and hang it around my neck. Rei and X are waiting, looking around for me.

  “Where did you get off to?” Rei asks. She’s got a box in her arms.

  “I need to go,” I say.

  “What happened?” X asks.

  “Nothing, it was…a misunderstanding,” I say.

  * * *

  We’re all the way to my bike chained up outside the hotel before X and Rei manage to wrangle the story out of me.

  Even as I’m telling them about that dick manager and the racist security guard, I’m defending them: “He probably didn’t consciously pick me out because I look different,” and “The manager was nice, but…”

  X gives me a hug. He gets it. When Rei finally gets the gist of it, the first thing she does is pull out her phone. “What are you doing?” I ask. “Calling our lawyer,” she says, and I have to beg her to let it go. I don’t want that security guard to lose his job. Because it’s never the manager who gets fired. It’s the people who are disposable. People like my dad, like me.

  I hate being the better person. And maybe I’m not the better person. Maybe a lot of security guards have to get fired in order for there to be real change. But that security guard is a person, like me, and that manager put his job in my hands. He will be unhirable. How is that my problem? And yet it is now. And that’s unfair.

  Right now I feel like: if I could stay in my place, everything would be fine. Why do an Ironman? Why go to college? Why stay on this constant climb when I could just…not?

  I sigh. I don’t mean that.

  I need to get on my bike and go as fast as I can. I will let myself be sad and burn it all away so I can try again tomorrow. My legs are shaking, refusing to let me clip into my pedals. I finally get moving and start pedaling up the street, shouting my goodbyes.

  “Miho, wait!” Rei yells. X runs after me.

  “I’m sorry,” I shout back, forcing myself not to cry. “It was a good surprise, but I have to go, I’m sorry.”

  “Miho, watch out!”

  Too late, I see the eyes of the driver as he looks up from his phone.

  Then I feel the bumper of the car.

  chapter twenty-four

  I was in the right. I lie i
n the grass, shaking my head to clear the ringing.

  I was in the right. It was a stop sign. He ran through it.

  I was in the right.

  But what does it matter when my bike is a mangled heap of metal?

  I lie down.

  It’s over.

  * * *

  I hear muttering all around me, that melting-pot sound spiced up with expletives in twelve languages. I’m not hurt. Got the wind knocked out of me. I can hear X asking me something as I sit up, but I’m only half listening. Rei is crying. The driver sped away on one flat tire. That’s what I get from Rei. The crowd of people around us is asking if I’m okay, but I only have one thought running through my mind: my bike.

  “Can one of you grab my bike?” I manage to get out as soon as I find my breath. No one moves.

  A woman sprints over to me. I recognize her from inside. She has a shirt on with the flower in the bike wheel. The Pipeline Tri Club.

  “Sit down,” the woman says, and I do. “I’m a paramedic,” she tells the crowd.

  “Oh god, oh god,” Rei is saying. I realize that my hair is wet near my ear. I touch my hair, and my hand comes away covered in blood. As soon as I see it, I’m nauseous.

  “Okay, honey,” the woman says. “We’re calling an ambulance.”

  “No!” I shout. “Don’t!”

  “You were hit by a car,” the woman says.

  “Please, my friend will drive me to the hospital. I can’t afford an ambulance,” I say. If she calls this ambulance, I might be on the hook for thousands of dollars. That’s the emergency here. I grab her arm. “I feel fine. I was wearing my helmet and everything. I think I just scraped myself and got the wind knocked out of me. I’m good.”

  She looks me over, hesitating with her phone.

  “Are you serious? She’s in shock! Call the ambulance!” Rei says.

  “I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. I’m saying don’t do it because I can’t pay,” I tell her, talking over Rei. I slide my accent. “Please, Auntie.”