“So are they dating now?” I ask, hoping the answer is no or else Shelby had some explaining to do for leaving me out of the loop.
“Nah…not yet, at least. They’re going on some romantic picnic today.” The smallest bit of contempt seeps through his voice.
“Aww! Is this her first boyfriend?”
His finger taps on the steering wheel. “No, but it’s the first one I at least halfway approve of.”
The track isn’t open for practice yet because it’s still an hour until noon, but a large section of parking is filled with tractors and heavy machinery. The professional dirt movers put Marty’s old bulldozer to shame. These bad boys didn’t even have scratches on their paint yet and are all shiny and clean.
Ash follows me up the stairs to the tower. I hold onto the railing tighter than usual hoping to avoid another pathetic fall. But then I realize that if I slipped now, Ash would probably catch me with his exuberant masculine muscles, carry me up the stairs like Fabio and kiss me with the passion only true love knows. Just like Wesley and Buttercup. Well, maybe not the last part because my parents would surely see through the tower’s row of windows, but I allow the thought to linger in my mind until I arrive unharmed at the top.
Dad goes over blueprints with the man from the bulldozer company. He has over fifteen years’ experience in building racetracks, according to the slogan on the back of his shirt. Molly offers us brunch: an elaborate assortment of fruit and appetizers she threw together for our special company today. Molly keeps us so well-fed, Dad could have married her for that quality alone and I would have approved.
Ash sits beside me on the futon, which is a disappointing event after having the pleasure of sitting with him on his bedroom futon. The tower futon sucks in comparison. I feel Molly eyeing us from across the room with a coy sort of motherly affection. Ugh, it’s time for us to leave to avoid any awkward questions she may ask.
“What do I have to do today?” I interrupt Dad and the track-designing expert.
“Just sign in riders for practice,” he retrieves the clipboard from a drawer and hands it to me. “Don’t make Ash pay – he’s a house rider from now on.”
“Oh,” a distracted Ash joins our conversation when he hears his name. “Thank you, sir.”
Dad puts an arm around him and gives him a brotherly squeeze. “Your specialty is the whoops, correct?” Ash nods and Dad smiles. “Great, and what are your weaknesses?”
Ash doesn’t hesitate. “Nothing, sir.”
Ash’s popularity grows annoying as the third girl in a row fawns over him at the track entrance. Her brother signs the clipboard with snail-like speed while she chats with Ash, my Ash, complimenting his riding and hair. The two girls in the truck before her pointed out how cool his dreads were too. I’ve never talked to him about his dreads. Now I wonder if there is a cool story to why he chose the hairstyle besides the fact that it is “super badass” according to Miss Flirty in the backseat.
“Do you get tired of girls talking about your hair?” I ask as I wave through two cars without dirt bikes since they don’t need to pay.
“Not really. It’s more annoying when people ask to buy pot from me, since dreadlocks somehow mean I sell drugs.” He reaches out to shake hands with the driver in the next truck. It’s no surprise that the girl in the backseat swoons over Ash. At least she keeps her hands to herself unlike the last one.
When the opening rush of riders are signed in and paid for, Ash and I are left sitting under the tree, trying to stay in a shaded spot, which changes with the sun. We don’t talk much, and I wonder if he’s even still into me. I mean, he has to like me, right? Why else would he have spent all morning standing around while I worked? If he thought sitting on a weight bench wasn’t the time or place for a first kiss, maybe this tree is more romantic. There isn’t a soul around to see us, only the distant buzz of dirt bikes and the faint smell of exhaust fumes.
Ash leans back on his hands, squinting at me in the sunlight. “I should probably leave soon. I have a lot of work to do at the shop.” My heart rolls over and lurches to a stop. Here I am thinking about landing that first kiss with Ash, and he’s thinking about leaving? We are never on the same page.
“Aren’t you going to practice?” I ask, grasping for anything to keep him talking and not leaving.
“Not today.”
“But it’s your last chance to practice before the big race.” I lean closer to him. Surely he isn’t missing the last day of practice just because he promised his parents he wouldn’t ride anymore?
“The track is getting changed so I don’t see the point.” He rips out a few strands of grass and tears them into small bits.
“You haven’t been on your bike in weeks, Ash. Don’t you want to win?” I studied his eyes for an answer but his poker face was winning this round.
“I won’t win.”
“What? Yes you will.”
“I can’t win.” He tosses the shredded grass into the air. And he sighs – maybe. It’s so hard to tell with him, but I can’t understand why the same guy who told my dad nothing was his weakness on the track is now saying he couldn’t win.
“You’re Ash. THE Ash. You’re going to win this.” I grab his hand, not in the slightest romantic way, but like I would for a best friend. He’s slow to look at me, but when he does, his poker face evaporates and he becomes an open book.
“You don’t understand, Hana. I’m the Ash of Mixon…maybe even the Ash of Texas. But there will be a dozen more riders who are the Ash of their state and I’ll have to race against all of them. I haven’t practiced since Shawn got hurt. Motocross takes extreme dedication, and I’ve let it all fall by the wayside for weeks now.”
His hand is still on mine as I move in front of him and let our knees touch. We are both cross-legged in the grass, close enough to kiss, yet that is the last thing on my mind. Well, maybe the second to last thing.
Ash doubted himself, something I’d thought impossible for the guy who always had everything under control. I don’t know what to do; comforting a girl is easy and can usually be ratified with ice cream and a good cry. Something tells me Ash isn’t going to just cry and get over this.
“You don’t want to be a professional racer anymore?”
“Of course I want it. I’ve wanted it since I was six years old.” How could he want it and not be willing to work for it? It will take some tough love to bring Ash out of his depression and put him back on the track.
“Why do you want it Ash?” I speak forcefully. “Have you forgotten? Because you don’t seem like you want it.”
He wriggles his hands from my grasp but doesn’t back away from me. Instead he returns my glare with one of his own. I want to look away, or at least collapse and apologize for being rude but I hold on just long enough for him to speak.
“I want it for my dead friend. Is that a good enough answer?”
“What..?” I breathe, barely louder than a whisper. I am a jerk. My shoulders fall. I can no longer look him in the eyes. His fingertips touch the bottom of my chin and he leans closer to me. Warmth returns in his eyes. A gentle wind blows strands of my hair into his.
He untangles us, taking care to brush away the bits of hair that dance around my face. He runs his hands through my hair once more, stalling for time. When he finds the words, he stares past me, and tells me his story.
“My childhood best friend Connor died when I was five. His dream was to become a famous motocross racer like Bob Hannah.”
“Like who?” I interject. His eyes dart back to me. “A famous racer back in the day.”
I nod. “Sorry, go on.”
“Well a year after he died, his parents came over and gave me a little Yamaha dirt bike with a bow on it. They had bought it for Connor’s birthday, and he was killed in a car wreck the week before, so he never got to see it. They decided to give it to me so I could live the dream for their son.”
“Wow,” I whisper, wanting to say so much more but unable to find
the right words. He holds both of my hands in his. His finger grazes across the lines in my palm.
“And that’s why I’m 336. It was Connor’s favorite number. As long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a professional rider. Motocross is my life.” He glances at the track behind us and then adds, “I can’t do anything else.”
A thick silence ensues as I absorb the weight of his story.
“And your parents were cool with letting you ride?” I ask. He nods, “My parents and his parents were close friends.”
“That sounds like a very good reason to be on the track right now.” I hold out the clipboard hoping he will sign it. The sound of tires on gravel signal another rider entering the track. Ash glances back and then rushes to stand up, shaking the grass off his jeans with the same haste. He offers a hand to me and I let him pull me up though I’m not ready to end our conversation.
“Sorry.” He frowns. “I have to get back to work.” A quick hug is all I get for a goodbye and then he’s gone.
I search the ground for my fallen pen and when I find it, the new arrival reaches me. The truck stops and the driver jumps to the ground. I stand and fight the wind, struggling to push the hair out of my face.
“Carter? Seriously?”
I meet his sneer with a forced smile. “Hello to you too, Ryan.”
Chapter 15
“What did I tell you about him?” Ryan takes the clipboard out of my hands. He signs only his first name, but I’m not about to say anything. What I used to see in Ryan as confidence is now just arrogance.
“Your old man said I no longer had to pay… lucky me.” He smiles while looking into my eyes. I can almost feel a piece of my soul being sucked out through my pupils. Why does he have to be so cute?
I reach for the clipboard and he moves it behind his back, slow enough for me to grab it if I wanted to, but I don’t fall for it. He wraps his right arm around my shoulders and pulls me to him. I feel a kiss on my hair. My cheek presses to his chest. His shirt smells of laundry detergent mixed with cologne, a deadly combination of deliciousness.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he says in a sing song voice.
My body goes warm. I am hypnotized yet again. His smell, his muscles and his raspy voice are the watch swinging in front of my eyes. I repeat the alphabet in my head to regain enough control to pull away from the embrace.
The logical part of my brain, which has been beaten to the size of a pea in the last five minutes, nags at me. I know there is something I want to say to Ryan, but I’ve completely forgotten, thanks to the butterflies in my stomach and warm fuzzies clouding my vision. I watch the ground, trying to remember. Ryan talks, something about the race and his new sponsors and – finally, I remember.
“I happen to like Ash.” I rest a hand on my hip. He laughs. My feeble attempt at defiance goes unnoticed.
“No you don’t.” He lets the last word have several more O’s in it than usual, as if he were taunting me with a secret he isn’t going to tell. I clench my teeth together and nod to disagree with him.
“Ash is trash. See? It rhymes,” he shakes his head to congratulate himself on being so clever. “Which means it must be correct.”
“Your logic is stupid.”
Laughing, he puts the clipboard in my hand and ruffles my hair. “I’ll catch you later, kid.”
So I’m a kid now? Does he kiss every kid he knows? Anger rises to a boil inside my ribcage as he drives away. Every guttural instinct I have tells me Ryan would be a bad boyfriend and Ash would be perfect. But Ash doesn’t have moves like Ryan; he doesn’t have the blunt confidence Ryan has. But both of them make me weak in the knees. I grip the clipboard harder, wishing I had the strength to forget Ryan forever.
A gust of warm wind blows sand in my eyes. They fill with tears as I try to blink away the sharp pain. A tear runs down my face in perfect irony, as all I want to do right now is cry.
“I’m sure you’ll have no problem with the new changes,” Dad reassures someone in the garage as I approach the side door from my walk back home. I was the last one to leave the track today because I decided to organize the photos on Dad’s computer in the tower. There were over a thousand photos taken within the last month, and I thought it would be great to organize them by bike number so people could look at all their photos at once. Three hours after the track closed, I had a folder for every bike number and folders for each class along with a separate folder of candid spectator photos.
My body is exhausted from standing all day. A fine layer of dirt coats my skin. All I want to do is shower until the supply of hot water disappears, regardless of how many times Dad has asked me to stop wasting energy.
I should have realized Dad is obviously talking to one of the pro riders. I also should have noticed Ash’s truck wasn’t in the driveway and Ryan’s was. If my mind wasn’t dancing with thoughts of warm showers and soft comfortable bed sheets, then maybe I would have been smart enough to avoid the garage and go inside through the kitchen door.
But none of that happens as I shuffle into the garage and walk straight into the conversation between Dad and the most annoying and gorgeous guy I have ever received a kiss from. They hover around a small television watching the latest professional supercross race on ESPN.
“Look who’s here,” Ryan says as they turned to me. Dad look at me with concern.
“Honey I thought you were already home. Did you just get here?”
I nod, not wanting to speak so I won’t be pulled into a longer conversation with them. Ryan is the last person I want to see right now.
“You’re workin‘ her too hard, Jim.” Ryan says.
“She brought this upon herself,” Dad explains, turning to me. “You organized the race photos, right? I didn’t make her do that.”
Ryan asks Dad about the photos and when they would be on the website. I take this opportunity to dash out of there. I turn the handle to the kitchen door and have one foot across the threshold into the safety inside when Ryan calls out for me to wait. Reluctantly, I turn, raising one eyebrow in reply.
“You free tomorrow night?”
I look at him and then to Dad. There is no chance this was a hypothetical question. If I tell him I’m busy, Dad will ask why he doesn’t know about my so-called plans and ruin it. If I say I’m free…
“A bunch of us are having a little barbeque party down by the lake,” Ryan says. “If Jim is okay with it, I’d love for you to join me.” Without hesitating, Dad says it’s absolutely no problem. I make a mental note to punch him in the face at a later date because right now I’m busy thinking up a way to decline the invitation.
“Um, I don’t know,” I say, wishing for a good enough lie to get me out of a night with Ryan the Intimidator.
“Oh come on.” Ryan steps closer. “It’ll be fun, and you can meet people our age.”
Dad seems to think this is a fabulous idea. “Hana, you do need to get out of the house some more. Go and have fun. I trust Ryan will bring you back at a reasonable time.” He winks at Ryan who is suddenly an astute gentleman and not the sort of guy who kisses on tailgates and then doesn’t call for a week.
“Of course I will, sir.”
Chapter 16
What started as an hour-long morning beautification ritual has, in recent weeks, morphed into a sloppy ten-minute shuffle around my room to get ready for work. The days of high heels and manicured toenails are long gone; I’m lucky if I bother to shave three times a week. I no longer care what I look like at the track, as Ash doesn’t seem to notice if I wear designer labels or old sweats and I very much admire that about him. I find a pair of shorts and a Fallen Rider’s Association T-shirt on the floor and wriggle into them while feeling under the bed for my other shoe.
I am also accustomed to the smell of coffee rising from the kitchen, up the stairs and creeping in under my door every morning. It no longer makes me nauseous, but I still refuse to drink the stuff. The scent this morning is mixed with another more delicious one�
��syrup? Surely Molly isn’t putting syrup into the breakfast burritos. I skip down the stairs while pulling my hair into a messy, wadded bun and take pride in my sense of balance as I only slam into the railing twice.
Although it is thirty minutes past four in the morning, I hear Dad talking in the kitchen so I can’t be reprimanded for being late if he hasn’t left either. Sometimes I wonder if he told me I had to report to the track earlier than needed since I am almost guaranteed to be late every day.
My parents, brother, Marty and Dorothy are all in the kitchen talking enthusiastically as I saunter in, still in a zombie-like state from having just crawled out of bed. It doesn’t take me long to register the abnormal amount of excitement in the room. And that’s not just because of the stack of pancakes and bacon Molly cooks on the stove. I know the National races are a big deal for my dad’s track, but I had no idea everyone would be this excited about it.
I take a seat next to Teig and remember what Ash had told me a few days ago.
“The Nationals are the biggest thing that could happen to a motocross track. It would be like the Boston Red Sox asking to play a game at the local high school baseball field. Your dad is envied by every track owner in Texas.”
We gather in the dining room for breakfast. Talk at the table goes in my left ear and out the right one without a second thought from me. I’m busy drowning my pancakes in syrup and daydreaming about Ash. I probably won’t see him today since the track is closed to riders. Shelby and I have plans to meet at the local McDonald’s for lunch. I’m tempted to ask her to bring Ash, but the angel on my shoulder keeps shouting a warning at me. “Friends don’t use each other for their hot brothers.”
I look over my left shoulder and visualize what the little metaphorical angel would look like perched on my collarbone and wagging a finger at me. She would be wearing white, obviously, and her tiny eyes would have dark circles under them from all the stress I put her through trying to keep me in line.
Motocross Me Page 13
