by Anthology
Don’t get me wrong, the idea of an afternoon spent with Andre, mostly alone, near a pretty lake? That sounded like a dream. Spending that day on a bike with him, though, was a nightmare.
I’d trained Andre to captain just like everyone else, but other than that lesson, I’d only really ridden with him once on one of the other annual rides a few months earlier. Dad had asked him to captain for me because none of my usual partners could, and Dad himself was feeling a little sick and wasn’t up to doing one of the longer courses. Andre, being a nice dude, had agreed, but it had been a disaster.
First, we had a hard time getting in sync. His legs moved faster than mine, so my feet kept slipping off the pedals. And I hate using shoe clips—I always have trouble getting in and out of them when I kick off or stop—so when he offered to let me use his, I’d said no. Then, in our effort to find a pace that worked for us both, we kept switching gears. Eventually the chain fell off, and we had to pull over to fix it. That was when I could tell he was getting frustrated. He didn’t say anything. He was too much of a gentleman for that. But he did get very quiet, which was almost worse. When we finally got going again, I could tell he was slowing himself down for me.
I was a good cyclist, but I rarely averaged more than fourteen or fifteen miles an hour. Andre was a speed demon. He was probably used to being the first one to finish every ride. And while we hadn’t been in an actual race, people obviously still compared times. We hadn’t had the worst time, but we were far from the front of the pack.
I could tell he was disappointed, and he barely spoke to me the rest of the day. Later, when I’d tried to approach him to apologize for how things had gone, I overheard him talking to Sid.
“How was the ride with Britt?”
Andre had groaned. “A mess. I don’t think I’ve ever ridden that bad.”
After hearing this, I’d turned around, too embarrassed to say anything.
Being a burden was the last thing I wanted. I felt like one a lot since losing my sight. Like I was inconveniencing the people around me. I felt like I was constantly working my ass off to keep up, to require as little assistance as possible. Not just in cycling, but every day. It was exhausting. And with Andre, I felt like I’d failed. I’d held him back. He’d had a miserable time because of me, and I didn’t want to do it again.
But it didn’t seem like I had much of a choice. If Dad had picked Andre, that meant no one else had volunteered, and riding with Dad wasn’t an option. He’d agreed to be on van duty, ready to drive out and help anyone who might get stranded along the path. At least one of our bikes always broke down, and you had to have someone who knew what they were doing at the ready. This time it was Dad’s turn.
Which meant that I was stuck with Andre.
Or, more accurately, he was stuck with me.
* * *
It’s funny how when you are dreading something, it seems to come faster. It’s like the opposite of biking up a hill. When you’re doing a climb, you want to get to the top so badly, but it seems forever away. But when it’s something you don’t want, it rushes toward you.
Before I knew it, 6 a.m. was upon us, and I found myself piled into the van with Dad and about half our cyclists. We had a trailer hitched to the back, housing our bikes, and the interior of the van smelled like coffee and bagels.
Andre wasn’t riding with us. Sid had a car, so they were driving up to Lake Sussman together. Thank God for small mercies, I guess. The idea of spending two hours trapped in the van with him, knowing he was dreading the ride as much as I was, would have been torture.
Andre was waiting for us when we got there, though. He didn’t say much to me before the start time. He was busy checking everyone else’s bikes, but I had a feeling he was probably avoiding me, too. I would never forgive Dad for this. He was seriously ruining the love life I’d invented in my head.
A voice came over a speaker, announcing that we’d be starting in fifteen minutes, and cyclists from other teams and clubs began getting into place. That’s when Andre finally came over to me. He had on that big, dorky smile I loved. I appreciated the front he was putting on. It was just like him to try to make the best of this. But it only made me resent Dad even more for putting him in this position.
“Ready to go, Britt?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’m … ready when you are.”
I pulled my helmet on over my short hair, then took Andre’s arm as he led me over to Tandy. Together we wheeled the bike toward the starting area. Once he was settled in the captain’s seat, I climbed on the back. In theory, we should have been a good fit to be tandem partners. We were almost the same height—I’m on the tall side for a girl—but I was a little bit lighter, which helped when you were a stoker.
In practice, though …
The kickoff was a bit of a mess. I was so in my head that I didn’t even hear him counting down for me. He pushed off the ground and I didn’t. The pedals began spinning while my startled feet scrambled. We lost balance and had to try again. Something that almost never happened to me with other captains.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. People were already zooming past us. Five seconds in and I was already messing things up for Andre.
The second attempt was a success, at least. And once we got going, things went smoothly. At least for a while. Andre’s legs definitely moved faster than what I was used to, but I was able to match them at first.
We sped around corners and powered up hills, overtaking several other cyclists along the way. I loved imagining their faces when they realized the bike that had just zoomed past them was a tandem. Especially since most of them had probably seen us at the starting line and chuckled or thought, That’s cute. No one took tandem riders seriously—until you showed them how much faster you were.
But I couldn’t keep this kind of speed up for much longer. And I guess my fatigue was showing in how hard I was pedaling, because about thirty minutes into the ride, Andre said, “If I’m going too fast or if you want me to change gears or anything, just let me know.”
“No … no,” I said, though it came out through ragged breaths. “I’m fine. Just … ride like you would if you were alone.”
“But I’m not alone.”
“I know, but … don’t worry about me. I can … I can keep up.”
He didn’t buy it, though. Andre slowed down, almost by half. So slow that it only took a minute for a few cyclists to pass us. I was embarrassed. Was this how slow I seemed to him? Was this the pace he thought I could handle?
I pressed harder, forcing the pedals to spin faster. The thing about tandem bikes is either the captain or the stoker can really change the pace. Whoever is pedaling hardest takes control, which is why it’s important to find a partner you can get a good rhythm with.
Typically, I just tried to match the pace of whoever my captain was, which wasn’t usually that difficult. Most of the time I was the one slowing myself down a bit for the comfort of my partner. I liked it that way. That I could be an asset rather than a hindrance. It wasn’t possible with Andre.
We couldn’t seem to find a pace that worked. We’d go too fast, then too slow. While I tried to prove how hard I could push and how quickly my legs could spin, he was trying to set a speed he thought would be comfortable for me—a snail’s pace. Eventually, we were both confused and annoyed.
And I heard him in my head over and over, telling Sid what a mess the last time had been. How, with me, he’d ridden worse than he ever had.
“I’m sorry,” I kept saying as other cyclists passed us. “I’m sorry … I’m sorry.”
And then things got worse.
We were on a flat stretch when I noticed that something felt off. Tandy wasn’t riding as smoothly as usual, and a second later I heard hissing from just behind me.
“We need to check the back tire,” I said.
“Crap. Okay. Stopping in three … two … one.”
We came
to a stop at the edge of the road, right along a grass-covered hill. I hopped off the stoker’s seat and reached out to touch the back tire. Sure enough, it was almost flat. I groaned.
“It’s fine,” Andre said. “I’ve got a hand pump and a patch kit in my backpack. Just give me a … oh. Damn it.”
“What?”
I could hear him rustling through the contents of his backpack as he muttered to himself. “Damn it. Damn it. I can’t believe…”
“What?” I asked again.
“So … I don’t actually have that pump.” He sighed. “I must have left it in Sid’s car. I’ve got a patch, but that won’t do us any good unless we can put some more air in the tire.”
“Oh.”
“Let me call your dad. He can bring something out here.”
I pulled off my helmet and sat down in the grass next to the road while Andre walked off. I could hear him talking on the phone now, his voice full of annoyance and frustration. I couldn’t blame him. As if riding with me wasn’t bad enough, now my bike had a flat, and we were stuck here until help came. This was definitely not how he’d wanted today to go, and it was all because he’d been forced to ride with me.
“I’m sorry,” I said when Andre got off the phone. He came over and sat next to me in the grass. I was glad he was on my left now, where I couldn’t see him.
“Why do you keep saying that?” he asked. “You’re not the one who forgot to pack a pump.”
“Yeah, but it’s my bike.”
“That … still doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Unless you poked a hole in the tire when I wasn’t looking.”
“No. Obviously. I’m just…” My fingers twisted in the grass, pulling a few blades loose. “I’m just sorry you got stuck with me.”
There was a long pause; then, in a quiet voice, he asked, “Why would you say that?”
“Say what?”
“That I got stuck with you.”
“Because you did. No one volunteered to captain, so Dad asked you.” I kept my eyes down. Never before had I been so grateful for tunnel vision. All I could see were the tops of my shoes. “And it was very sweet of you to agree, even though I know it’s annoying. I hate … hate feeling like a burden.”
“A … burden?”
“You don’t have to pretend. I’m not clueless, Andre.”
“All right, but maybe I am.” I felt his hand touch my shoulder. He’d taken off his gloves, and despite myself, I shivered at the feel of his skin on mine. “Britt, look at me. Why do you think you’re a burden?”
I sighed, and slowly turned to face him. “It was pretty clear last time we rode together. You were so frustrated, and I get it. I’m not as fast as you.”
“It wasn’t a race.”
“I know, but—”
“Britt, your dad didn’t ask me to captain for you today,” he said. “I told him I wanted to, like, a week ago.”
I stared blankly at him. “Why would you do that?”
His hand dropped from my shoulder, and he turned to look straight ahead. “A few reasons.”
“Like what? Last time was a disaster. I … heard you talking to Sid after. You said it was the worst you’d ever ridden.”
“Oh, man. I didn’t know you’d heard that. Britt, I didn’t mean that the way you think.” He sighed. “One reason I asked to ride with you is that I wanted to make up for last time. You’re right—I was frustrated, but not with you. I was frustrated with myself. There’s a lot of pressure in being your captain, you know? If I screw up or have an off day, it ruins the ride for you. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted today to be perfect, too, but…” He groaned. “If anything, I’m the burden.”
This revelation baffled me. I was the inconvenience, the blind girl who couldn’t ride her own bike so she had to slow down someone else. At least, that’s what I’d thought. But here Andre was, convinced it was the other way around somehow. I should’ve been relieved, but honestly I was just confused.
“Andre, I don’t expect my captains to be perfect,” I said. “I’m just glad to be riding most of the time. A few hiccups along the way aren’t a big deal. You’re my partner, not a burden.”
He turned back to me. “Same to you,” he said. “Britt, you’re awesome. And funny. And really cute. And just as dorky about bikes as I am. I don’t mind riding a little slower if it means riding with you. And anyone who treats you like a burden is an asshole. I’m sorry that’s what you thought I was doing.”
“We’re going to come back to that ‘really cute’ part in just a sec,” I said as my heart did celebratory cartwheels in my chest. “But thank you. And on the flip side, you don’t have to try extra hard to make things special for me. It’s cool if things get rough sometimes. I don’t want to be your charity case. I want to be your teammate. Okay?”
“Okay,” he agreed.
I let out a breath as an invisible weight lifted from my shoulders. I knew I’d likely still worry about inconveniencing people. I’d spent too much time internalizing the comments of others, the messages I’d picked up from movies and TV, maybe even my own perceptions of disability from before I lost my sight. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever truly untangle it all, but it felt good to know that, maybe, there was at least one person I didn’t have to worry about that with.
“And now,” I said, “let’s get back to the other thing.”
That goofy smile spread across his face again. “Which other thing?”
“Don’t be a tease,” I said, shoving his arm playfully. “You said I’m really cute. I’d love for you to elaborate.”
“Oh, come on. You know you’re cute.”
“But I had no idea you thought I was.”
“Well, I do.”
I felt like my grin might split my face. “You know, the feeling’s mutual.”
“So you also think you’re cute?”
“I meant you, and you know it.”
God I loved that goofy grin of his. And loved it more when it was directed at me like it was now.
“You said there were a few reasons you asked to ride with me today. As in more than one. So…”
“So,” he said. “I might have been hoping I’d get a chance to do this.”
He leaned in slowly enough that I could have stopped him if I’d wanted. But instead, I leaned in also. Perhaps a little too enthusiastically. We collided a bit sloppily at first, but Andre raised his hand to cup my cheek and righted us easily.
It wasn’t a long kiss. Just a brief press of his lips on mine. But damn if it wasn’t perfect.
When he pulled back, Andre said, “Please don’t tell your dad I did that. He’ll never let me captain for you again.”
I laughed, then reached forward and grabbed him by the neck of his jersey and pulled him to me for another kiss. This one was longer. Our mouths weren’t enough. Our hands were everywhere. His were on my legs, fingertips running along the edge of my bike shorts. Then they were up my arms, along my back, twisting in my short hair.
And then I was sliding down the zipper at the front of his jersey. Just a little bit. So I could touch my palm against his bare chest. His heart was beating fast, like he’d just pedaled up a long hill. Mine was pounding, too, but the climb was over, and now was the good part. Now we were flying.
He bit my bottom lip, and I giggled before shoving him playfully in revenge. He pulled me down with him, our mouths never separating. And that’s how I came to find myself rolling around in the grass with the Bike God.
Luckily, we had our wits together enough to pull apart and straighten ourselves up a bit before Dad arrived in the van.
“You two okay?” he asked while Andre patched the tire. “You seem a little off.”
“Fine,” I said, praying that my face wasn’t red.
“Mm-hmm,” Andre mumbled.
Now that Dad had dropped off the tire pump, I wished he’d leave. I’d forgiven him for having me ride with Andre now that I knew it was Andre’s choice. But I still didn’t want to hang
out with him five minutes after I’d been rolling around in the grass with the Bike God.
Dad, however, completely misread the awkward tension.
“I know it’s stressful when you have to stop like this,” Dad said. “But this kind of thing happens. You’ll be back on the road in no time. And remember, it’s not a race. It doesn’t matter when you finish.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said.
When Tandy’s back tire was all patched and Dad was finally gone, Andre and I put our helmets back on and climbed onto our seats.
“You know,” I said as I spun my feet backward to get our pedals in the right position for kickoff. “It’s not a race, but I bet there are still quite a few people who haven’t caught up to us yet. Let’s at least kick their asses.”
Andre laughed. “Deal. Okay, taking off in three … two … one.”
The Leap and the Fall
KAYLA WHALEY
IT WAS COLD, and the cold made us reckless. They say summer’s when you have to watch out, all that sunlight heating the blood, turning us to fools drunk on youthful possibility. But drunk’s better than chilled and numb and desperate to feel anything at all.
Gemma kicked the ground, coating the toe of her boot with wintry slush. “Can’t even snow properly in this fucking town.” She’d been doing that a lot more since she turned sixteen last month—cussing. And not just damn or hell anymore, but fuck and shit and fucking goddamn shit. Suddenly, for Gemma, cussing was like biting into a ripe peach: the messy violence of flesh, teeth, and juice.
“It’s almost snow,” I said, reaching up to scrape some off the fence she was leaning against. With my arm lifted as far as I could manage, my fingertips barely edged over the top, but I palmed a small amount into an almost snowball. I didn’t throw it, just held it out to her and wiped my grimy hands on my jeans.
We were on my property today, like usual, the house a ways behind us. Now that Gemma had her license it was easier for her to come here than for me to ask Mama to drive me to her place. Gemma used to ride over on one of their horses, sometimes even walk over despite the ten-mile trek if the day merited. The last time I saw her go anywhere without her car was on her birthday. She’d been here that evening, forgoing the party her dad wanted to throw her. The two of us had pizza in my room, with the frozen-aisle cream puffs she loved so much for dessert instead of cake. As the fields outside burned copper, Gemma left for her usual walk through the dusk. Her head always got loud at night, needed starshine to soothe her toward sleep. I watched her through my window, cutting across the yard, heading for the tree line out by the barn. She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked. I wished I could do something to keep her warm.
