by Amy Sparling
“Liam, this way!” the man calls out.
Like a complete jerk, I turn away and follow him outside. I guess I shouldn’t feel bad about it. Being a jerk is what I’m known for, after all.
The man introduces himself as Juan, and he’s as friendly as ever while he puts three gallons of race gas into my gas jug. He’s talking all about motocross and how the local track is small but it features some great jumps and hairpin turns.
By the time he’s done, I feel like I’ve actually met a friend, even if he is old enough to be my dad. It’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t clearly judging me by my past. I thank him and head back to my truck. There’s a beat-up black Chevy truck parked next to me, and two girls are wandering around looking for something on the gravel parking lot around it. One of them is the girl from the store. She’s wearing a Roca Springs High T-shirt, which must mean she’s a local. The sun glints off her hair, making her look like an angel. I know it sounds pathetic to think like that, but there it is. I’m pathetic. This girl is stunning.
“They can’t be far,” the other girl says, throwing her arms up in frustration. “You just had them!”
I take a step forward and my shoes crunch something. I back up and find a set of car keys.
“Looking for these?” I ask as I hold them out. Luckily my foot didn’t break anything. The two keys and little metal dirt bike keychain are still intact.
“Yes,” she says, yanking the keys away from me.
“Oh my god, Bella,” her friend says. “Tell him thank you! You’re being mean.”
She rolls her eyes and looks back at me. She’s beautiful even when she’s angry. “Thanks.”
She spins back around and heads to her truck.
“Wait,” I say, finally finding my voice. I have been around beautiful girls my whole life. When you’re one of the fastest bike racers in the state, they tend to gravitate toward you. I’ve never had trouble talking to one until now.
She stares at me like I am no better than old gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
“I’m sorry I cut you off back there,” I say, finally voicing the words I should have said back in the shop. “I didn’t see you.”
“Clearly,” she says, turning back to her truck.
“I really am sorry,” I call out, but I don’t know if she can hear me over the sound of her truck door slamming closed.
My phone rings as I get into my own truck. It’s my mom. I groan before answering the call. She hasn’t exactly been mean to me lately, but she’s treating me like the son she’s ashamed of. Like my behavior on the track that disgraced me and cost me a career is somehow her fault.
“Where are you?” she asks.
“I just bought some race gas. I’m thinking of taking my bike to the track this week.”
I can practically hear her eyes roll through the phone. She hates motocross. Almost as much as she hates my dad.
“Well you need to come home,” she says sternly. “I need you to go grocery shopping with me, and then I have some things for you to fix around the house. Phil can’t do it because he threw out his back last month. So hurry home.”
“Yes ma’am,” I say, because I may be eighteen and technically an adult, but I was also raised in Texas, and I know better than to disrespect my mom. “I’ll be right there.”
“Good,” she says. “Don’t think you’re just going to sit around all summer having fun and riding your stupid dirt bike. Your dad sent you here to get over that bad attitude. And I’m going to put you to work. Nothing fixes a bad attitude like some hard work.”
I hold back a sigh. “Sure thing, Mom. I’ll do whatever you need me to.”
My mother wasn’t kidding. After she has me help her grocery shop, which is the most boring thing ever, she puts me to work around the house. There are air filters to change, gutters to clean, driveways to pressure wash, and weeds to pull from the garden.
I do everything she asks without complaint. I think deep down I know I deserve this sort of punishment. But as soon as I get some free time, I’m heading to the track.
Nothing clears my mind quite like motocross.
Chapter Three
The last week of school is the worst. Not only is summer vacation just a few days away, tempting us with three months of relaxation and fun, we’re also stuck here studying for our final exams. Most of my exams are on Thursday and Friday, so for the first part of the week, we’re either studying in class or studying in the library. None of my classes are particularly hard this semester, so I’m mostly just hanging out on the bean bag chairs at the back corner of the library with Kylie and some of our friends.
I’ve also had a stroke of luck today at the expense of Trey Nguyen. He’s home sick with food poisoning troubles today, so while his day sucks, mine is awesome because I get to spend it with my best friend.
Rachael Malek rushes up to us with a science textbook clutched in her hands, but the “juicy gossip” expression on her face tells me she’s not here to study.
“Did you hear the news?” she tells me. Of our little group of five friends, Rachael and I are the only two who ride dirt bikes. Kylie just likes to hang out with me at the track, and our other two friends, Amy and Rosa, don’t care much for the sport. Ever since we got the new motocross track in town, more people are getting into it, though.
Because of this, I assume she’s talking about something related to the track. “What happened?” I say. “Did someone get hurt?”
Two weeks ago, an eighth grader wrecked his dirt bike and had to be life flighted to the nearest hospital. They say he almost died, but managed to pull through after a few days in intensive care.
She shakes her head, letting her two long braids sway across her shoulders. “No, this is good news. Liam freaking Mosely is here!”
I look back at my history notes. “Yeah… I’m aware.”
“What!” Rachael drops down into the worn-out purple bean bag beside me. “You already know and you didn’t tell me?”
“What’s so special about him?” I ask. “He’s a jerk.”
Rachael blanches. “He’s gorgeous, Bella. That’s all that matters.”
I snort in reply.
“Who’s that?” Kylie asks, keeping her voice low because we’re in the library. She’s about the only student who actually follows that rule. “You didn’t tell me you met a guy.”
“You met him too,” I say quickly, making sure I squash those thoughts from her mind immediately. “He’s that a-hole who found my keys at the shop yesterday.”
Her brow wrinkles. “How does finding your keys make him an a-hole?” She knows I don’t like to curse, so she puts up with my abbreviations.
“Oh my God, he found your keys?” Rachael is practically bursting apart with all her excitement over some stupid guys.
I close my history textbook so hard it makes a loud smack that reverberates off the aisles of books. Oops. I stand up and grab my backpack.
“You two can sit here and get all doe-eyed over some stuck up cocky full of himself motocross racer, but I’m not.”
I don’t know why I’m suddenly so annoyed, but I’ve already stood up so I just go with it. I walk across the library to the computer stations and I sit at one on the far end. I don’t remember what exactly happened to Liam Mosely, but I remember it was something bad. It wasn’t until last night when I was trying to go to sleep that I remembered who he was. That stupid chiseled jaw of his and his stupid hair that’s shaved on the sides and long on top finally jogged my memory. He’s an up and coming racer from Texas. One of the guys who made it through all of the regional races and went to nationals. I know his name because I remember last time my brother Brent was home, he was watching the nationals races on TV. He said Liam Mosely doesn’t deserve to win it all. I don’t remember what for. I love motocross as a fun activity and lifestyle but I don’t really follow the professional races that much. Every year when the pros come to Houston, my brother and I will go to watch the races at the NRG Sta
dium, but that’s about it.
And now Rachael is talking about him like he’s some celebrity. I guess he’s a mild celebrity if you care about Texas amateur motocross. I’m not a racer—I just ride for fun. So I don’t care about him, or his snooty attitude and how he thinks he can just cut in front of lesser humans in the checkout line.
Still, now I’m so annoyed I can’t think straight. So before I get back to studying, I open a browser window on the school computer and glance around to make sure no one’s watching me. Then I type his name into Google.
My phone buzzes, making me jump.
Kylie: You okay? ☹
I write back: I’m fine
Kylie: Want me to join you?
Normally I’d say yes, but right now I’m doing some secret sleuthing.
Me: No thanks… I really need to study. I’ll see you after school.
On the computer, a ton of websites show up. It’s way more information than I expected. I don’t know why I feel so compelled to read about this guy, but I click on some of the articles and learn all about him. He grew up in Houston and his dad is some famous architect. He’s been racing all his life and he even became homeschooled in junior high so he could focus more on racing. He was in talks of joining Team FRZ Frame, which is a professional motocross racing team. And then he ruined it by getting disqualified twice for fighting another racer before a race. Since motocross is a family sport, the professional teams want to keep a clean, wholesome image. They also pay a lot of money to their professional racers and fighting isn’t allowed.
I read one gossip article that calls Liam a “playboy” who thinks he’s better than everyone on the track. It makes me snort out loud. I agree, gossip article. I totally agree.
Now the gossip articles say he’s been exiled to live with his mom for the summer, presumably because his hotshot dad is mad at him and wants to teach him a lesson about controlling his anger.
I find a recent interview online where Liam denies this claim, saying he chose to spend time with his mom this summer because he wants to, not because he’s being forced into it. But I’m not buying it. Guys like that don’t suddenly quit their racing career to spend time with their moms in a small town. I’m more likely to believe the story that he was forced here against his will. But his dad’s plan won’t work at all. People like that don’t change and become nicer people. They’re just jerks who will always be jerks. When the bell rings, I’m awakened from this weird fact-finding hole I fell into. I close the browser and almost feel like I need to shower. I can’t believe I spent thirty minutes reading about Liam Mosely. Gross. Kylie walks up to me as we leave the library, throwing her arm around my shoulder.
“We don’t have plans for Friday, right?”
“I thought we were going to check out the motocross race?” I say, because I definitely remember us having that talk a few days ago. Every summer, Roca Springs MX hosts their own weekly Friday night races. Going to watch them is about the only fun thing to do in this town.
Her head tilts to the side and she gives me this guilty look before biting on her bottom lip. “So Trey has this thing…He really wants me to go.”
I roll my eyes so hard they hurt. “Fine. Go with your stupid boyfriend.”
“Trey’s actually super smart,” she says. “But I know you’re just being sarcastic.”
“I’m just tired of never having my best friend around,” I say, trying to find the right words to tell her how I feel but not make her mad at me. If I said everything I was thinking right now, she’d definitely be mad. “I miss you.”
“What you need is a boyfriend,” Kylie says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at me. “Then we could go on double dates and you could have as much fun as I’m having with Trey.”
“Oh sure, let me just snap my fingers and make a boyfriend appear,” I say sarcastically. I snap my fingers for effect, and guess what? Nothing happens.
“Hmm, looks like my magic isn’t working today.”
“Bellaaaa,” Kylie says, shaking her head. “What am I going to do with you? Do you think I got a boyfriend by snapping my fingers? No, it took two weeks of massive flirting to make him finally ask me out.”
“Yeah, I’m not going to do that,” I say. As the words come out of my mouth, a boy flashes across my mind. Ryan Hibbard, a super smart senior who is in my next class, AP Chemistry. He’s cute in a slightly nerdy way and he’s always my lab partner because we sit close to each other. Sometimes – okay, a lot of the time – I sit in class and wonder what it would be like to date him.
Maybe I should take a chance. Maybe Kylie is right. Maybe I need a boyfriend.
Nerves clench onto my heart as I step into my chemistry class. Ryan is sitting at the table next to mine, staring lazily out of the window.
I smile at him and he smiles back. I am a total nervous wreck, but I also feel oddly inspired. I’m a great person. I’m not bad looking, at least I don’t think so. Ryan and I are friends.
I’m going to ask him out.
“Hey,” I say, getting his attention. He looks over at me and I hand him a folded piece of paper.
I watch him open it and read the message I just wrote. Do you want to go out sometime?
It’s simple and to the point.
He writes back and hands the note over to me, not making eye contact.
I unfold the paper.
Sorry, I don’t really think that’s a good idea.
Disappointment punches me in the face. I suddenly realize that I wasn’t even expecting an answer other than yes. I fold the note back and shove it deep in the bottom of my backpack where I will have to make sure to throw it away later. Ugh. I feel so stupid. I can’t even look in Ryan’s direction for the rest of class. It’s a small miracle that we don’t have any lab work today. I stare at my textbook and I look at the teacher and wish I could go back in time and never do something so stupid.
After class, Ryan calls my name as he follows me into the hallway.
“Sorry,” he says, scratching his neck. I tell myself that he’s not really that cute. He’s just average looking. No big deal. His haircut is boring and his face is average.
“It’s fine,” I say cheerfully.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or anything,” he says, falling into step with me. “It’s just that… well, you’re a dirt bike chick. Which is cool—but…”
I look over at him while he stumbles over his words. He seems genuine, and like he really is sorry, but I’m not even sure what he’s trying to say.
“It’s just that… I don’t know. I don’t want to date a dirt bike girl.”
“Okay…” I say. This has to be the weirdest rejection ever. “But you also ride dirt bikes.”
He nods. “Yeah, and that’s why it’s weird. I mean, motocross isn’t really a girly sport.”
I stare straight ahead. “So you want to date a girly girl.”
He shrugs. “I’m sorry but… yeah. I mean, you’re awesome and I like being friends with you but I don’t really want to date someone who also rides dirt bikes.”
I swallow the pain of what is the weirdest rejection ever and I nod. “Okay, sure. No problem.”
“We’re still friends, right?” Ryan asks, giving me a hopeful grin.
“Yep,” I say, even though I’d rather go the rest of my life never seeing him again. “Still friends.”
Chapter Four
My mother is treating me like I’m a criminal. I might be a lot of things, but I’m not a criminal unless you count driving a few miles over the speed limit every so often. I guess I don’t blame her. My mom has always been a loving and sweet mother, but only on the surface. Underneath it all, I still see that look she had on her face that day I said I wanted to live with Dad. She loves me because I’m her son, but deep down she resents me.
It didn’t hit me until now that I feel really, exceptionally awful about this. I love my mom. I don’t want her to hate me. She sends me birthday gifts and Christmas gifts and even cards a
nd candy on Valentine’s Day, every single year without fail. She texts me good luck before every race, even though I rarely ever text back. Up until now, I’ve been single-mindedly focused on becoming a professional motocross racer. I shoved everything aside, from family to friends, to my own personal happiness, just to try to reach my goal. I was so close too—I had the FRZ Frame sponsorship in my hands, but I let it slip away because of my own stupidity and anger issues.
Of course everyone just knows what happened that got me kicked off the team. They don’t know why. Those fights were necessary. I’m not some roid-raging jock with an anger problem. Those two idiots deserved what they got. Pressuring girls into hooking up in your hotel rooms after every race is not okay. I’ll never regret what I did, just when I did it. If I had saved the ass-beating for another day, when cameras and sponsors weren’t watching, it would have been fine.
I try not to let these thoughts take up all the space in my mind. It’s not worth it to sit here and fret about all the ways I screwed up. I’m here now. I’m with my mom and her new family, living on the twin bed that’s shoved into the spare bedroom that’s mostly an office.
I need to be here, present in the moment, and try to be happy instead of angry all the time. That’s why I pull myself out of bed at seven in the morning and make breakfast for everyone. My mom expects me to sleep in late, lounge around the house, and be a general pain in her side while I’m stuck here for the summer. I know this because she’s said as much.
Well, I’m going to prove her wrong.
Over the last few days, I’ve done a million chores for her, never complaining or objecting. Now, I’m going to do stuff she hasn’t even asked.
Mom and Phil emerge into the kitchen about ten minutes after the smell of bacon fills the air. Phil is dressed for work in khaki pants and a blue polo shirt, but my mom is still wearing her pink fuzzy bathrobe pulled over her pajamas. It’s always too warm in the house for my taste, but my mom always seems to be too cold.
