by Amy Sparling
Just like when she was married to my dad, she’s a stay at home mom here for Phil’s kids. His wife died a few years ago, and he’s told me that meeting my mother is what put the pieces of his life back together again. He’s a good guy. I’m glad they’re happy.
Mom smiles at me. “What’s all this?”
“Thought I would make you guys breakfast,” I say, tilting the frying pan over a plate and spooning the scrambled eggs onto a large pile. I’ve never cooked for three adults and two little kids before, so I might have made too much food. I used a dozen eggs, a whole pack of bacon, and toasted half a loaf of bread. It’s all sitting out on the kitchen table, along with plates and forks and the jug of orange juice. I’m a regular Martha Stewart today.
“Wow,” Mom says. She pads across the tile floor and wraps me in a hug that instantly makes me feel better about everything in the world. Having her approval means a lot to me.
“Thank you, son.”
“This looks great,” Phil says. He’s all chipper and nice to me, trying his hardest to be the cool stepfather to lessen any awkwardness in the air. I can appreciate that.
The kids wake up too, and they shuffle in all sleepy-eyed and grumbling about how they don’t want to go to school. My step-brothers are five and seven, and they look like little miniature Phils. I’ve never been around kids before, but they’re okay. They’re shy and quiet most of the time, and that’s a lot better than the kids I see out in public who scream and throw tantrums.
After Phil heads to work and the kids get on the school bus, my mom makes another pot of coffee and I wash the dishes.
Let me make this clear – I am not a fan of all this domestic housework. I only know how to scramble eggs and fry up bacon because my dad works so much that I had to learn how to fend for myself at a young age. And washing dishes is a nightmare. When I become a professional racer and start making that professional racing money, I’ll hire someone to do all of this for me. But for now, I’m doing my best to suck up to my mom and make her proud of me again.
We sit on the couch and watch TV. It’s only nine in the morning and it feels like I’ve been awake forever already.
“So what’s been going on?” Mom says, sipping her coffee. “I mean, besides motocross.”
I shrug. Ever since Dad pulled me out of public school and let me do homeschooling online, my entire life has been motocross. Training every day and racing on the weekends. What am I supposed to talk about that’s not motocross?
Mom is looking at me though, and I can tell she’s expecting an answer. “I like the garden out back,” I say because it’s the first thing I can think of. “It looks good.”
“Thanks,” Mom says, glancing toward the patio door that looks out into the back yard. “It’s my pride and joy. So what else is up with you?”
“Mom, I don’t know what you want me to say. My whole life is motocross. I don’t really do anything else besides that.”
She frowns. “How’s your father?”
“You know him,” I say with a shrug. “He’s obsessed with his job. I don’t even see him most days.”
She nods with this knowing look on her face. Then she smiles. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
I bark out a laugh. “Nah, Mom. I don’t have time for girlfriends.”
“There’s always time for girlfriends,” she says. “You’re young and handsome and you should be dating.”
“Well it’s a good thing I don’t have a girlfriend because if I did, she’d be pissed that I moved here for the summer.”
Mom considers this for a moment. “I guess that’s true. But I want you to expand your life, son. Don’t just focus on motocross too much. You should have a social life. Hobbies. Other stuff.”
“I can do other stuff when I’m retired,” I say.
Mom laughs.
“Do you have anything for me to do today?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No, you’re free today. I really appreciate all your hard work these last few days.”
“I think I’ll head out to the local track and see what it’s all about,” I say.
Mom sips her coffee. “I figured you would.”
It’s still early, so I spend a little more time with my mom, trying to small talk as best as I can. I think she enjoys my company, and I’m feeling some of her ice-cold anger at me starting to melt away.
By noon, I gather up my riding gear and load my bike into the back of my truck. Phil is letting me keep it in the garage while I live here, which is nice of him. I haven’t ridden since two days before I got here, and I’m aching to get back on the track, even if it is a crappy local track that can’t compare to the professional ones.
I set the track’s location on my phone’s GPS and make my way across town. While I drive, I think about that girl from the other day, the one who bought the purple grips. I wonder if they are for her own bike? She had a dirt bike keychain and motocross stickers on the back of her truck. I can only assume that she does ride. That’s totally hot. It makes her a thousand times hotter than she already is.
I’ve never dated a girl who rides dirt bikes, but I bet it’s awesome. Hitting up the track with your girl, riding together, watching the races together. A girl who loves motocross is a girl who wouldn’t yell at me for being obsessed with the sport. A motocross girl is a girl I could see myself dating.
Of course, not this girl. She’s made it very clear that she hates me.
When I pull up to the track, I’m reminded of some of the smaller Texas tracks my dad used to take me to when I was a kid. They only have one big track on the property, but it looks decent. I see some large tabletop jumps, one double, and a few jumps that I could probably triple if I’m going fast enough. There’s a large metal building right at the entrance and a sign that says you have to park and go inside to sign in.
The big tracks in my hometown have someone standing at the entrance to sign you in from your vehicle. I guess these small-town tracks don’t have enough employees for that.
I make my way inside the building, which smells like sawdust and some kind of scented candle. There are red leather couches on one end that face a television that’s playing an X-games DVD. I have the same DVD at my dad’s house. A bored-looking teenage girl stands behind the counter, lazily flipping through a magazine.
“Hello,” she says when I walk inside. Then she looks up at me. “Whoa. You’re Liam Mosely.”
“Yep,” I say. “I’m here to ride.”
“That’s so cool!” She drops the magazine and hands me a clipboard with a sign in sheet. “Are you going to race tomorrow? It would be so cool if you did.”
I glance at the flyer that’s taped to the countertop. It advertises the Roca Springs Summer Series, which is just a local race they have here every Friday night during the summer. It almost feels wrong to race here at this little small-town track. I know I’ll beat everyone else without even trying.
“I don’t know,” I say as I sign in on the clipboard.
“Oh, you have to,” she says, bouncing on the toes of her feet. “Everyone would love it. I’ve already heard rumors that you were here and everyone is so excited. People keep asking me if you’ve been here to ride yet.”
I chuckle. For all the trouble that fame can get me into, it’s still fun to be popular. “Maybe I will,” I say, handing her the clipboard and my twenty-dollar entry fee.
She squeals. “That would be awesome! Hey, do you mind taking a selfie with me?”
“Go for it,” I say, and the words are barely out of my mouth before she runs around the counter and meets me on the other side, holding out her phone for a selfie. I put an arm around her shoulders and lean in, smiling wide for the camera. I’ve done this a thousand times with a thousand different excited fangirls. Usually, if they’re hot enough, I’ll hit on them. And I’m not blind to the fact that this girl is pretty cute, but I can’t seem to get that other girl out of my mind. I’ve been thinking about her ever since the day I met her, and although I�
��m dying to get back on my bike and ride, I’d be lying if I said I’m not also secretly hoping to run into her tonight at the track.
So I let this girl take her picture and then I walk back out to my truck without hitting on her. I’ve already decided that if I’m going to spend my energy on a girl this summer, it’ll be on the girl with the purple grips and the killer glare.
Chapter Five
I am filled to the brim with disappointment as I drive home after school. It’s humiliating that I had so boldly asked Ryan if he’d like to go out sometime. What was I thinking? If he liked me, he could have asked me out. It would have saved me all this mortification. I’m trying not to think about it, but it’s only been a few hours and it’s hard to let it go.
He doesn’t like dirt bike girls.
What does that even mean? I’m still fun. I’m still cool. Why is being a motocross girl considered a bad thing? Ughhh.
I yell into my pillow and then toss it back on my bed. This weekend is my dad’s weekend, so I’m only stopping off at home to pack up some things to take to his place. My parents divorced two years ago, but it hasn’t been too uncomfortable. They stayed friends, and they told me and Brent that the divorce was for the best because after twenty years of marriage, they just didn’t feel in love with each other anymore. Now Dad lives in a pretty nice condo on the other side of town, and he’s hardly ever there because he works long shifts at the refinery. But he’s off this whole weekend, so I’m going to hang out with him. Since I was sixteen when they divorced, my parents didn’t set up a custody arrangement. I just keep living in my childhood home with Mom and I visit Dad when he’s off work or whenever I feel like it.
My dad is a tall, rugged man who would rather watch football all day than go to a fancy dinner. Staying with him means pizza and take-out food and I am so here for that.
I let myself into his apartment with my key and turn on his giant television while I wait for him to get here. I’m hoping that spending the weekend with my dad will help me get over the whole Ryan fiasco. Dad and I usually go to the track and see a movie if there’s anything good playing. Usually Kylie comes with us, but I know there’s no point in asking if she’s free this weekend.
I’m actually a little mad at her. It was her advice that made me stupidly ask out Ryan. If she hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t be humiliated right now.
I’m scrolling through Instagram when Dad gets home with a pizza and a bottle of soda. “Hey, Bells,” he says, “Ready for dinner?”
“Oh, holy crap,” I say, standing up from the couch. “Roca MX just posted a special!”
I scroll through their Instagram post making sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me, because this is an insanely good deal.
“They’re offering a summer pass to ride as many times as you want for just two hundred dollars! It’s only available to the first fifty people who sign up!”
“That’s a good deal,” Dad says as he reaches into the cabinet for some paper plates.
“It’s an amazing deal. It costs twenty dollars just to ride for one day, so if I ride ten days, it’ll pay for itself!”
My dad does not seem as excited as he should be.
I give him my best I’m your daughter and you love me face. “So… can I have two hundred dollars?”
He laughs. “You promise you’ll be at the track enough times this summer to make it worth it?”
“Yessss,” I say, grabbing a slice of pizza. “I’ll be there every day.”
He lifts an eyebrow.
“I’m serious!” I say. “Kylie has ditched me for her boyfriend, so I’ll have nothing else to do.”
“Well, then it sounds like a good investment. We can go tomorrow.”
I bite my lip. “Can we go tonight?”
“But we’ve got pizza and TV to watch,” Dad says.
I bounce on my toes. “Please? It’s only the first fifty people who can get a pass, and you know they’ll go fast. We need to go now. I promise I will be at the track every day to get your money’s worth.”
What I don’t tell him is that the track is my only friend right now. The track isn’t like Kylie, who ditches me for other people. And the track isn’t like Ryan. The track loves that I love motocross.
And yeah, the track isn’t actually a human being, so I don’t know why I’m talking about it like this, but I’m just really excited. I know if I sit at home all summer I’ll keep flashing back to being rejected by Ryan and it’ll ruin my days. And Kylie can’t be expected to help me feel better since she’s glued to her boyfriend’s hip. I need this membership to the track. It’ll save a ton of money and it’ll give me something fun to do.
Dad sighs. “Let’s finish eating and then we’ll head over.”
I let out a whoop and then I hug him. “You’re the best dad ever.”
He rolls his eyes.
There are still a few hours left until dusk, which is when the track closes. Starting next week when school is out for the summer, they’ll power up the stadium lights that line the track and they’ll stay open until ten o’clock at night, with races every Friday. I convince my dad to load up our dirt bikes so we can get some riding in after we buy my season pass.
I was right about the need to get here early. There were only nine passes left, but one of them is officially mine.
Once we park, Dad unloads both of our bikes from the back of his truck, but then he starts chatting with one of his lifelong friends, and I know how that goes. He’ll probably talk all night and never even get on his bike. My dad’s been riding dirt bikes forever, and he bought Brent’s first bike when he was five. I got my first bike, which was Brent’s old bike, when I was six. My mom wasn’t exactly thrilled, but she saw that we were excited about it so she let us ride as long as we always wore our protective gear.
In the old days, Mom would come to the track with us and she’d make sandwiches and snacks and cheer for us on the sidelines. A few years before the divorce, she stopped coming because she said it was boring being stuck at a hot dirty track all day. Then Brent went to college and Dad moved out, and I had a year where it was really hard to get anyone to take me to the track. Now I have my own truck, and I can go whenever I want to.
I pull on my riding pants and jersey, then buckle on my boots and pull on my helmet. I put my gloves on last and then I take my bike off the stand and kickstart it to life. The engine rumbles and my excitement sparks to life just like the bike. I love riding. I love being on the track, feeling the wind in my face, even though my helmet deflects most of it. I love the speed and the sharp turns and the smell of exhaust in the air.
I rev the throttle, admiring my new purple handle grips. They look great.
After letting the bike warm up, I kick it into first gear and then slowly drive forward. You’re not allowed to speed through the parking lot area, which is called the pits, so I ride slowly through the other trucks and people until I get to the entrance to the track.
There’s a lot of people standing around a shiny truck that’s parked near the end of the pits. I hope no one has gotten injured. It never fails that when someone is hurt, a crowd of people want to gawk and watch the scene until the ambulance arrives.
But whatever it is, it’s none of my business, so I pull onto the track and pin the throttle and feel all of my worries wash away in the warm summer air.
Later, after about seven laps around the track, I’m starting to feel tired and I could use some water. Man, I’m out of shape. I’ve only been out here twice since my birthday, and this new bike is larger and faster than my old one. I need to get in shape if I want to ride longer than seven measly laps.
I pull off the track and drive back to Dad’s truck. The crowd of people have dispersed and now most of the onlookers are sitting at the bleachers.
I park my bike, load it up on the aluminum stand and then pull off my helmet, shaking out my hair. Dad isn’t here, but his bike is still on the stand next to mine. Like I suspected, he must be off chatting with his fri
ends.
I sit on the tailgate of the truck and drink a bottle of water. There’s a lot of people here tonight, but not many of them are riding. Then I see why. There’s a guy sitting on a bike that’s parked near the bleachers. I don’t have to see his face to know he’s some kind of hotshot. He’s got a factory bike that’s been upgraded in every possible way, and the graphics on the plastics are sleek and customized. His black and blue jersey isn’t some default thing you buy in the store like I did. His has logos of various sponsored brands printed on it.
I lean over to get a peek at his face, and when I do, he’s staring right back at me. I flinch. It’s Liam Mosely.
I break my gaze and look down at my water bottle, hoping that I wasn’t totally obvious that I was trying to look at him just now. And even though it looked like he was staring at me, maybe he wasn’t. I hope he wasn’t. He has a dozen fans standing around him right now, all talking excitedly and asking for pictures.
I even see Ryan Hibbard standing there, smiling all big like he’s some starstruck fanboy. Please. Liam Mosely is a jerk, and anyone who wants to take a selfie with him is just pathetic.
I down the rest of my water bottle and then get back on my bike. If everyone is going to hang out with the disgraced motocross racer instead of ride, then I’ll just take advantage of having the track all to myself.
I go for another seven laps, but to be honest, I’m lagging for the last two. I’m just too out of shape and this bike is just too fast. It’s twice as powerful as my old Kawasaki 110. I was always too scared to race the Kawi because it was slow. Now I’m too scared to race my Yamaha because it’s way too fast. I guess I’ll try to look at the bright side. This means I have a lot of work to do this summer if I want to get back into riding shape, and if I want to fully learn how to ride this new bike of mine.
That leaves exactly zero time for hanging around the house feeling sorry for myself because I’m a single, friendless loser.
