“What is that supposed to mean?” I put my hands on my hips and stare him down.
He raises his hands in defense. “Nothing, nothing. Just making conversation.” He grins and I frown. I turn back around and shove my key into the bike rack to lock it. Even though I already locked it. I just need something to focus on besides him.
“Is she always like this?”
Kelsie giggles. “Always.”
“No, not always. Just when I have the pleasure of talking to you,” I say. I don’t look at him. I open my door to throw my gear on the front seat.
“Oh, come on, Marty. You’re not still mad about the whole captain thing, are you?”
I cringe at both the memory and the nickname. “Of course not. The past is in the past.” Even though I try hard to keep my voice even, it comes out clipped. “And don’t call me Marty.” My last name is Martin, but that doesn’t give him the right to call me that.
I hear his truck door open and he jumps down in the dirt next to me. “But Marty’s such a sweet nickname, isn’t it?”
I turn around in a huff. “No.”
He puts a hand on my car and leans toward me, trapping me in the corner of my open door. “So, what place did you get today? I’m assuming from the dirt all over your uniform that you raced?”
No. I rolled in the dirt for the heck of it. I grit my teeth. I really don’t want to tell him. So I don’t.
Kelsie steps in. “She took second.”
His eyes widen, then he nods. “Not surprised. Congrats.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, knowing he’ll get first in his division. He always does.
“Almost had first, right, Emmy?”
I glare at Whitney, who parks herself next to my car. She admires her nails and doesn’t look up. “She was ahead the whole time and then lost it on that last climb. Too bad, huh?”
My hands clench into fists, but I keep myself under control. “I wasn’t feeling the best today.”
“Pretty lame excuse. You look fine to me. You’re just not the best climber. Never have been.” She smiles sweetly at me and I clench my fists tighter.
Cole must sense the tension coming off me because he ignores her and leans closer to me. “I can teach you to climb.” His breath tickles my ear and I try to back away but have nowhere to go. “Just name the time and place and I’ll be there.”
I frown. “Um … no. Thanks, though …” Flirting will not do anything for you, buddy.
“Might do you some good,” Whitney says. “Since you’ve kind of lost some of your A-game.”
I whirl on her. “What are you talking about? I haven’t lost—”
“I don’t see you with a first-place medal around your neck.” She chuckles and shoves her medal in my face.
“One loss doesn’t mean anything.”
She shakes her head. “This isn’t your year, Emmy. It’s just like last year. Get used to it.” She turns and starts walking back to her friends. “You coming, Cole?”
“Just a sec,” he says, searching my face.
I ignore the curious look he’s giving me and try to push past him to … I don’t know, make myself look cool and get all up in her face, but he won’t move. And even as I push against his um … rather solid chest, I know I’m not going to get past any time soon. The boy’s like a rock.
“It’s not worth it,” he says. “Settle it some other way. Violence is never the answer.” His expression and voice is joking, but his eyes are serious. Why the heck does he care anyway? It’s not like we’re friends.
“I’ll settle it right now,” I snap.
Kelsie moves next to Cole. “Listen to him, Em. She’s not worth it.”
I stand there, unsure of what to do. I can’t just let her walk away. It would be like backing down from a fight. And I don’t back down from anything. “How about a rematch?” I yell before I can stop myself.
Whitney stops and turns around. “What?”
My heart quickens as I glance at Cole. He’s staring at me, an amused expression on his face.
I glance away from him, flustered that he’s so close. “I said,” I draw it out just to be a jerk. “How about a rematch?”
She takes a defensive stance, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. “With who? Me and you?”
“Um … yeah? Who else would I be talking about?”
She stares at me a second and lets out a disgusted snort. “Seriously? You think you can beat me in a one-on-one race?”
“I know I can.”
Cole chuckles and backs up a step, finally letting me past him. “I’d pay money to see this,” he says, rubbing his hands together.
Whitney glares at him before looking back at me. “Fine. I’ll play your little game. A rematch. Two weeks from now.”
“Why two weeks?” I ask.
Whitney laughs. “So you can get some practice sessions in. You’re gonna need them. I’d race you right now, but I don’t want you to pass out or anything because you don’t ‘feel good.’”
I fold my arms and frown. I wish I could think of some witty comeback, but I’m at a loss for words right now. All I can think of is how much she looks like a Barbie with her bright pink spandex, helmet, even her bike.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Who am I to think I can actually beat her? Especially when she’s won every race the past year and a half. I have no chance. Even if I came in second today, she’s still better.
“You having second thoughts? I would if I were you. Forget about the race, Emmy. You’re obviously not in it to win it.” She laughs as though she’s just said the funniest thing in the world. “You ready to race, Cole? I wanted to watch you kill it out there.” She smiles at him and I’m on the verge of punching her in the face.
Cole doesn’t look at her, just keeps his eyes focused on me. “Come on, Emmy. I know you can do this. Don’t you want to beat her?”
Yes. Yes I do. You have no idea how bad. I chew on my lip and can’t help but notice his eyes shift to my mouth. I hesitate before I answer, wondering if there’s any chance I could beat her. What if I could? I totally could. If I train hard every day for the next two weeks. Maybe?
“What do you say?” He’s still watching me. Waiting for me to cave.
I let out an annoyed breath. “I’ll race you,” I say to Whitney.
She raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Really? You sure?” I fold my arms and nod and she kind of looks … impressed, maybe? Or maybe it’s just my wishful thinking. “Okay, Emmy. Two weeks. What are the rules then? What’s at stake?”
“Um …”
She snaps her fingers before I can say anything else. “I’ve got it. If I win, you admit I’m the better rider.”
“That’s not—”
“That’s my only offer.”
Of course it is. “And if I win?”
“You join your team again as captain, which I will happily give back to you,” Cole says, answering for her. And by the look on her face, she’s not happy about it at all.
“But—”
“On one condition. No more grudges. No more fights. The girls will be stronger with you on the team, Emmy. And you both know it.”
Is he joking?
“Wait, what? No way. Not gonna happen.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Are you always this stubborn?”
“Yes,” Kelsie says, the same time I say no. “I’m trying to cure her of it, but it’s not really working out. She’s the worst.”
“Traitor,” I mutter.
Cole laughs. “Let’s try this again then. If you lose, you admit she’s the better rider, and if you win, we’ll at least talk about you joining the team again. Coach Clarke has been hounding me to get you back. And if you come back, maybe I’ll stop calling you Marty.”
“Okay, enough chitchat. I’m bored. Cole,” Whitney says, her eyes narrowing. “Let’s. Go.”
I ignore her and stare at him. “Really?” I’d really like him to stop calling me that. I don’t like him. And for that re
ason, he doesn’t have the right to give me a nickname.
“Really.”
“Deal?”
He smiles as I reach my hand toward him. “Deal.” His hand is warm and strong and tingles shoot through fingers all the way up my arm. We shake and I drop his hand and clear my throat.
Whitney glares at me. “If I were you, I’d get training. You have more work than you’re cut out for if you want to beat me.”
I fix my eyes on his, but answer her. “Bring it on.”
Cole laughs. “I know an awesome trail you guys can race on in Park City. If you two are game.”
“I love that trail. If it’s the one I’m thinking about.” She grins at Cole and nudges him with her shoulder. “Good memories.”
His cheeks look a little pink as he avoids my eyes.
I don’t even want to think about what they were doing on that trail. “I can handle anything she can.”
He raises his eyebrows and gives me a sly smile. “Nice. Can’t wait.” He turns to Whitney. “I’m ready. Let’s go. Later, Marty.” He backs up, his eyes still on mine. He gives me a small smile and follows Whitney around the truck.
“What the heck was that about?” Kelsie asks.
I get in the car and she follows. “What do you mean?”
“He’s totally into you.”
I let out a snort. Super attractive. “Um … no. He likes tormenting me, that’s it.”
He did keep watching me, though. And actually tried to help me, which, from the way I’ve treated him in the past, I didn’t deserve.
“Because he likes you.”
“If he liked me, he wouldn’t be with Beach Barbie.”
She bursts out laughing. “I don’t think they’re dating, but she was wearing a lot of pink.”
“That she was. The picture of her pink spandex butt is burned into my mind forever. I swear that’s the only thing I see when I race anymore. Since she beats me every time.”
“You’ll get her in two weeks, Em.”
“I hope so. Just once. I’d like to beat her just once.”
I put the car in drive, leaving all thoughts of Cole and Whitney behind me. “Let’s get a shake or something. I’m starving.” Nothing like starting off the summer with a race and a nice yummy shake.
CHAPTER 2
After I drop off Kelsie, I head home. The results of the race eat at me again. I know I could have done better. I could have won. Things are going to be different next time. More training. Less thinking about Lucas and things I can’t change. I don’t care how hard it’s going to be or how much time it takes. I’m going to get my life back, beat Whitney at our race in two weeks, and after that, I’ll get first in my division. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll agree to be captain and race for my school’s team again.
Maybe.
My smile returns. I can do this.
I pull in my driveway, take my bike off the car, and roll it into the garage. I set it on my bike stand and start a mini tune-up before heading inside. I check the brakes and the tires for flats and assess the rest of it. The frame and chain are all dirty, so I grab an old towel and run it under the sink in the garage.
Have I mentioned I love my bike? No? Well, I do. I built it. I got the frame from a bike I found at a second-hand store a few years ago when I first started biking. It was in perfect condition. Not top of the line, but Trek is a good brand so I’m happy with it. It’s white with black lettering, so I knew it would be a pain to keep clean when I bought it, but I didn’t care. I was in love. Still am.
After taking a few classes on how to build and fix-up bikes at the bike shop down the street, I started buying some old bikes, fixing them up, and selling them to earn money to buy new parts for my bike. I’m really proud of my handiwork. I’ve replaced every crappy part on my baby with better ones. Brakes, gears, pedals, handlebars. Even the seat.
Now I’m kind of obsessed with it. Besides actual riding, fixing up bikes is kind of a passion. And as soon as I fix up and sell the two hanging on the wall above me, I’ll have enough money to buy the new rims I’ve been saving for.
I wipe down the frame, rub the dirt off the pedals, and check out the chain. Dirty, but I’ll clean it a little later. I don’t realize how hungry I am until my stomach rumbles. I’m starving. Which is weird because I just finished a gigantic shake.
I shut the garage, grab my bag full of biking stuff, and trudge to the front door. I smell cookies when I walk inside and my mouth waters. I throw my bag in the corner next to the door and slip my shoes off before heading to the kitchen.
Mom and Dad decided to redo all the flooring in the house a year ago and both of them almost have a heart attack every time anyone forgets to take their shoes off before they walk … well, anywhere. You’d think they’d be a little less crazy by now, but no.
I chuck my socks up the stairs, hoping someone will get them to the laundry room before Mom sees them, and start down the hall. The hardwood floor is cold and feels good on my bare feet. I glance in the mirror as I pass the bathroom and my eyes widen at how crappy I look. Flyaway hairs are everywhere and I have dark mascara marks underneath my eyes. I look like a zombie who likes to wear spandex.
And people actually saw me like this? Nice.
When I walk in the kitchen, Mom’s in her apron, her hair up in a messy bun. She has flour in her bangs, on her cheek, and across her chest. She pretty much always looks like that when she’s been baking. She’s not the tidiest, but she makes the best cookies around.
“Hey, Mom.” I give her a quick hug, then sit down on a barstool and relax for a minute, drumming my fingers on the marble counter. I’m antsy. Not sure why.
I glance at the black-and-white cows decorating the room and hang my keys on the cow key-holder hooked to the wall by my head. Mom sure loves her cows. I usually have to warn my friends before they come over, because they’re freaking everywhere.
“Where have you been?” Mom asks, running her hands under the faucet.
I shrug.
She takes in my outfit and smiles as she wipes her hands on a towel. “Biking again?”
“Where else?”
She chuckles but grows serious just as fast. “Were you alone?”
“No. Kelsie came with me. It was actually a race today.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “What? How’d you do? You should have told me. I would have come to see you.”
“I got second.”
“Really? That’s amazing!”
She leans forward and hugs me, flour falling from her shirt onto my shorts.
I wipe the flour off and smile. “It wasn’t a huge race. Not a big deal.”
“Still. I’m proud of you. Next time tell me, okay?”
“I didn’t think you cared about mountain biking.”
She washes her hands in the sink and shoots me a grin over her shoulder. “I don’t, but I like to support my daughter. Is that okay with you?”
“Yes. You’re the best.” Mom walks over and sets a plate in front of me and I pile a bunch of cookies on it. “And you made cookies for me, too.”
“Technically, they aren’t for you, but you can have a few.” She grabs a glass out of the cupboard and puts it next to my plate. “There’s milk in the fridge.”
“Thanks. So, if the cookies aren’t for me, who are they for?”
“A lady who comes in for prescriptions at the pharmacy every week or so.” She pulls another cookie sheet out of the oven. “She needs a friend right now, so I thought I’d make her some cookies.”
She’s always thinking of others before herself. Even when she barely knows them. I need to be more like her. Care about more people. Especially ones I do know. “You’re too nice, you know that?”
“Being nice isn’t a bad thing, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” I watch her roll more dough into balls and put them on a new tray. “Want to go to a movie later? I know we couldn’t do a girls’ night last week, but there’s a new chick flick playing at the theater. We
could go if you’re not busy.”
She smiles. “That sounds fun. I’m sorry I had to cancel.”
“It’s okay.” I say it even though I’m still a bit disappointed about it. We haven’t missed a girls’ night, or mom and me night, for years. Second Wednesday of every month since I was twelve. But conference calls and meetings with bosses can put a damper on things sometimes.
“I’ll see what Dad’s doing, but that sounds fun. I definitely need some girl time.”
“Great.” I take a bite of the cookie and chew. A strange flavor hits my tongue and it takes everything I have not to spit it out. I swallow as fast as I can and hurry to the fridge to grab some milk. I twist the lid off and pour it in my glass, downing most of it in a few gulps. I swish the rest, trying to get the gross taste out of my mouth. After I swallow, I lean against the fridge, watching Mom put another cookie sheet in the oven with her black-and-white oven mitts.
“Um … Mom?”
She turns, takes her mitts off, and tucks some hair behind her ear. “What?”
“Did you forget to put the sugar in the cookies?”
She frowns and glances at the plate on the table. “That’s impossible. I know this recipe better than I know myself.” She picks up a cookie and takes a bite. Her eyes widen as she chews and she leans over the garbage can to spit it out. She stares at the cookies, her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what happened … I’ve never done that before.”
I chuckle. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal? I’ve wasted a whole batch of cookies.”
I shrug and glance at the recipe book gathering dust on the counter next to the microwave. “I can make some more.”
She frowns again, the crinkles near her eyes more pronounced than I’ve noticed before. She grabs a tray full of cookies. “You’re not making more. It’s fine,” she snaps. She tips them into the trash can and mutters something under her breath. “Besides. You need to clean that mess of a room you live in.” Then she frowns at my outfit. “And go change your clothes. You look ridiculous in those spandex shorts.”
I stare at her. What the heck just happened? “Uh … thanks?”
She doesn’t say anything else, just stands there, staring at the mixing bowl with a frown on her face. I wonder why she’s so upset. They’re just cookies.
Switching Gears Page 2
