Dirt Bike Runaway

by Matt Christopher

  They were approaching the second berm when Peter, to the left and about a length behind D.C., cut to the outside of her. At the same time, Dex was also cutting to the right, and got in front of Peter.

  “Darn you!” Peter thought, and accelerated the Muni. Hunched back on the seat to help give the rear tire all the traction possible, he aimed for the spot on Dex’s right side. Hope ignited in him as he swept down the berm alongside of Dex.

  Then Peter saw Dex squeezing up beside him, trying to force him to the inside. Just ahead was a left-hand turn that curved to the right farther on.

  Peter knew that Dex was trying to scare him into slowing down and backing off, but he held his position and kept up his speed. Now that he was the closest he had ever been to beating Dexter, he was not going to give up that chance. No matter what Dex tried to do.

  They headed side by side to the next berm, Peter still on Dex’s left side, and then shot down the short stretch toward the next smaller berm, one that headed into a brief hairpin curve.

  They were still hub to hub as they shot into the hairpin, and then into the next short curve to the right — when the Corella rammed into the Muni.

  Peter fought to control his balance and the bike as it headed for the fence on his left side. He ricocheted against it, got back on the track, and accidently rammed into the Corella. The Corella, still traveling at high speed, then crashed into the right-hand-side fence, behind which spectators suddenly screamed, yelled, and scrambled back to avoid being struck.

  Peter, his feet dangling along the sides of the Muni to help maintain his balance, started to accelerate the machine again to keep his lead. It was now or never, he thought. What had happened was Dex Pasini’s fault. Maybe that brief contact was an accident. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Dex had wanted to make it look like an accident.

  Whatever it was, I’m in the lead now, Peter thought, and I’m going to keep it.

  Then he glanced back and saw Dex lying down on the track, trying to get up and apparently unable to. At that moment D.C. came sweeping around the curve, and two bike lengths behind her came Giff.

  Dex is hurt, thought Peter. He could get hit. Maybe smashed up badly. Maybe killed.

  Quickly he slowed down, stopped the bike, shoved it against the fence, and ran back to help Dex.

  He saw D.C. and Giff both glance at Dex, then at him, and he thought for a second or two that they were slowing down.

  “No!” he shouted, motioning them on. “Keep going! Keep going!”

  They kept going, accelerating their bikes again as they headed down the track, and Peter rushed to Dex. Getting behind him and lifting him by the armpits, Peter pulled Dex to the fence and then under it as one of the spectators raised it up. Once they were safely out of the way of oncoming bikes, he paused and looked into the eyes that he could barely see through the dark visor of Dex’s helmet.

  He didn’t know what to say. He heard shouts of “Finish the race, kid! Finish the race!” But he wanted to make sure that Dex was all right.

  Dex’s mouth opened. “You’re crazy, Lewinski,” he murmured. “You know that? You’re really crazy. Why didn’t you leave me there? You could’ve won the race hands down.”

  Peter looked at him squarely. “I’m satisfied just to have beaten you, Dex,” he said calmly.

  Then he got up, crawled back under the fence, ran to his bike, and went on to finish the race.

  He came in thirteenth.

  D.C. was first, Giff second, a Honda third, and a Suzuki fourth.

  “I feel funny about the win,” D.C. said as she, Giff, Peter, and her father headed home in the borrowed Ford pickup.

  “Why?” said Mr. MacKenzie. “You won it fair and square. Why should you feel funny?”

  She shrugged. “Peter should’ve won it.”

  “Don’t feel bad,” Peter said, smiling. “I’m happy enough to have been ahead of Dex when the accident happened. That was even more important to me than winning.”

  D.C. looked at him and frowned. “Peter Lewinski, you’re crazy, you know that?”

  He met her eyes squarely. “That’s funny,” he said. “Dex said the same thing.”

  Mrs. MacKenzie met them at the door. The moment Peter saw her happy face and met her warm, sparkling eyes, he knew that she had some important news.

  “Guess what?” she said as she closed the door behind them.

  “Oh, come on, Mother,” D.C. exclaimed, unzipping her uniform. “We haven’t time for guesses. Give us the news. Please?”

  Peter waited, tense. All eyes were upon her.

  “The Bentleys were here, Peter. They brought your suitcase with all your clothes in it.”

  His heart almost stopped. He tried to say something.

  But he couldn’t. He was afraid he’d cry if he tried.

  Mrs. MacKenzie came forward, clutched his hands in hers. Tears glistened in her eyes.

  “We had decided we wanted to keep you with us as far back as a week ago, Peter,” she said tremulously. “But we weren’t sure what the Bentleys might want to do. Then they came over this afternoon — Dr. and Mrs. Bentley. Not the boy. He preferred not to come. Anyway, we didn’t talk very long. They had made their decision not to make a fuss about your staying here several days ago. They said they understand your feelings, and why you had run away. They’re sorry, but they think as long as we can give you a good home, and companionship — something that they were not able to give you — they’ll be pleased and happy. All we have to do now is to sign some papers to make it legal. Isn’t that good news?”

  “It’s terrific!” he cried, and flung his arms around her. Then each of the others hugged him, and from D.C. he got a kiss.

  “Now we have three racing champs in the family,” D.C. exclaimed cheerfully. “How about that?”

  “And a first-class mechanic,” Giff added. “Don’t forget that.”

  Peter laughed. He had never felt so good in his life. “Right,” he said.

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  DIRT BIKE RUNAWAY

  Peter runs away from his foster home … and right into danger

  Peter is a genius with dirt bikes. He can take them apart, fix them up, and race them like a champ. But his skill with a bike can take him only so far — and when he runs away from his foster home, he realizes he’s in was over his head. He gets mixed up with two dangerous strangers and soon finds himself neck and neck with trouble on and off the racetrack.

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  * Previously published as Crackerjack Halfback

  ** Previously published as Pressure Play

  *** Previously published as Baseball Pals