MY FATE FOR YOURS

Chapter 8- RACHEL

Rachel

 It’s two in the afternoon before I roll out of bed making me realize that something’s gotta give. I can’t keep up my schedule. I have six hours before I need to be at Carl’s, which is the job I need for the tips. I also have a couple hours of homework to do before my class tomorrow. Only kissing Eamon is all I can think about. It’s like when I finally got to kiss Chandler Fletch in sixth grade, and I drew his name on everything I owned. I learned this was a ridiculous thing to do when he broke up with me two weeks later, but this is what my thoughts are like. I’m not sure how long I was pinned between Eamon and the wall of that small cabin, but it wasn’t long enough.

We walked back out the trail the same way we walked in, and I thought it would be awkward to say goodbye. Like neither of us would know what to do, but it was fine. And I ran into him at Market Basket and that was fine, too. Maybe we are okay as friends. Only now I’m wondering if that’ll be enough--not that it ever has been.

My phone beeps in a text and I flip it over. Leslie.

EAMON SEEMS SET ON KILLING HIMSELF ON THE TRACK TODAY. U KNOW WHTS UP?

Both of us have been high-stress lately. He just needs to burn off some steam, and the track is probably the safest way for someone like Eamon to do it. I’m probably glad I don’t know what he did with his day before he hit the track. I try to ignore the gnawing feeling that whatever is going on between Eamon and I has brought on this new wave of recklessness in him.

JUST TOBIN MAYBE?

I let out a sigh and slip my bikini on before sliding up my cut-offs and a tank. Those boys always want to go for a swim after riding, so I know I need to be prepared. Daryl’s son broke his neck on that track, now he’s crazy about the protection we all need to wear,  even in the winter it turns everyone into a sweaty mess.

Eamon went out on the track once without his gear and Daryl banned him for a month and stuck to it. Eamon was pissed, and it’s still the only place he rides with any amount of protection aside from his helmet, which is on about half the time.

I had to sell my bike last year, which sucks, but I throw my helmet and pads into a bag anyway.

The humidity has me a sticky mess by the time I make it up the old clay road to the motocross track in Rainy. Arnaud’s house is just a mile or so from here, so I should probably stop by later on and give it the once-over Mama asked me to.

Eamon’s truck is here at the track parked next to Traive and a few others. Leslie stands and waves from the stands, her blond hair flying as she moves. I’m amazed she’s still in Crawford. She and Traive have talked about moving to New Orleans or Atlanta since high school. She’s working as a paralegal but wants to get a law degree. It sorta cracks me up because she’s looks like a country-hick fake blonde, but the girl is wicked smart and damn funny.

“Rachella!” she yells and I roll my eyes at the name my mama gave me. The one I haven’t used since I was six.

“You riding today?” she calls as I get closer.

I shrug as I step under the shade and take a deep breath of heavy, wet air. “Damn, it’s hot. I packed my gear, but I can’t imagine putting it on.”

I scan the track and catch sight of Eamon just as he takes the far jump at twice the speed he should. My stomach drops as I hold my breath and he lands so hard I can feel it in my neck. “Holy...”

“Told ya.” Leslie shakes her head. “Been like that since he got here. Been doing flips even though not a one of these jumps is designed for it. He’s crashed hard twice.”