Girl on Track

22| Now or never

The night before the qualifying rounds, Tyler has me ride the circuit one last time. We've not talked about our night at the bar, nor acknowledged the fact he admitted to wanting to kiss me. We've just carried on training like that night at Mojack's never happened. It's been easy for the most part, but there are times, such as now, where I don't focus on the open track – I focus on him.

If Alex found out I was thinking like this, she'd tell me I was stupid. Don't fall for it, Roxy. Tyler's just looking for his next clueless conquest. And while the tiniest part of me would hope that she's wrong, she wouldn't be. Guys like Tyler only want one thing, and as soon as he gets it, he'll be looking for his next 'old friend'. Besides, fraternizing with someone I'm about to compete with would be a fool's error, and I refuse to jeopardize my chances for him.

When it starts to get late, I slow to a stop at the end of the track and pull up in front of him. He takes a step closer, lifting my goggles away from my face. "That was a perfect circuit," he says, and there's the tiniest glimmer of pride in his eyes.

"Thanks." I climb off my bike and park it in the bay before taking off my helmet. My hair tumbles out, grateful for the release, and falls down my back in knotty waves. Frowning, I run my fingers through the ends, but a strand gets caught in my jacket.

"Here," Tyler says. He moves toward me, gently unraveling the strand from my zipper. "So, are you nervous about tomorrow?"

It's the first chance I've given him to talk to me properly. Ever since that night, I've been acting like a skittish kitten, taking off any time the conversation starts to move away from racing. Now it's like I'm trapped.

"Yeah," I say, "but I'm trying not to think about it. It's just the qualifying round, right?"

"Right." He grins. "Piece of cake for someone like you."

"Someone like me?"

"Yeah." He shrugs. "Brave. Confident."

For some reason, it feels like he's describing someone else. "I'm not brave," I say. "I'm scared of lots of things."

"Like what?"

Like being alone with you. "Like nothing. I should probably get home."

His eyebrow arches. It looks like he wants to say something more, but I'm already heading to his bike. Now that I'm bikeless, he's been dropping me home after our midnight sessions, waiting until I'm safely inside before taking off, like he thinks I might be kidnapped. If I didn't know better, I might think he actually cares.

He slows to a stop at the end of my street, looking over his shoulder. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow, Sirenita."

I don't move. My arms are still around his waist, refusing to let go. "See you tomorrow." Reluctantly, I peel myself off him, mentally scolding myself for being so weak, and sneak back into my house.

***

The second I wake up, I'm hit with a feeling of nausea. I glance at my clock to see it's almost seven, which means in less than five hours, I'll be competing. I take my time getting ready, trying to psyche myself up, but it doesn't seem to work.

Downstairs, Mom has bacon and eggs on the table, but I'm so nervous I can hardly eat. She tilts her head and rests a hand on my forehead, trying to determine if I'm sick.

"I'm not sick," I say, "I'm just not hungry."

She frowns and says, "You're always hungry. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't need to spend hundreds of dollars on groceries each week."