Shifting Gears

9. We've All Got Issues

But I had to jinx it, didn't I?

"Greyson Ryvers - 37" was also printed neatly on the paper, just a few slots down. Someone decided to comment about it, of course.

"Greyson Ryvers is so fast!" the young kid said as he stood shoulder to shoulder with me, talking to his friend as he pointed at the name he just uttered in awe. "He flew across those whoops, taking every triple he could—and he made it look so easy."

Clay clenched his jaw on the other side of me, looking across at the kid with annoyance.

"If I had any money, I'd place it on Ryvers," the stranger continued. "He's going to win this for sure."

"How can you say that?" Reid cut in, making the kid look at him. "Lawson is just as good, if not better."

The two kids glanced at Reid, then noticed Clay looking at them as well. They gulped, but the first one carried on. "Well, yeah, but Ryvers won the mini-championship at Omayle last year."

"And Lawson won it here two years ago—he was younger than Ryvers when Ryvers won it." Reid had a habit of becoming his best friend's lawyer when he needed it.

"Maybe, but Ryvers is still really good."

"So is Lawson," Reid countered loyally.

"Boys, there's no need to fight about the obvious."

Everybody turned suddenly at the third voice. Greyson stood just ten feet away, arms crossed over his simple grey tee that I was pretty sure was one size smaller than necessary just so he could show off his built body.

"And what is the obvious?" Clay asked calmly, though there was an angry glint that simmered to life in his eyes as he saw Greyson.

Greyson spread a hand out nonchalantly as he took a few steps forward. His green eyes lit up with delight at Clay's anger. "The kid is right—do you really think you can beat me, Lawson?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Ryvers," Clay spat at him, widening his stance a bit.

"Wouldn't dream of it, just stating the facts."

Clay glared at his enemy's smug face, and his enemy just smirked right back. It seemed as if all the racers decided to lumber on over here, and now they were hushed, gathered around as if making a fighting ring. Some were whispering, some were just watching wide-eyed, but everybody could feel the tension in the air.

"Last time I raced you, I beat you by over three seconds," Clay said, his voice low.

Greyson crossed his arms. "Ah, so we're bringing back things from almost ten years ago to throw at me?"

"Oh, I could bring back a lot more things from around that time to throw at you." The venom in Clay's voice grew tenfold as he said that, and Greyson actually leaned back a little.

"Boys, enough," I cut in. I didn't want this advancing any further. "This is pointless. Save your competition for the track."

"Stay out of this, Cory," Clay said shortly.

"No—maybe she can talk some sense into you," Greyson replied, his tones smooth as he crossed his arms. "After all, I bet she thinks I'm better, too."

"I do not!" I protested vehemently, glowering at Greyson. Forget the civility of the night before. Now I was strongly reminded why I couldn't stand this jerk.

The crowd around us was growing larger. I even saw some of the staff members watching warily. I silently thanked God that Spencer hadn't shown up yet. We did not need another testosterone-ridden boy in this tension.