Most of my Sunday is spent Facetiming with Kianna. It's been hard finding a time when we're both free to talk, but we end up watching a bunch of old Disney films while eating popcorn together. It helps to dull the ache of missing her, even if it's just a little bit.
"So, how's your dad doing?" Kianna asks.
"He's better mentally," I say. "I mean, he still has his down days, but it's nothing like how it was. I think we're starting to get used to it."
"What do they think of your racing? That's gotta be tough on him, right? I mean, the last time I saw you, you told me you'd never get back on the track."
"I know, but technically, they don't know yet."
The disapproval on her face is evident. "Roxanna."
"Don't give me that face," I say. "You would have done the same thing if you'd seen this track."
"Except I wouldn't have," Kianna says. "My butt is far too bony for those bikes. I was sore for a week after you let me have a go."
I laugh at the way she'd waddled around at school. "I can't even explain it, Ki. Actually, I can. Remember when we went on that school trip to visit the canyons, and we couldn't stop talking about how it felt like we were on Mars? It was so incredible, so unlike anything we'd ever seen before, that we couldn't believe we were still on Earth."
"I remember," Ki says. "I still have all the selfies we took. You look stoned in half of them."
I ignore this and say, "Well, that's what this track feels like."
There's a knock at the door, and I jump as though we're talking about porn or something. Mom calls through the door to ask if I'm busy, and I quickly tell Kianna that I'll speak to her later.
It turns out, Mom wants us all to go for an afternoon walk, so she gets dad set up in his chair and then we set off down the street. We never went for walks back home–at least, not together–and I'd have probably refused if this were eight months ago. Now I'm just happy Dad is willing to leave the house.
"So, tell me about some of the new friends you've made," Mom says as she pushes Dad. "You never talk about school."
"There's not much to say." I wrap my jacket further around my body, trying to fight back the cold. "There's this girl, Vanessa, who is nice, and her friend, Niko. Oh, I work with this girl called Alex at the track. She's nice, too."
"Nice, nice, nice," Mom says with a smile. "I need to get you a thesaurus so you can expand your vocabulary."
I roll my eyes. "Sorry, I'll start talking like how Dad writes in his articles."
"Hey," Dad says. "What are you trying to say?"
"That some of us rely on a thesaurus a little too much."
"You just don't appreciate the beauty of word variation."
"I like being able to read articles I can understand."
Dad turns his head to try and look at Mom. "You understand my articles, don't you?"
Mom laughs and says, "Yes, honey. They're the best articles I've ever read."
Dad huffs at this quite obvious lie, and I burst out laughing. Even though it's just a walk–just a simple, ordinary moment–I am suddenly overcome with hope.
***
On Monday when I get to the track, I dread seeing Tyler. I haven't spoken to him since Saturday night, and I'm still mad about the bet. Or at least, the fact he never told me about the bet.
I push my bike over to where he is standing. He turns and grins, and that's when I notice the bike he is leaning on. "Holy shit," I say. "Is that a KTM 450 SX-F?"
He laughs and straightens up. "Good eye."
I take a moment to study the bike. It's sleek, compact, with a silver body and a bright orange finish, the kind of bike that screams, Champion. "This is a ten grand bike."
"I know," Tyler says. "You better not break it."
My head snaps up. "Wait, do you mean–" I pause mid-sentence because he can't possibly mean what I think he means. "What do you mean?"
He can't hide the grin from his face. "I mean, I'm letting you borrow it for the tournament. This is the bike you'll be practicing on."
"Tyler." I can barely hear myself over the thumping of my heart. "That's insane. I'm not riding your ten thousand dollar bike."
"Look," he says. "If we wait for you to save up for a bike, we'll be waiting for months. We need to start practicing for the qualifying rounds on the same bike you'll be using for the tournament."
I can't help it, I'm suddenly throwing my arms around his neck. "I can't believe it. Do you know what this means? It's like riding first class on an airplane. No, like riding in a jet." I pull back to run my hand along the bike, shivering at its smoothness.
Tyler looks at me like I'm officially insane. "Do you need a moment alone with the bike?"
I give him a look, but I can't keep the smile off my face. Deep down, I'd been worrying about how I was going to save up for a bike, and now one has fallen in my lap. No, not fallen, Tyler has put it there.
My stomach clenches. Something tells me that none of this is normal, that no one just helps someone out like this for no reason. Tyler is up to something, and I have a feeling it's more than just proving he's the best at the track.
"I just don't get it," I say. "The training, the bike–is it really all so that you can prove to your stupid friends that you're better than me?"
Tyler looks away from me and into the distance. "I told you, I have my reasons."
"Mind sharing with the group?"
"Yeah, I do," he says, turning back to me. "C'mon." He starts off in the direction of the start line, so reluctantly, I push my new bike after him.
He tells me to ride on the first circuit while I get used to the bike, but after a couple of laps around the track, I'm itching to try something harder.
"C'mon, Tyler." I lift my goggles and look at him through my lashes. "Pretty please?"
He sighs and runs a hand down his jaw, refusing to look at me. I can tell the puppy dog expression is working, so I move into his line of vision.
"Is that a yes?" I ask.
Those dark eyes flit to mine. "Fine, one lap."
I flash him my brightest smile. "Thanks."
His eyes flit to my lips for a second, then back to my face. There is something in his expression that I can't quite place, but before I can register, it's gone.
Tyler has me ride the second circuit at the pace of a snail. I don't really mind, I'm still on cloud nine from riding such a beauty, so I focus on the view, instead.
When I get to the finish line, Tyler walks over and frowns. "You need to adjust your seating slightly," he says. He comes up behind me and places his hands on either side of my waist, shifting me into position. "Here." He lets his hands linger, and my heart jumps.
I lean back a little, into his chest. He's so close, I can practically feel the heat of his skin. I clear my throat and say, "One more lap?"
He nods and steps back, so I zoom off down the track. My heart is still pounding in that peculiar way it only does around him. It's a dangerous feeling. I still don't trust Tyler, don't trust his intentions, but I can't ignore the butterflies in my chest.
Alex's warning floats to my mind, and I feel myself speed up. This is obviously a pattern with Tyler, and getting involved in sibling drama is a distraction I don't need, especially with the tournament coming up. Maybe ignoring the butterflies is exactly what I should be doing.
I hit the corner too steep and slide off my bike. My hip hits the ground, and I feel myself roll several times across the dirt. I lie still for a moment, too afraid to move.
Tyler comes running just as I try to sit up. He kneels before me and pulls up my goggles, frantically searching my face. "Shit," he says. "Are you all right?" He's patting down my arms and legs, searching me for injuries. When it doesn't seem like anything hurts, he gently lifts off my helmet and rests both hands on either side of my face. "Are you in any pain?"
I shake my head. I should be thinking about the fact I nearly died, but instead, I'm busy thinking about how warm his hands feel. "I'm fine," I say. "I think. Nothing hurts."
The relief that crosses his face is unmistakable. He helps to lift me to my feet by hooking his arm through mine. "Can you stand?"
I let myself feel the weight of my body, relieved to find that I can hold my weight. "Yep, good to go."
Tyler frowns. "I think that's enough for today. I have some things I need to do this morning, anyway. I need to cut our lesson a little short."
Now it's my turn to frown. "I can practice without you."
"No." His voice comes out sharp, and I feel myself jump. "Don't ever ride this circuit without me, all right? Promise me."
"Fine, I promise."
He sighs and glances at his watch. "Look, we can pick up again this afternoon if you want. I'll pick you up after school–I want to show you this bike shop just outside of town. You need some better gear."
"What am I going to do with my other bike?" I say.
"Leave it here," Tyler says. "I'll drop you at school."
Fifteen minutes later, I'm showered and ready for school. I hop on the back of Tyler's Harley and hold him tight while he zips down country lanes.
Riding on the back of someone's bike is different from driving. It's easier, for one, and now that I don't have to concentrate on the road, I can focus on all the things I don't get to see, like the glimpses of the river in the distance, or the birds hopping from branch to branch overhead.
He pulls up outside of my school and rests a foot on the ground. I quickly climb off before storing my helmet in the back. "I'll see you later, then," I say.
He nods, and I imagine if I could see his face through his helmet, he'd be smiling. "See you later."
I watch him ride off before turning to face the school. Deep in my stomach, despite my attempts to ignore them, are the wildest butterflies.