The second the whistle blows, I'm ready. There's no time for thinking, no time for doubt or fear or uncertainty. I surge forward with the others, my front wheel kicking up dirt and debris as we cross the open stretch of track.
This time, there is no waiting for my brain to catch up or for the fear to settle in – it's already gone. Hurtling down the uneven dirt, I feel alert, alive, like maybe in life there are things we are born for, and for me, this is one of them.
My bike throbs beneath me. Tyler and I – as well as the others – are on an even keel, but we won't be for long. Another few yards, and the stretch of track will cut around a corner, slowing a few of us down. Tyler turns his head to look at me, just for a second, but long enough to urge me forward.
The hills in the distance shimmer and shift like a mirage. Sweat prickles my neck and drips down my shoulders, soaking into the material of my gear. This blaring sun is almost unbearable, lighting every particle of dust; I try not to let it distract me.
The narrow turn is fast approaching. I brace myself as we swerve as one, a pulsing entity. Despite racing being known as a solitary sport, there are times on this track when don't feel alone, where it feels like I'm a part of something bigger; it's what keeps me coming back.
When the track straighens out, I glance behind me and watch as one or two riders fall away. But of course, Tyler's too skilled of a rider to let a turn trip him up. We're still head to head, his bike a quick flash in the corner of my eye. I swerve past a different a bike and ride out in front. Tyler catches up quick – too quick – and passes in a flash.
I watch as he pushes ahead. He rides like silk, up and down over hills and rises – a fleeting shadow. Grip tight, I push hard after him, swerving and charging over uneven land. It's not long before I've caught him up, and we ride head to head once more.
It's hard to believe that I'm really even here, that this is the same tournament I'd first read about on that flyer. The first time I came here, I watched with envy as riders more skilled than me soared across the track, cutting through air likes birds of a flock. Today, I am one of them.
The next ten minutes pass by without a hitch, a blur of endless rolling hills and steep, narrow turns. For the most part, Tyler and I remain close together while others either surge ahead or drop behind. Every so often, he looks at me as I look at him, and despite not seeing his face behind his gear, I know he is grinning. I grin back too. If this were just a few months ago, he would have long since overtaken me by now, but if there is one thing he's taught me, it's that fear shouldn't stop me from giving it my all, so despite Dad's accident, despite this constant feeling that I might end up like him, I don't stop.
I can't.
Above us the sky is wild Buddleia. Despite the fact I should be focused, it's hard not to get lost in the beauty of it all, from the rugged tops of the rolling hills to the overhanging trees on the horizon. I relish in the moment, straining to hear the sound of the crowd, but their chants are barely a murmur over the roar of the engines. Some people find peace in the crashing of waves or even in silence, but the hum of an engine is the sweetest sound of all.
A quick scan of the horizon reveals there are only a handful of riders up front. When they slow for the turn is when I'll pick up speed, not enough to be reckless, but to close the several feet of track between us. Part of being great is knowing when to push forward, Dad's voice reverbates in my ears, and knowing when to fall back. Right now, faced with a turn not all of us will fit through, I know it's time to push.
The rim of my wheel peeks through the clusters as I break out from the group. Tyler follows lead, hitting the corner at roughly the same speed while the others take a cautious approach. It's one of the benefits of training at Parkwood's track every day. We live and breathe each peak of its hills, every dip and curve of the terrain; we know it like the back of our hands.
The upcoming hill sits high above the trees, steep and jagged. We charge up together, then stand off our seats all the way down, fingers pounding the breaks. My lungs are on fire as I fight to catch my breath, but behind the fear, something stronger pushes to the forefront: adrenaline and hope and love. I thought competing with Tyler would tear us apart, but as we cross corners and battle terrain, I feel closer to him than ever.
We come up to another sharp turn. Tyler looks over again, then briefly nods forward. I take it as a sign that we need to pick up speed, so while the others slow down on the upcoming turn, we push on ahead. It's hard to tell, but as we hurtle down the rest of the track, there can't be much longer left. We manage to pass the next few bikes until only one or two linger ahead. From here on out, it's us against them, and them against us, and us against each other.
The closer we get to the finish line, the harder I fight to get ahead. My rim of my wheel edges Tyler's, followed by the body of my bike. A few more seconds, and I'll have overtaken him completely. To my left, Kai comes up beside me, the boy who'd caused my crash in the practice race. He cuts close again, and while the practice race prepared me for his underhand antics, the move forces me to slow down.
A different rider closes in on Tyler, but he makes a risky slip through the slight gap near the barrier and surges ahead without me. Frustrated, I hit the gas and fight to catch up, but it's too late, he's gone, fading from a shadow to a ghost.
Shit.
Kai zooms after him, leaving me in his dust. A part of me almost wants to give up now that I know first place is impossible, but then I think of my parents cheering me on from the crowd, and I don't have it in me. Instead, I give the last stretch of track all I've got and then some more, hoping against hope for a miracle.
The white flag is raised as I hurtle across the finish line, ready for one more lap. My thighs are burning with anger and exhaustion, but the thought my dad propels me forward. I'm hot on Kai's tail, refusing to let his dirty tricks get the better of me.
Despite the wobble of my bike as I push it to the limits, I don't stop gaining on him. He glances behind him, watching as I cut across the uneven dirt to reach him. He starts to swerve, taking up the whole of the track in a bid to intimidate me, but I'm tired of being intimidated. I aim right for him, knowing he'll either chicken out and move or my bike will go right into him. Either way, it's his choice. My heart pounds harder the closer I get, and just when it seems that a crash is inevitable, he swerves to the side and lets me past.
Up ahead, Tyler is seconds from the finish line. The flag suddenly lifts as he flies over the threshold, and several seconds later, so do I. Kai is the next across the finish line, but I don't look back to see who else has followed, I'm still struggling to catch my breath.
Second. It's not exactly first, but there's nothing I can do about that now. I turn to Tyler as he lifts off his helmet, and our eyes meet. He waits a moment, cautiously so, to gauge my reaction. And even though I'm disappointed, even though I'd hoped to cross that finish line first, the smile I give him is real.
A/N
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