The longer we biked, the stranger our way became. The trees stopped looking familiar. The path narrowed. The forest thickened. It was the farthest I'd ever biked down the tracks. I looked behind me to see how far we'd come, and then turned forward, and said a little type of prayer. In my head, I mean. It wasn't addressed to anyone in particular. In fact, it was kind of addressed to everyone, whoever would listen. I prayed that everything work out. I said, 'Please, let it all work out.' I wasn't talking about the treasure hunt, either. I really did mean everything. For so long, as a kid and all, I'd been such a critic. I can't stand this. I don't want to do that. Acting like nothing was done right. I longed for the freedom to do it my way. But now here I was. I had freedom. I had my way. But I was paralyzed. No university and no clue. What was I doing? On this dumb treasure hunt. I was the biggest failure I knew. 'Please,' I repeated, 'let it all work out.'
When I finished praying, I focused on the road ahead, and pedaled harder. I passed Matty. I pedaled harder. I passed Chris. I pedaled harder. My thighs burned. I pedaled harder.
I was a championship biker shooting past the competition. The breeze, hot and heavy, rushed past. It felt good. The path turned left; I turned left. The path turned more, curling like a damn race track; I turned more, slanting like a damn racer. My pedal skidded against the dirt. I couldn't see the path ahead. I was turning too sharply and too quickly. Far behind were Matty and Chris. My wheels slid out. I straightened as best I could, and pumped the brakes. But my bike sped forward and the path kept curling. I shot right off it, right into the forest. Bumping through trees, I was poked and bitten by branches. I pulled the brakes hard, and went right over the handle bars, landing in a pile of dirt and leaves.
Nothing hurt. I pushed myself up. Though shaky, I wasn't shocked. I expected it, in a way. It's what I do. I'm always getting worked up to be, oh, I dunno, a championship biker. It's kind of funny, if you think about it. For instance, in ninth grade I determined to be the best student in school. I studied hard and got pretty good grades. But then I got bored or lazy, or maybe I just pedaled too hard. By tenth grade, my marks were back to normal. By eleventh, I nearly failed a class. And now, in twelfth grade, I hadn't applied to a single university. Even as I write this book, I wonder whether I'm just pedaling too hard. I mean, who knows if I'll ever finish? Probably won't. But let's say I do—who's gonna read this crap? Probably no one. I'm not a writer. I don't even like most books. And, to think, I could've spent all this time doing something useful, something respectable, something for my future. Instead, I waste my energy, pedaling wildly, until I knock myself off the god damn bike.
Before I knew it, Chris and Matty had dropped their bikes and run through the forest to find me.
'Alright dude?' Chris asked, laughing.
'Yeah,' I said, laughing. 'I'm fine.'
'What happened?' Matty asked.
'Dunno,' I said, smiling and scratching the back of my head. 'Went a little too fast, I guess.'
'Be careful.' Chris said. 'We have a long trip ahead.'
'Yeah, my bad.' I said.
I walked to get my bike. But as soon as I took my first step, my left ankle panged. I couldn't really put weight on it. I didn't want to tell the guys though. So I just sort of kept walking. My adrenaline still pumped so it wasn't that bad. When I crouched to pick up my bike, I saw my ankle was real swollen, a bit purple too. Either way, I wasn't going to say anything. Our trip had just begun. And this trip was all I had.
~
E/N: Check out JonaElliot and his amazing novel 'Lawrence Looks For Treasure, currently feature in our 'Holden - Bildungsroman' reading list!