Motocross Me (11 page)

“Really? What did you say?”

“I told them they would need you ask you themselves.” She bites into her brownie.

A sudden surge of optimism fills me with this new. Maybe if Ryan keeps being a jerk, I can convince my heart into giving someone else a try. Ash’s face flashes in my mind, and he’s smiling.

I wrap up two more brownies to take back to the track with me. Not because I’m a fat ass, but because I figure Shelby will want one when she gets back. I put the brownies, my sandwich and a drink in a plastic bag and head toward the back door. Molly holds out my cell phone as I walk past her. It takes all the strength I possess, but I tell her to turn it off and hide it somewhere far away from me. If Ryan wants to get a hold of me, he knows where to look.

The bleachers by the main track are full now that practice is filling up with riders. I don’t feel like dealing with people right now, so I head over to the small kid track and take a seat on its empty bleachers. Ash’s truck is in view from here, and still, no one is there. I’ll keep an eye out for Shelby’s car.

One kid rides on the kid track and he isn’t very experienced. He’s slow and wobbly around every turn, giving the bike little bursts of gas instead of one steady flow. But everything about him is adorable, from his miniature-sized boots to his little gloves. With a bike only three-feet-tall, he is a tiny version of the big guys.

I’m looking for Shelby when I hear the boy’s bike sputter and die. He topples over in one of the turns, then scrambles to his feet and dusts off his pants. He strains to pick up his dirt bike but isn’t able to lift it. I look around for his parents but don’t see any adults in the area. Every vehicle is parked in the pit section of the main track, not over here.

He keeps struggling with the bike, digging his boots into the mud but making no progress. I put down my sandwich and jog over to him.

“Need some help?” I use my most kid-friendly voice.

“Yes please,” he says, breathless. I lift the bike and hold it up while he climbs on and cranks the motor back to life. He thanks me and rides back on the track. I jog back to my sandwich and watch him make a couple laps. He’s so freaking adorable. When he comes to the small jumps he stands up on the foot pegs, slows to a crawl and idles over them.

Five minutes pass, and he falls over again, this time in a different turn. Once again, he can’t pick up the bike, so I help him lift it out of the dirt. He wears blue gear with a black helmet and blue goggles. The only part of his body that’s visible is the skin under his goggles and his blue eyes. He is much younger than Teig. Where the hell are his parents?

I finish the first half of my sandwich and reach for the other. The boy gets more courageous with each lap. He increases his speed ever so slightly each time he goes over the biggest jump. It’s about four-feet high and six-feet long, which doesn’t even qualify as a jump on the main track.

He picks up speed and heads toward the jump, this time getting his bike a few inches off the ground. I cheer and clap loudly so he could hear me. Even though he’s slow, he’s more entertaining than looking at my phone all day. Two more jumps like that, and I’ll be completely over the pain in my chest caused by Ryan.

On the next lap, the boy rides even faster and jumps a few inches higher off the ground. When he lands, his handlebars wiggle and he falls over. I jump up and jog over to him.

“You were doing good, buddy.” I tap his helmet as I hold up the bike for him. His cheeks get fatter as he smiles under his helmet.

“Thanks! Did I get a lot of air that time?”

“Ye,” I say, not wanting to disappoint him. He is so freaking excited, and I wonder why his parents aren’t here to see his progress.

“Keep watching! I’m going to do it really good this time.” He flips his goggles back into place and races onto the track faster than before.

I take my seat on the bleachers again and watch him make another lap. This lap is faster than the last. This time he gets a foot of air over the big jump.

I look back at Ash’s pit and see him put his bike on the stand and yank off his helmet. Shelby still isn’t here.

The boy’s bike roars to life and he stands up to prepare for the big jump. He pulls back on the throttle without fear. The bike lurches forward and hits the face of the jump faster than before. He flies three feet into the air and panics. His handlebars yank sideways and his feet come off the pegs. I quit chewing the food in my mouth and watch in horror as he tumbles off the side of the jump into the grass. He falls hard on top of his bike. I wait for him to get up.

Five seconds go by and he’s motionless. My sandwich falls to the ground as I bolt down the bleachers. My heart races. Finally, he moves. His arm flies up in the air. That’s the sign that he’s okay. Shelby had said that a wave means you’re okay. But he doesn’t wave.

His hand goes limp in mid-air and slams to the ground. I break into a run and yell for him to tell me he’s okay. When I get to him, he is crumpled in the fetal position, laying on half of his bike. I drop to my knees and shake his arm.

“Hey!” I scream, shaking harder. His eyes open and roll back in his head. A painful shot of fear blasts through my chest. Something is seriously wrong. I can’t think of what to do. I know I needed to do something, but my mind is blank.

Call 911.

Why did I leave my phone at home? How could I have been so stupid?

White foam drips out of his mouth. Tears sting my face. His body starts to convulse, slowly at first and then faster. I scream, and scream again.

I stand up and look toward the main track. “HELP! SOMEONE HELP!” I look all around for someone – anyone. Where is this kid’s parents anyway? Why aren’t they here watching him? What if I hadn’t been here?

“HELP!” I scream with every fiber in my soul, with all that I have. The earth spins and I can’t make it stop. This boy is going to die if someone doesn’t help us soon. I want to run but I can’t move, so I keep yelling for help.

I fall to the ground again and grab his gloved hand. The foam comes faster now, and his body shakes. I squeeze his hand.

Please God, please.

Someone runs up behind me, their boots striking the ground hard with each step. Ash drops to the ground next to me, startled, but in control like always.

“Ash, help!” I plead. My throat is dry from yelling and burns when I swallow.

He surveys the boy and pushes three buttons on his phone. Tears roll down his sweat-soaked face. Seeing Ash cry feels like someone kicked me in the stomach. This must be really bad. I watch him in disbelief, paralyzed with fear. His eyes meet mine, and my whole world stops when he speaks to the operator.

“We need a helicopter at Mixon Motocross Park. Now. My little brother is hurt really bad.”

Chapter 10

Three days after the accident, the image Shawn’s nearly lifeless body is still burned in my brain. His skin is pale white, cold and unnatural-looking, as he lays in a coma in the third bed of the intensive care unit. Someone who doesn’t take up even half of a hospital gurney should not be there. He should be watching cartoons and playing games with his big brother and sister. Even now, as I stare at a photo of Teig on the living room wall, all I can think about is Shelby’s brother – not my own.

Shelby isn’t her usual self anymore. She hasn’t changed clothes since she first arrived in the emergency room on Sunday afternoon. She doesn’t speak, she just cries. I had held her hand on the uncomfortable hospital bench for three hours as the doctors drilled a hole into Shawn’s skull to alleviate the pressure on his brain.

Ash comforts his parents and seems to be the most collected one of his family. He never cried at the hospital, but he often prayed while waiting, staring at the floor with his hands clasped together between his knees.

I left the hospital yesterday when the doctors said only family members would be allowed in the room from then on. When I went to tell Shelby goodbye, I found her sleeping upright while sitting with her legs crossed on a tall chair in the waiting room. An opened bottle of water was in her hand. I screwed the cap back on and let her sleep.

Also weighing on my mind is the last conversation I had with Ryan. He called me the day after the accident asking why I wasn’t at work, and had the audacity to laugh when I told him I was with the Carters at the hospital. He said he had caught wind of something happening to one of them and was hoping it was Ash, but “tough luck” to the little Carter boy.

My happiness at him calling was quickly diminished the instant I realized he was calling for gossip, not for me. I tried standing up to the criticism he spat about the Carter family, but it fell on deaf ears. He hated Ash and everyone associated with him. Ryan hadn’t stopped bad mouthing them until he heard the tears in my voice.

“Come on, Hana, you don’t have to cry about it,” he had said.

It didn’t seem possible that someone who was so perfect a week ago is now so indisputably not perfect. Had his charming smile and muscular physique blinded me? I slump in the couch and stare at a blank TV screen. If Ryan is no longer worthy of crushing on, then I had wasted so much effort trying to make him like me. I am better than this. I don’t make desperate choices like my mother, or rash decisions like Felicia. At least I thought I didn’t. Nothing makes sense to me anymore. My heart is breaking, and I don’t even have a boyfriend to break it for me.

Molly calls me into the kitchen. I leave the couch with a lack of enthusiasm as it has been my sanctuary for the entire day. But something delicious is cooking in there, and the scent starts to get to me. My empty stomach is eager to find out what it is and when I will be eating it.

The spring in Molly’s step is missing as she removes a lasagna from the oven and covers it with foil. Her hair is fashioned into a bun held in place with a pencil. She looks ten years older without makeup. Usually when I find her in the kitchen, she will give me a cheerful smile and convince me that I need something to eat. Now she’s scribbling on a piece of paper and doesn’t bother to acknowledge me.

I reach for a piece of garlic bread. Molly swats my hand away.

“It’s not for us,” she says. There is a fraction of charm in her voice. A small, tiny fraction mostly buried beneath the sorrow.

“Then who is it for?” I ask, hoping we aren’t having dinner guests.

“The Carters.” She hand me the paper she had written on. It’s directions to their house. “They have too much to worry about and I don’t want them going without dinner.” She wraps the garlic bread and puts everything in a cloth bag. “I know you’re missing Shelby so I thought you could take this to them.”

The directions lead me down a series of long county roads with houses varying from three-story Victorians to rickety shacks dotting the horizon. Unlike in Dallas, these roads don’t have streetlights, just the occasional stop sign likely to be perforated with bullet holes.

Mixon is little more than a dot on the map. It has one gas station, a general store and a McDonald’s. My dad’s motocross track is the only reason Mixon even has a dot because it’s the only reason someone would want to come here.

I turn right on County Road Forty-One and look for the first driveway on the left. When I approach the gravel driveway, I’m pretty sure I’ve made a mistake. A metal building stands at the end of the driveway next to it is an old mobile home that doesn’t look big enough to house a family of five. With a groan, I put the truck in reverse to backtrack and figure out where I made a wrong turn. Then a sign on the building catches my eye. In black painted letters are the words
Rick’s Small Engine Repair
. Maybe I am at the right house.

Ash’s Mazda is parked in front of the rundown mobile home, but the rest of the driveway is empty. It has a covered porch with a swing and an antique water fountain in the front yard. Their house is modest in the extreme, but cute in its own way, with white trim and stepping stones leading to the front porch. I call Shelby but she doesn’t answer.

If they’re all at the hospital then I came out here for no reason. If Ash is the only one home – well, I don’t want to imagine how awkward that will be. Sighing, I let my forehead fall to the steering wheel.

The crackling of tires on the driveway startles me from the depths of my thoughts, and I turn to see a black car park next to me. Mrs. Carter and Shelby are inside. Shelby gives me a surprised look as I get out of my truck, carrying the warm food.

“I expected Molly, but you’ll do just fine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, “I’ve brought you dinner from Molly.”

“That’s wonderful. Molly is a fantastic cook.” Mrs. Carter wraps her arm around me and leads me to the front porch. The dark circles under her eyes are still visible through a thick layer of concealer. Judging from the uncertain look on Shelby’s face, she doesn’t think it’s great that I’m here instead of Molly. It’s almost like she’s embarrassed to see me.

I follow them inside. Shelby rushes down the hallway and into a room, closing the door behind her. Mrs. Carter doesn’t bother explaining what is wrong with her, and I don’t ask.

Their house has a charming warmth to it although everything inside is outdated. The suede couch is worn thin, and it faces a boxy old television. A shelf of VHS Disney movies line one wall and I’m pretty sure the Carter kids don’t watch them anymore.

I follow her through the open living room and into the kitchen. Pictures of Shelby, Ash and Shawn are everywhere, from the walls to the refrigerator. Shelby and Ash looked even more identical as children. Ash always had long hair.

“Where’s Mr. Carter?” I ask, setting the food on their table. Mrs. Carter places a stack of plates next to it, enough for every member of her family.

“He’s at the hospital. We’re taking shifts.” She sits down and cuts a piece of the lasagna for herself, motioning for me to take some too.

“How is Shawn?” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I regret saying them. Barb swallows, though she hasn’t yet eaten anything, and closes her eyes.