Motocross Me (15 page)

She stops in the bathroom doorway and gives us an odd look. Her eyes look as if she’s about to ask something, but she doesn’t. I ask it for her. “What’s up?”

She shakes her head and points at Shelby. “She looks like she’s seen a ghost.” She looks back at me. “And you’re looking at me like I’m a freak.”

Shelby and I shrug.

“Was this dress a bad idea? I knew it! I can’t wear stuff like this.”  Whether she is aware of it or not, Molly has just entered the room with two insecure teenagers and had magically been transformed into one herself. I put down the flat iron and give her the hug she needs.

“You look great.”

She only half-hugs me back because she’s staring over my shoulder into the mirror behind me. Shelby is also looking at the damn mirror. I think the three of us are done being so harsh on ourselves.

“What is wrong with us?” I demand. “Molly, you look hot. And Shelby you are always hot.” I glance in the mirror for emphasis. “And
I’m
hot. So let’s all just shut up and enjoy the night.”

We arrive at Shelby’s house late enough to make a small entrance, but not a cocky one. I want Ash to be waiting for me, and dare I say it, wondering if I’m coming or not. Paper lanterns line the back porch and tall tiki candles light up the back yard. Flames dance around the grill. There are a dozen cars in the driveway and several more parked in the grass. I park behind Ash’s truck. Before I have time to cut the engine, Teig reaches over my seat, opens the door, dashes out of the backseat and sprints to their backyard.

“He’s stoked to see Shawn,” Shelby answers in reply to my confused look.

We go past the shop to their back yard. Shelby clutches my elbow as if she is walking her last steps on death row. She must really like this guy because, like Ash, she rarely loses her cool demeanor. She’s being so pathetic, it makes me cringe. A ponytail of dirty blond dreadlocks appears ten feet away. My stomach knots up and I might as well join Shelby in the Pathetic Girl Brigade.

Shelby tightens her grip. “There’s Jake.” She nods to the left where a lanky guy in ripped jeans and a motocross shirt lifts the hood of an old Mustang. Two other guys who are about our age gasp at what’s under the hood. They are so mesmerized I would believe a pile of cash or three naked girls were in there instead of a shiny new engine.

Since Shelby’s guy of interest is to the left and mine is to the right, it’s necessary to go our separate ways. I whisper good luck to her and pry her nervous fingers off my arm so she can strike up a conversation with Jake. Hopefully she knows something about muscle cars.

Ash pokes at the hamburgers sizzling on the grill. He nods when he sees me. It’s that nod only guys do, where they raise their head at you and life their head once in acknowledgment. God, I hate that stupid nod. My spirit sinks into the ground. A head nod isn’t exactly the warm welcome I expected Ash to give me tonight. I return the nonchalance with a bored yawn as I approach the grill

“Oh, hey.” I look at the meat cooking and not at him. He’s smiling – I can sense it. He always smiles when he knows I’m irked with him.

“Oh hey yourself.” He transfers his meat poker to the other hand and hugs me with his free arm. My fake wall of coldness melts as I lean into his hug. His armpit smells sexy, like some sporty deodorant for athletes. Funny how even armpit smells make my heart tingle when they come from Ash.

“So are you the cook tonight?” I ask as our hug ends. I can’t bring myself to step back from him so I invade his personal space and love every second of it.

“Sort of, I just do the meat.” He flips half of the burgers. “Mom makes all the girly stuff.”

A voice behind us breaks my concentration on Ash. I’m now aware that in this yard full of people, Ash and I aren’t the only two relevant creatures.

“Hana, I’m so glad you’re here.” Mrs. Carter is an entirely new woman, dressed in a pastel pink sundress with her hair in a wispy bun. The dark circles under her eyes have faded, and she is even more beautiful than when I first met her. I wonder if this is because both of her sons have temporarily quit riding and are no longer endangering their lives on a daily basis.

She embraces me. The scent of wildflowers consumes me. I never know how to react when someone who isn’t family hugs me this dearly. It’s not that it’s awkward, it’s just – okay yeah, it’s awkward.

“Where’s Shawn?” I ask, remembering the guest of honor.

“He’s inside with Teig, but I’m sure they’ll be out in a little bit.” She nods back at the house. “What a pretty blouse,” she says, more to herself than to me. I think she winks at Ash as she says it. My face burns.

Mrs. Carter takes me away from her gorgeous son and leads me around, introducing me to everyone. I catch a glimpse of Shelby leaning against the red Mustang, talking to Jake. She pulls at a strand of her hair and kicks her foot at the ground as they talk. I wave my arm to catch her attention and give her a thumbs-up. She blushes and ignores me.

Christine and Malissa almost don’t recognize me, which is a blow to my self-esteem because I certainly remember them. But on the positive side, they’re wearing matching outfits in different colors. I know Shelby will get a kick out of it when she sees them. For once, the poor Carter girl looks far better than the cousins from hell.

After shaking several hands and returning awkward hugs to a few older relatives, I find my dad and Molly and take a seat in a lounge chair next to them. Dad drinks a beer and Molly has a glass of wine. For the first time in my life I have parents who don’t try to take off their clothes or speak with slurred speech when an alcoholic drink is in their possession.

I sit in agony listening to the adults talking, wishing I was with Ash. The father of a local racer sits next to us and hands Dad another beer while they discuss Mixon Motocross Park. I overhear Dad tell him we raised over thirty-five thousand dollars at the fundraiser race.

This is fantastic news. Shelby has to know this by now; I wonder why she hasn’t mentioned it to me? Maybe now Ash won’t have to work so many extra hours at the shop, and we can finally go out on a real date.

The back door opens. I turn around to find Teig pushing Shawn in a wheelchair. He struggles to get the wheels over the threshold, and my dad hurries to help him.

“Look who’s here,” Teig shouts with a proud smile on his face. Shawn’s pale hand waves briefly in the air before slumping back into his lap.

I was prepared to run up to Shawn and hug him and yell, “Welcome back kid!” when I first saw him tonight. Instead, I sit frozen to my chair as Dad helps Teig carry the wheelchair down the porch steps and onto the lawn. Shawn is a skeleton, frail and whiter than I thought possible with the Carters’ dark skin. He wears a foam helmet that protects the back of his head, which I assume is where they’d cut into his skull.

Family members hug him and a few younger racers gave him high-fives and talk about the cool scar on his head. I absolutely do not want to approach him anymore. My stomach twists and my throat waters like I’m about to throw up. I have never seen a child so fragile, at least not in person. His eyes are the same eyes I saw smiling at me through his goggles on that day he was hurt, only tonight they are foreign, lost somehow.

 Molly urges me to go say hello. I almost plead with her to let me bolt, but I pull on all my courage and rise from my chair. Panic consumes me with each step closer – what if he doesn’t recognize me? Does he even remember anything from that day? I was just a girl who met him once. I am of no importance in his life.

I scratch my elbow and take the final step into the circle of kids around his wheelchair. The boys scatter, leaving me all alone with him.

“Hi.” My smile cracks. I consider bending down to his eye level but decide against it.

“Hey,” he smiles, “Are you Hana?”

“Yep…that’s me.” I stare into his eyes because the rest of his body makes me want to cry. I could kill for a conversation muse right about now. “How did you know? I mean, I haven’t really known you long.”
Great, Hana. Let’s rip open fresh wounds and mention that horrible day his entire life changed.

He grins in the way Ash often does. He’s missing two teeth.

“I don’t remember you, sorry. But I was told about you, and how you saved me by calling Ash for help.”

“Yeah… you scared me that day,” I scratch my elbow again. It isn’t itching, but I have nothing else to do with my hands.

“Ash told me you’d be the prettiest girl here, so I knew right away who you were.” My eyes go wide and I can’t shake the smile from my face. What does a girl say to
that
?

“Really?”

He nods. “Yeah, and he wanted me to make sure I told you he said that.” He glances to the right, and I follow his gaze. Ash is only a few feet away, hidden by a tiki candle. He’s pantomiming the slitting of his throat. When he sees us looking at him, he stops, but if he was embarrassed, he doesn’t show it as he slides a hand over his dreads and steps out of the shadows.

“Thanks, little brother,” Ash bends down, puts his arm around Shawn and speaks to him loud enough for me to hear. “Next time, be a little more slick.” Shawn rolls his eyes.

 “You think I can get out of this baby chair now? I can walk you know,” he says the last part to me.

“I think you should just stay there and keep Mom happy, okay?” Ash squeezes his brother’s hand and all he gets in return was a groan, another eye roll and a drawn out, “Fiiine.”

My bangs stick to my forehead as a damp breeze sends goose bumps down my arms. The makeup I so lovingly applied hours ago is coated in a layer of humid dew. Ash suggests that we go for a walk. We end up in the two-story metal garage that doubles as his father’s small engine repair shop and Ash’s motocross storage. Motocross trophies and plaques with dates ranging from ten years ago to the present day line the walls.

Ash watches in silence as I look over the plaques, reading a few out loud. I turn toward him and he’s sitting on a bench wearing that sideways smile of his. I straddle the bench and bend to pick up the dumbbell on the floor. It doesn’t move, even when I struggle to lift it. Ash bites his bottom lip, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile.

“It’s no use, girlie.” He crosses his arms and shakes his head, watching me struggle to lift the damn thing. I bend forward and grasp it with both of my hands. I close my eyes and concentrate. I visualize the weight lifting off the floor, and pull. Nothing happens.

Sighing in defeat, I give up. “I know what this is. It’s a gag weight. It’s cemented to the floor and it’s just a joke, right?”

He kicks it, and it slides a few inches across the shop floor. “It is in fact a very real weight, and it can easily be lifted if one can lift fifty pounds.” Ash mimics the motion of lifting the weight with one finger and sits next to me on the bench. “Of course, I don’t want to put you to shame so I won’t lift it.”

“Go ahead and shame me,” I say. His leg touches mine on the small bench. I could make him lift weights all night if it means keeping him this close to me.

 “Okay then, let me mentally prepare myself as you did,” he draws in a sharp breath, flexes his fingers and blinks once, mocking me. “I’m ready.”

He grabs the weight and curls it easily as the veins in this forearm twist into gloriously hot shapes. For one terrifying moment, I’m afraid I’ll collapse dead on the floor from how ridiculously hot he is, so I glance away to cool my jets. A dusty clock on the wall says that it’s just after ten. How the hell is it already that late?

I have to go home, like, several minutes ago. I try not to let my face show my disappointment, but I feel cheated. After all, tonight was the night, right? It was the night I had visualized all week and so far nothing has happened. Ash never asked me to be his girlfriend. He hasn’t kissed me, and worse, he hasn’t even hinted at possibly maybe some point in the near future, he might kiss me.

I have to intervene and ensure this night gets the ending it deserves.

“You should kiss me.”

“What?” The weight drops to the floor with a crack. It’s a simple enough request, but Ash stares at me as though I asked him to break into the White House and kidnap the president. He leans back, pulling himself out of my personal space. His total shock at the idea of kissing me makes my heart fall straight out of my chest and land on the floor with a bloody thump. Had he not been thinking the same thing? If guys only have one thing on their mind, but how can this be true when Ash is mere inches away from my lips and he isn’t planning to kiss them?

I blink and my eyes grow warm and watery. Tears beg to be released down my cheeks but I hold my breath and pray they won’t come. A few moments pass and I stare at the trophies against the wall. His eyebrows return to their normal position and then his whole face sinks.

“I’m sorry, did you think-“

“I don’t know what I thought,” I interrupt him and swipe a hand across my eyes so as not to reveal the tears I’m wiping away. “I just thought we were on the same page.”

“We are…but…” He slides his hand over mine and I jerk away. “I haven’t even taken you on a date yet, Hana.”

“So?”

“So, this just isn’t the right time or place–” He runs a hand through his hair.  “It’s not romantic.”

Ryan never took me on a date, and he still kissed me.
What makes Ash so special that he has to follow some unwritten guideline for kissing a girl? Why did I reveal so much of myself tonight? Maybe he doesn’t like me and just doesn’t know how to get out of the tangled web he’s woven me into. He credits me for saving Shawn’s life, so maybe this was some guilt trip he’s putting himself through in retribution…

I want to punch him in the face and slash off his dreadlocks and then channel an adrenaline rush big enough to pick up that fifty-pound weight and throw it at him. A dozen ways to cause him physical pain manifest in my mind. Then Ash tucks the stray hair behind my ear and his touch makes me slow down the violent thoughts and digest what he had told me.

Maybe he didn’t kiss me, but he did say that word that girls cling to like a security blanket. The word we repeat to ourselves when falling asleep at night.
Yet.
He hasn’t taken me on a date,
yet
.