Motocross Me (16 page)

Chapter 14

I wake on Thursday morning to mockingbirds singing outside my window. A ray of sunlight streams through the curtains and cuts across my arm like a laser beam. I draw in a deep breath and stretch, enjoying the moment. It’s a workday, the sun is shining, and I am still in bed. Opportunities like this are rare for a girl who works at the most popular motocross track in the state.

There are no races at Mixon this weekend because Dad and his crew are prepping the track for the national race in six days. Everyone on the track staff juggles extreme excitement and the fear of failure with how the races will turn out. My dad has the most pressure on him, but he shows the least amount of stress. Last night at dinner he had told me to sleep late and enjoy my day because Friday and Saturday I’d be reporting to the track at four in the morning.

I get up long enough to close the crack in the curtains and then crawl back into bed. It’s only eight and I can probably sleep until at least noon without anyone caring. I am supposed to work later this evening, since it’s a last chance practice before the track closes for the week, but Dad isn’t expecting me until after lunch.

I snuggle under my comforter, close my eyes for a few moments and drift into a light sleep.

The rumble of dirt bikes was all around me. It was dark, dusty and I was standing in the middle of the track at the top of a jump. I should run away before someone crashes into me, but I couldn’t move. Ash walked out of the dusty air holding a trophy as tall as me.

“Oh Ash,” I swoon, running into his arms. “You won.”

Knock, knock, knock

My eyes burst open and focus on the while ceiling. Someone knocks on my door and whoever it is has ruined my dream of Ash. The dream was so real I could almost feel him. And now he’s gone.

The knocking continues. I roll onto my stomach and tuck my head under the pillow while pressing it into my head with my arms. “Come in,” I yell into the sheets with the raspy voice of someone who has just been rudely interrupted from their peaceful slumber.

“I can’t believe you’re still in bed.”

My sleepy mind must be playing tricks on me because that sounded exactly like Ash. Footsteps walk around my bed and to the window. I hear the curtains shimmy open. I dare to peek under my arm just in time to see Ash dive onto my bed and rip the pillow away from me.

A squeal escapes me as my eyes burn, adjusting to the bright sunlight flooding into my room. Instinctively, I grope for the comforter and pull it to my nose, protecting me from the intruder. Okay, well he isn’t a
dangerous
intruder, but he is a boy and he is in my room. This is a first.

“How did you get in here?”

“Your little brother. I always knew he was a good kid.” Ash leans on his elbow and looks at the portion of my head that’s visible.

“I’m gonna kill him,” I mumble into the comforter over my mouth. Of course, by “kill him” I mean, “shower him with love and praise” but Ash doesn’t need to know that.

“So what are you doing here?” I ask, following it with, “Not that I mind or anything.” I’ve never seen Ash so…horizontal. He’s making my rational thinking to convert into fuzzy brain slush.

“I went to visit you at work and Mr. Fisher said you were still here,” he says, hopping off the bed to examine the collection of photos on my dresser. I hope he doesn’t notice the pink frame in the back that holds an embarrassing photo of me with birthday cake all over my face. Of course, he does. He picks it up and smiles. “Cute.”

As much as I’d love to yank it away, I’m stuck immobile under the sheets, thrilled to see Ash, but vulnerable laying here with no makeup and tangled hair. This is the first time Ash has seen me without an hour of primping. So far he hasn’t gouged out his eyes and ran away screaming, so maybe that’s a good sign.

An awkward moment of silence passes where I get a fleeting panic that what if he can read minds and holy crap, I just embarrassed myself. Ash lifts an eyebrow, making my mind-reading paranoia fly through the roof. “Are you naked under there? ‘Cause if you are, I should leave.”

“NO,” I snap up in defense, throwing the comforter off me, revealing my modest pajamas with kittens on them. At least they match. I turn on the TV and toss him the remote.

“You stay in here. No moving,” I warn him as I duck into the closet, closing the door behind me.

Ash behaves and doesn’t make a sound in the half an hour it takes me to throw on a decent outfit and dress my face in just enough makeup so it looks like I’m not trying too hard. When I emerge from the bathroom, Ash’s eyes dart straight to me though his head stays facing the TV.

“How do I look?” I toss out the line, hoping for a compliment. He shrugs, giving me a quick look over. “Normal.”

“Thanks.” I head to my door, motioning for him to follow. “That’s exactly the answer I was looking for.” Snark shows through my voice, but I hold my head straight and head for the stairs. Ash follows me down the stairs and, one step behind me, he whispers into my ear, “Normal for you is pretty adorable.”

“Wow, you drive a stick shift?” I ask, noticing the gearshift as I climb into Ash’s truck. This is the first time I’m traveling by vehicle to the track instead of walking through the backyard.

“I’ve been shifting a dirt bike for twelve years. Shifting a truck isn’t much different,” he says. I think I see a piece of his repressed ego shine through his eyes.

“So…where’s Shelby?”

“She’s with Jake
the Snake
,” he answers while backing out of the driveway.

“The snake?”

“It’s his racing nickname.”

“Oh like Ash ‘The Flash’ Carter?” I tease.

“Something like that.” He flashes me his too-relaxed-to-be-offended smile. We turn onto the bumpy road that leads into the track. He can’t drive more than ten miles an hour or the dust would engulf the truck and leave us driving blindly on a long, winding road. Walking would have been faster.

“So are they dating now?” I ask, hoping the answer is no or else Shelby had some explaining to do for leaving me out of the loop.

“Nah…not yet, at least. They’re going on some romantic picnic today.” The smallest bit of contempt seeps through his voice.

“Aww! Is this her first boyfriend?”

His finger taps on the steering wheel. “No, but it’s the first one I at least halfway approve of.”

The track isn’t open for practice yet because it’s still an hour until noon, but a large section of parking is filled with tractors and heavy machinery. The professional dirt movers put Marty’s old bulldozer to shame. These bad boys didn’t even have scratches on their paint yet and are all shiny and clean.

Ash follows me up the stairs to the tower. I hold onto the railing tighter than usual hoping to avoid another pathetic fall. But then I realize that if I slipped now, Ash would probably catch me with his exuberant masculine muscles, carry me up the stairs like Fabio and kiss me with the passion only true love knows. Just like Wesley and Buttercup. Well, maybe not the last part because my parents would surely see through the tower’s row of windows, but I allow the thought to linger in my mind until I arrive unharmed at the top.

Dad goes over blueprints with the man from the bulldozer company. He has over fifteen years’ experience in building racetracks, according to the slogan on the back of his shirt. Molly offers us brunch: an elaborate assortment of fruit and appetizers she threw together for our special company today. Molly keeps us so well-fed, Dad could have married her for that quality alone and I would have approved.

Ash sits beside me on the futon, which is a disappointing event after having the pleasure of sitting with him on his bedroom futon. The tower futon sucks in comparison. I feel Molly eyeing us from across the room with a coy sort of motherly affection. Ugh, it’s time for us to leave to avoid any awkward questions she may ask.

“What do I have to do today?” I interrupt Dad and the track-designing expert.

“Just sign in riders for practice,” he retrieves the clipboard from a drawer and hands it to me. “Don’t make Ash pay – he’s a house rider from now on.”

“Oh,” a distracted Ash joins our conversation when he hears his name. “Thank you, sir.”

Dad puts an arm around him and gives him a brotherly squeeze. “Your specialty is the whoops, correct?” Ash nods and Dad smiles. “Great, and what are your weaknesses?”

Ash doesn’t hesitate. “Nothing, sir.”

Ash’s popularity grows annoying as the third girl in a row fawns over him at the track entrance. Her brother signs the clipboard with snail-like speed while she chats with Ash,
my
Ash, complimenting his riding and hair. The two girls in the truck before her pointed out how cool his dreads were too. I’ve never talked to him about his dreads. Now I wonder if there is a cool story to why he chose the hairstyle besides the fact that it is “super badass” according to Miss Flirty in the backseat.

“Do you get tired of girls talking about your hair?” I ask as I wave through two cars without dirt bikes since they don’t need to pay.

“Not really. It’s more annoying when people ask to buy pot from me, since dreadlocks somehow mean I sell drugs.” He reaches out to shake hands with the driver in the next truck. It’s no surprise that the girl in the backseat swoons over Ash. At least she keeps her hands to herself unlike the last one.

When the opening rush of riders are signed in and paid for, Ash and I are left sitting under the tree, trying to stay in a shaded spot, which changes with the sun. We don’t talk much, and I wonder if he’s even still into me. I mean, he has to like me, right? Why else would he have spent all morning standing around while I worked? If he thought sitting on a weight bench wasn’t the time or place for a first kiss, maybe this tree is more romantic. There isn’t a soul around to see us, only the distant buzz of dirt bikes and the faint smell of exhaust fumes.

Ash leans back on his hands, squinting at me in the sunlight. “I should probably leave soon. I have a lot of work to do at the shop.” My heart rolls over and lurches to a stop. Here I am thinking about landing that first kiss with Ash, and he’s thinking about leaving? We are never on the same page.

“Aren’t you going to practice?” I ask, grasping for anything to keep him talking and not leaving.

“Not today.”

“But it’s your last chance to practice before the big race.” I lean closer to him. Surely he isn’t missing the last day of practice just because he promised his parents he wouldn’t ride anymore?

“The track is getting changed so I don’t see the point.” He rips out a few strands of grass and tears them into small bits.

“You haven’t been on your bike in weeks, Ash. Don’t you want to win?” I studied his eyes for an answer but his poker face was winning this round.

“I won’t win.”

“What? Yes you will.”

“I can’t win.” He tosses the shredded grass into the air. And he sighs – maybe. It’s so hard to tell with him, but I can’t understand why the same guy who told my dad nothing was his weakness on the track is now saying he couldn’t win.

“You’re Ash. THE Ash. You’re going to win this.” I grab his hand, not in the slightest romantic way, but like I would for a best friend. He’s slow to look at me, but when he does, his poker face evaporates and he becomes an open book.

“You don’t understand, Hana. I’m the Ash of Mixon…maybe even the Ash of Texas. But there will be a dozen more riders who are the Ash of their state and I’ll have to race against all of them. I haven’t practiced since Shawn got hurt. Motocross takes extreme dedication, and I’ve let it all fall by the wayside for weeks now.”

His hand is still on mine as I move in front of him and let our knees touch. We are both cross-legged in the grass, close enough to kiss, yet that is the last thing on my mind. Well, maybe the second to last thing.

Ash doubted himself, something I’d thought impossible for the guy who always had everything under control. I don’t know what to do; comforting a girl is easy and can usually be ratified with ice cream and a good cry. Something tells me Ash isn’t going to just cry and get over this.

“You don’t want to be a professional racer anymore?”

“Of course I want it. I’ve wanted it since I was six years old.” How could he want it and not be willing to work for it? It will take some tough love to bring Ash out of his depression and put him back on the track.

“Why do you want it Ash?” I speak forcefully. “Have you forgotten? Because you don’t seem like you want it.”

He wriggles his hands from my grasp but doesn’t back away from me. Instead he returns my glare with one of his own. I want to look away, or at least collapse and apologize for being rude but I hold on just long enough for him to speak.

“I want it for my dead friend. Is that a good enough answer?”

“What..?” I breathe, barely louder than a whisper. I am a jerk. My shoulders fall. I can no longer look him in the eyes. His fingertips touch the bottom of my chin and he leans closer to me. Warmth returns in his eyes. A gentle wind blows strands of my hair into his.

He untangles us, taking care to brush away the bits of hair that dance around my face. He runs his hands through my hair once more, stalling for time. When he finds the words, he stares past me, and tells me his story.

 “My childhood best friend Connor died when I was five. His dream was to become a famous motocross racer like Bob Hannah.”

“Like who?” I interject. His eyes dart back to me. “A famous racer back in the day.”

I nod. “Sorry, go on.”

“Well a year after he died, his parents came over and gave me a little Yamaha dirt bike with a bow on it. They had bought it for Connor’s birthday, and he was killed in a car wreck the week before, so he never got to see it. They decided to give it to me so I could live the dream for their son.”

“Wow,” I whisper, wanting to say so much more but unable to find the right words. He holds both of my hands in his. His finger grazes across the lines in my palm.