Motocross Me (6 page)

“Shell, where’s my helmet?” Ash asks, leaning into his truck. His lower half is dressed in racing gear. The rest of his clothes hang over his arm as he searches for something in the front seat.

“On my head.” Shelby hovers over me, wearing a helmet that wobbles on her small head. “I’m an alien!” She wiggles her fingers in my face and runs around the truck. Ash chases her. “You’ll never catch me,” she sings.

They stop on either side of his truck, both threatening to run the opposite way. Ash goes left and Shelby darts right. Not wanting to be left out, I jump out of my chair and steal the helmet. It smells like sweat, but I put it on my head anyway. Shelby grabs my hand and pulls me behind her. Ash is now outnumbered in the game of keep away, but he’s still smiling so we haven’t taken the joke too far. I move a few paces behind his truck and duck down behind the tire to hide.

Shelby yells, “Hana, run!” I jump up and the helmet slides sideways, leaving me blind. His helmet is huge.

I take one step and crash into Ash’s unbelievably hard chest. He removes the helmet from my head with a gentle movement. I wince, expecting that horrible eye pain again, but it never comes. Ash brushes his fingers across my bruised eye.

“Are you okay?” His eyes bore into mine. How is it possible for him to have gorgeous, manly features, and share the same face with Shelby, who is just as feminine as I am?

I’m about to tell him that I’m fine, and the only pain I felt was the popping of my fingers when they hit the rock he kept underneath his jersey.  But before I can get the words out, some other words came from much more important mouth.

“Hana,” Ryan says, “Can I borrow you for a minute?”

He doesn’t speak until we’re several cars away. “What are you doing messing with trash like them?”

“What?” How can he say that about the nicest family in Mixon? His cell phone rings. He takes it out of the waistband of his riding pants, looks at the screen and ignores the call.

“You heard me. You’re too pretty to be seen around him, and I won’t have it.”

His wink is slow, but the half-smile he flashes lasts only a second. In that second I want to reach up and kiss him, but this is no fairytale and in the real world, girls just don’t do that. Plus, I’m pretty sure he just called my new friends trash. But I may be mistaken because everything around me is all fuzzy. I’d be an idiot to make such a bold move only to be rejected.

Then he goes and asks something that makes me regret not kissing him.

“Can I have your number?”

Chapter 6

It’s been four days, six hours, and thirty-two minutes, (not that I’m counting) since Ryan programmed my number into his cell phone. Lying face up on my bed, I try to make shapes out of the blobs of plaster in the ceiling. Every single blob reminds me of Ryan, or his shiny black truck, or the way his hair was drenched in sweat when he removed his helmet.

I check my phone for messages every two minutes. A normal person would know there is no reason to check if you don’t hear it ring when it’s right next to you in a quiet room. But I am not normal today. Fatigue, mixed with the sunburn on my shoulders is enough to alter my mentality.

Even worse than the ache in my feet is the one deep in my chest. A thick, dull pain arrived the first day Ryan didn’t call me and has lasted all week. Every hour I don’t hear from him makes the time creep even slower than the hour before. I am stuck in a room with dreary ceiling blobs, while time drips like the clock on a Dali painting. This teen angst is going to swallow me whole.

Why hasn’t he called? I smash my hand to my forehead. Thank God I don’t have his number or I would have succumbed to the craziness and called him first. And as every self-respecting girl knows, boys always call first, and I can’t break that rule. Sure, I’m becoming an over-dramatic diva, but I’m perfectly fine with that.

I roll over and gaze at the wall for a change of scenery. The wall’s plaster blobs aren’t unlike the ones on the ceiling, but these are painted tan and thus slightly more pleasing to the eye. Too bad this small town has nothing to do if you aren’t a dirt bike racer. If only Felicia were here to cheer me up and tell me boys were a pathetic waste of time, not that she believes that because she loves boys more than I do. But she’d say it anyway just to lift me from my wallowing.

Molly may be a good listener, but we aren’t at the stage where I can tell her about my boy troubles. The only friend I’ve made so far is Shelby, but I didn’t have a way to contact her.

Teig plays Xbox in the next room. Every five seconds, a gunshot sound echoes through the wall followed by a cheer. Just as I decide to crawl out of bed and hang out with my little brother, his TV goes quiet and his door swings open. He bounds down the stairs. I roll out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a ninety-year-old lady, grab my cell phone – just in case – and follow him.

The answer to my loneliness is right in our garage. My dad and Ash hang around Teig’s dirt bike talking about carburetors and suspension. Teig hands Ash a wrench from his toolbox.

Ash wears jeans stained with black smudges and a blue and black baseball shirt. His hair is tied in a fat ponytail with a rubber band. He scrunches his eyes and bites the corner of his lip as he works. It’s a look I’ve seen before, but not on Ash. Though he has pounds of muscle and masculine features Shelby lacks, their expressions and mannerisms are almost identical.

Dad once told me the Carters owned a small engine repair shop and they often worked on Teig’s bike, so I guess it makes sense for him to be here. Had I associated that with Shelby earlier, I could have saved myself seventy-two hours of miserable boredom.

Three heads turn around, see that it’s only me, and then focus back on the bike. I put my hands and my phone in my back pockets and listen to the conversation for a whole minute before zoning out. Dirt bike-talk is boring, and sitting around the house is boring. Shelby is not boring and hopefully Ash will be able to help me – if they could just stop talking about guy stuff long enough for me to ask.

That glorious moment of silence finally comes when Dad goes back in the house. Teig still wants to help Ash work on his bike, but there isn’t much for him to do, so he finds a rag and polishes the aluminum bike frame. Ash’s chair has wheels and he rolls around the bike, closer to me.

“Your eye looks better.”

“Thanks,” I say, not wanting to be reminded of that stupid accident.

“How do you like your new job?”

“Do we have to talk about that on my day off?”

Work is hard, but work has brought me to Ryan, so it is, in fact, a great job. But that is none of Ash’s business. He removes the exhaust pipe and hands it to Teig, then he rolls past me and to the other side of the bike.

“I hope you like it.” He concentrates on removing two small bolts. “You’re in a motocross family now. There’s no getting out of it.” He pauses while he wiggles something inside the motor. Then he adds, “Not like anyone would want to get out of it.” He flashes me a sideways smile. There’s that motocross family talk again – maybe Dad isn’t out of his mind.

The bolts Ash removes next are as tiny as an earring post. He looks for a safe place to put them before holding them out to me. “Do you mind?”

I take them while he replaces a metal part on to the bike frame. “I mean, not unless you go back to wherever you came from, then I guess it wouldn’t matter,” he says, taking the final bolt from my hand.

Every inch of the garage has something to do with motocross, from the posters on the wall to the helmets and gear bags and dozens of Teig’s trophies stacked in a corner. There is no escaping it.

“Guess I’m stuck here,” I say, holding out my hands in surrender.

Ash grins without looking away from the bike. “Good.”

He gives me Shelby’s cell number, and half an hour later she’s at my house. The look on her face is unmistakable as we walk through the living room and up the stairs. She too, is captivated by the beauty of the house designed by my step-mom and funded by my dad. I can’t blame her, the house is
pretty baller
as my mom’s last boyfriend would say.

“Your room is so awesome.” She runs her fingers across the Eiffel Tower lamp that was there when I arrived.

“Molly furnished it for me,” I say, knowing I can’t take credit for any of it. “I picked out the curtains, but everything else was like this when I got here.”

I throw the bed together, flattening the silver comforter over the rumpled sheets so we have somewhere to sit. Social skills were never in my favor, and years of homeschooling stripped away any bit of skill I might have had. If she was Felicia, we’d be deep in conversation and laughing at inside jokes by now. Still, I don’t regret inviting her over.  It’s been five minutes since I checked my phone for a message from Ryan. And that is a huge improvement.

Speaking of, I should check for a message from Ryan.

“I’m so glad you called me.” Shelby plays with the ring on her left ring finger. It’s a purity ring, something I’d seen advertised in the Christian bookstore at the mall. “My stupid cousins are spending the weekend with us.”

“What’s so stupid about them?” I ask, grateful for the ice-breaker.

“They’re just stuck-up brats. Christine is fifteen and Malissa’s only ten months older, even though they’re sisters. They are both cheerleaders, and my aunt is just a gold-digging – ” She stops and looks at me with her head tilted sideways  like she forgot I’m here. “I just don’t like them.” She picks at a loose thread on my comforter. “Oh, and its MAH-lissa. Not Melissa like normal people. And I hate that they’re staying in my room.”

“How often do they visit?”

“Never, actually. They’re only here cause my aunt and uncle are on a cruise.”

“Crappy luck,” I say, as an awesome idea forms in my mind. “Hey, if my parents say it’s okay, do you want to stay with me while they’re hogging your room?” Her eyes go wide and sweep across the room again.

“I’d love to.” Her voice gets higher with every word. She bounces on the corner of my bed. “That would be amazing.”

“Cool,” I say, pulling at that same comforter thread. “But I have work tomorrow. You want to come with me?”

She nods. “That works. I’m so glad Ash and I graduated a year early so we can do stuff like this.” I had almost forgotten that normal teenagers go to school. Shelby continues, “Plus he’ll be riding tomorrow so I’ll just stay with him until you’re off work.”

Molly knocks twice on the door and pokes her head inside. “Hey girls, we’re ordering pizza for dinner, is pepperoni cool?” Shelby and I look at each other and nod. “Great,” Molly says, closing the door.

“Hey Molly?” I call out. Her head pokes back in my room.

“Yes?”

“Um.” As always, I’m at a loss for how to ask permission. Mom didn’t let friends spend the night unless she wasn’t planning on coming home.

“Do want something besides pepperoni?”

“No, that’s not it.” I look at Shelby, and she’s staring at her hands, making us both cowards. “Would it be okay if Shelby spends the night? Maybe even two nights?”

“That’s always okay.” Molly leaps fully into my room, holding a pizza flyer and her cell phone. “That is a great idea, Hana. I’m so glad you have a friend already.” She smiles at Shelby and disappears into my closet. My cheeks go red. She’s glad I have a friend
already
? Am I really so antisocial that it’s impossible to believe I’d make a friend in a week’s time?

Molly emerges with blankets and hands them to Shelby. She opens the leather bench at the foot of my bed which is full of pillows. She tosses a pillow on the bed and takes out an air mattress. A minute later, it’s set up next to my bed with the air pump flowing. Molly calls for pizza as she stretches the sheets across the air bed. Shelby tries to help but Molly shoos her hand away, so we end up laughing while Molly shuffles around like a modern-day Wonder Woman.

“Thanks Molly, you’re great.” I say, when she’s finally finished. “Kind of crazy, but still great.”

She waves her hand at me. “Nonsense. Y’all rent a pay-per-view movie if you want, okay?” We nod. “And Shelby, make yourself at home.”

I apologize the minute she leaves. “Is she always that nice?” Shelby asks.

I shake my head, still wondering how I got so lucky with this new family. “I don’t know, I guess.”

We paint our nails and flip through the channels on TV before settling on a rerun of The Simpsons. Shelby gives herself a French pedicure, and I do the same to my toes only using turquoise and pink instead of clear and white. Ryan is still on the back of my mind, but at least he’s no longer ON. MY. MIND. He’s just a mild frequency my brain keeps randomly tuning itself to.

I check my phone every other commercial break, which is still a lot, but significantly less than before Shelby arrived. Hanging with Shelby is almost the same as hanging out with Felicia except Shelby doesn’t text-message her boyfriend every two minutes. She probably doesn’t have a boyfriend because all she talks about is motocross and her annoying cousins. Occasionally, she talks about Ash and how she can’t wait for Nationals. Her brother is going to
make it big
and finally
move up in life
, or so she says.

“What exactly are Nationals?” I ask her between coats of Love Letter pink. She turns to me and gives me that fish out of water look.

“Nationals are only the biggest race ever.” She refills her brush with clear polish. “And this year they are going to be at Mixon for the first time.”

“What track are they usually at?”

“Usually the Nationals are somewhere really famous within our region. Mixon has been getting really popular lately, so it’s no wonder they picked it. I bet your dad is really proud.”
And rich
, I think.

Shelby continues. “We live really close. Last year Ash had to spend so much money traveling to the National race in New Mexico, and then his bike broke, so he didn’t even get to race. It sucked.”

“So what’s so fancy about it? Do they get bigger trophies?” There’s
the look
again. She must think I’m the dumbest daughter of a motocross track owner to have ever lived next door to, and worked at, a motocross track.