left!â
âSorry!â I called, correcting my line.
âOh. Itâs okay,â she said, riding beside me for a second. âI just donât want to bite it.â
I nodded. âNeither do I.â
We pedaled side by side.
âThe good thing about riding in the back? Fewer people see your screwups.â She laughed.
I smiled. Maybe Iâd get that printed on one of those cute little motto signs they sold at gift shops.
Ride in the Back. No One Will See Your Screwups.
Ride in the Back. No One Will See You Crash.
Just . . . Ride in the Back.
CHAPTER 8
âWeâre kicking ass as a team, you know that?â Max said at lunch.
Iâd gotten there later than most people, but this time lunch was sub sandwiches, and there were plenty left to choose from. Iâd taken extra bags of potato chips to stash for later; the salt would taste good when I was near death.
My team was sitting in the shade, under a tree beside a huge, beautiful lake that I wanted to dive into in all my clothes. Everyone was talking about the morning, how Max, Oxendale, and Alex had been third, fifth, and seventh in a wild sprint finish. âItâs all going according to plan,â Cameron said confidently, leaning back against a tree trunk, straw in his mouth.
âYou forgot your evil laugh,â said Oxendale. âYou canât talk like a supervillain without an evil laugh.â
âWhen did I become a villain?â Cameron wondered out loud. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. âIs this trip starting to take a turn into a weird area?â
âIâve always thought it was in a weird area,â I said.
âNo, itâs just weâre back in New Hampshire,â said Oxendale. âI have yet to see a shire. New or old.â
âOxo, quit it with the Brit talk,â said Cameron. âYouâre not from here. We get it.â He tossed the straw at Oxendale, and it bounced off his bony knee.
Everyone was analyzing the team results showing that we were third in the rankings, which was amazing considering we came from such a small town. Rankings factored in total fund-raising, and our town appeared to be very generous, when it came to that. When you added up our riders doing well in the challenges, winning even more in matching funds, our donation to the childrenâs cancer research fund was going to be huge. That made me feel better about losing my phone. But not much.
After lunch, I asked Cameron if I could borrow his phone and found a private spot under a shady tree. I called Stellaâs number and crossed my fingers, hoping sheâd been trying to call me and not getting through due to my misplaced phone.Then again, she had been avoiding me for weeks. That probably wouldnât change in a day.
âStellaâs phone,â said a male voice.
âWhat? Is that Mason?â I said.
âFrances?â he replied. âHey. Is everything okay?â
âYes, fine. More or less,â I said.
âWhatâs this number? Why arenât you calling from your phone?â
âAnd why are
you
answering Stellaâs phone?â I teased back. Then it suddenly occurred to me that there might be a not-so-good reason for it, and I felt bad for laughing.
âStellaâs busy. Iâm in the waiting room.â
âWhich one?â I asked.
âDoes it matter?â he complained. He sounded stressed out. âSorry. Weâre at Mercy. They do outpatient stuff.â
âSay hi to LaDonna for me?â I asked, referring to a nurse Iâd recently met.
âSure. So, whatâs up?â he asked.
I cleared my throat. âWell, hereâs the thing. I sort of lost my phone last night.â
Mason laughed. âSort of? How do you sort of lose a phone?â
âIâm not sure,â I admitted. âI had it last night and I wascharging it, and then I was late getting up today and I started riding before I
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