first, saying something about missing him yesterday, but girls don’t text first. It isn’t fair, but that’s how it is.
Ash’s truck has two dirt bike stands next to it but no bikes. I search for him on the track and see his bright blue helmet sink into a turn and disappear behind the tall berm of dirt. I don’t know what color of bike or gear his little brother has, but he’s probably out there somewhere, trying to avoid the big bikes.
Teig hates riding with the big bikes, but since this is open practice they all ride together. There is a small track for little bikes but Teig made it clear that the “baby track” was too juvenile for him, since the jumps are merely two-foot-tall hills.
The bleachers next to the baby track are empty, so I sit here and make a mental pro and con list about the consequences of texting Ryan first. Teig was right about this being a baby track. There are two kids riding around the small trail as slowly as if they were pedaling a bicycle. I am as bored watching as they must be riding that slow.
I run my thumb over the square buttons on my cell phone. Then I press New Message and add Ryan’s name. There are a million ways to write hello but I can’t think of a single one that sounds appropriate. It needs to be casual and portray me as being a laid-back kind of girl, one who doesn’t wait around all day to hear from him. I won’t even mention that I miss him.
Seven and a half minutes later I have the perfect message on my screen: Hey you, what’s up? I take a deep breath.
I press send.
My phone rings.
It’s Felicia. I crawl back into my skin, take a deep breath to make my hands stop shaking, and answer.
She isn’t calling to check up on me, but to tell me about the new guy she’s dating. He is a junior in college and works as a bartender. Her mother absolutely hates him and therefore Felicia loves him. I ask if he has any muscles.
“What?” she asks, “Since when do you like muscles? I thought you had a thing for guys in skinny jeans who rock out in garage bands.”
“That was before I was introduced to the wonderful world of motocross.” I struggle to listen for a beep signaling Ryan’s reply. “This place is crawling with sexy guys, and most of them have muscles. So, yeah, muscles are my thing now.”
“It’s crawling with guys? I’ll be there in four hours.”
I let her tell me every detail about her new crush before delving into the details of mine. When I tell her about the kiss, she squeals in delight, unlike Shelby.
“I can’t believe you got a guy to like you so quickly.” She’s jealous, I can sense it in her voice. It’s probably best if I don’t tell her about Ash. Soon we’re away from the topic of boys and dissecting my mother’s motives for marrying a man half her age.
My phone feels as heavy as a brick in my back pocket. An hour has passed since I texted Ryan, and he still hasn’t replied. I pace from one end of the pits to the other. Shelby still hasn’t returned, and I am beyond bored.
Familiar faces sit on the tailgate of a silver Toyota that’s parked next to Ash’s truck. Kasey and the chubby girl notice me and wave for me to join them. Kasey introduces me to her friend whose name is Lauren. They unpack riding gear from huge duffel bags.
“Do you ride?” Lauren asks while tugging on a thick boot that goes up to her knees.
“No, I’ve never tried,” I say. They look at each other.
“How can your dad own a track and you’ve never ridden a dirt bike?” Kasey asks. I shrug and they both look at each other again. She wears a tank top and leggings with large kneepads over them. She covers that with her riding pants, an elastic belt around her waist, and a jersey. I ask how she survives the heat in all of those layers of plastic. She says it’s worth it because motocross is the best sport on earth, and Lauren agrees.
“So how do you like your new job?” Kasey starts on the buckles to her left boot.
“The work
Ash’s truck has two dirt bike stands next to it but no bikes. I search for him on the track and see his bright blue helmet sink into a turn and disappear behind the tall berm of dirt. I don’t know what color of bike or gear his little brother has, but he’s probably out there somewhere, trying to avoid the big bikes.
Teig hates riding with the big bikes, but since this is open practice they all ride together. There is a small track for little bikes but Teig made it clear that the “baby track” was too juvenile for him, since the jumps are merely two-foot-tall hills.
The bleachers next to the baby track are empty, so I sit here and make a mental pro and con list about the consequences of texting Ryan first. Teig was right about this being a baby track. There are two kids riding around the small trail as slowly as if they were pedaling a bicycle. I am as bored watching as they must be riding that slow.
I run my thumb over the square buttons on my cell phone. Then I press New Message and add Ryan’s name. There are a million ways to write hello but I can’t think of a single one that sounds appropriate. It needs to be casual and portray me as being a laid-back kind of girl, one who doesn’t wait around all day to hear from him. I won’t even mention that I miss him.
Seven and a half minutes later I have the perfect message on my screen: Hey you, what’s up? I take a deep breath.
I press send.
My phone rings.
It’s Felicia. I crawl back into my skin, take a deep breath to make my hands stop shaking, and answer.
She isn’t calling to check up on me, but to tell me about the new guy she’s dating. He is a junior in college and works as a bartender. Her mother absolutely hates him and therefore Felicia loves him. I ask if he has any muscles.
“What?” she asks, “Since when do you like muscles? I thought you had a thing for guys in skinny jeans who rock out in garage bands.”
“That was before I was introduced to the wonderful world of motocross.” I struggle to listen for a beep signaling Ryan’s reply. “This place is crawling with sexy guys, and most of them have muscles. So, yeah, muscles are my thing now.”
“It’s crawling with guys? I’ll be there in four hours.”
I let her tell me every detail about her new crush before delving into the details of mine. When I tell her about the kiss, she squeals in delight, unlike Shelby.
“I can’t believe you got a guy to like you so quickly.” She’s jealous, I can sense it in her voice. It’s probably best if I don’t tell her about Ash. Soon we’re away from the topic of boys and dissecting my mother’s motives for marrying a man half her age.
My phone feels as heavy as a brick in my back pocket. An hour has passed since I texted Ryan, and he still hasn’t replied. I pace from one end of the pits to the other. Shelby still hasn’t returned, and I am beyond bored.
Familiar faces sit on the tailgate of a silver Toyota that’s parked next to Ash’s truck. Kasey and the chubby girl notice me and wave for me to join them. Kasey introduces me to her friend whose name is Lauren. They unpack riding gear from huge duffel bags.
“Do you ride?” Lauren asks while tugging on a thick boot that goes up to her knees.
“No, I’ve never tried,” I say. They look at each other.
“How can your dad own a track and you’ve never ridden a dirt bike?” Kasey asks. I shrug and they both look at each other again. She wears a tank top and leggings with large kneepads over them. She covers that with her riding pants, an elastic belt around her waist, and a jersey. I ask how she survives the heat in all of those layers of plastic. She says it’s worth it because motocross is the best sport on earth, and Lauren agrees.
“So how do you like your new job?” Kasey starts on the buckles to her left boot.
“The work
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