with this new. Maybe if Ryan keeps being a jerk, I can convince my heart into giving someone else a try. Ash’s face flashes in my mind, and he’s smiling.
I wrap up two more brownies to take back to the track with me. Not because I’m a fat ass, but because I figure Shelby will want one when she gets back. I put the brownies, my sandwich and a drink in a plastic bag and head toward the back door. Molly holds out my cell phone as I walk past her. It takes all the strength I possess, but I tell her to turn it off and hide it somewhere far away from me. If Ryan wants to get a hold of me, he knows where to look.
The bleachers by the main track are full now that practice is filling up with riders. I don’t feel like dealing with people right now, so I head over to the small kid track and take a seat on its empty bleachers. Ash’s truck is in view from here, and still, no one is there. I’ll keep an eye out for Shelby’s car.
One kid rides on the kid track and he isn’t very experienced. He’s slow and wobbly around every turn, giving the bike little bursts of gas instead of one steady flow. But everything about him is adorable, from his miniature-sized boots to his little gloves. With a bike only three-feet-tall, he is a tiny version of the big guys.
I’m looking for Shelby when I hear the boy’s bike sputter and die. He topples over in one of the turns, then scrambles to his feet and dusts off his pants. He strains to pick up his dirt bike but isn’t able to lift it. I look around for his parents but don’t see any adults in the area. Every vehicle is parked in the pit section of the main track, not over here.
He keeps struggling with the bike, digging his boots into the mud but making no progress. I put down my sandwich and jog over to him.
“Need some help?” I use my most kid-friendly voice.
“Yes please,” he says, breathless. I lift the bike and hold it up while he climbs on and cranks the motor back to life. He thanks me and rides back on the track. I jog back to my sandwich and watch him make a couple laps. He’s so freaking adorable. When he comes to the small jumps he stands up on the foot pegs, slows to a crawl and idles over them.
Five minutes pass, and he falls over again, this time in a different turn. Once again, he can’t pick up the bike, so I help him lift it out of the dirt. He wears blue gear with a black helmet and blue goggles. The only part of his body that’s visible is the skin under his goggles and his blue eyes. He is much younger than Teig. Where the hell are his parents?
I finish the first half of my sandwich and reach for the other. The boy gets more courageous with each lap. He increases his speed ever so slightly each time he goes over the biggest jump. It’s about four-feet high and six-feet long, which doesn’t even qualify as a jump on the main track.
He picks up speed and heads toward the jump, this time getting his bike a few inches off the ground. I cheer and clap loudly so he could hear me. Even though he’s slow, he’s more entertaining than looking at my phone all day. Two more jumps like that, and I’ll be completely over the pain in my chest caused by Ryan.
On the next lap, the boy rides even faster and jumps a few inches higher off the ground. When he lands, his handlebars wiggle and he falls over. I jump up and jog over to him.
“You were doing good, buddy.” I tap his helmet as I hold up the bike for him. His cheeks get fatter as he smiles under his helmet.
“Thanks! Did I get a lot of air that time?”
“Ye,” I say, not wanting to disappoint him. He is so freaking excited, and I wonder why his parents aren’t here to see his progress.
“Keep watching! I’m going to do it really good this time.” He flips his goggles back into place and races onto the track faster than before.
I take my seat on the bleachers again and watch him make another lap. This lap is faster than the last. This time he gets a foot of air over the big jump.
I
I wrap up two more brownies to take back to the track with me. Not because I’m a fat ass, but because I figure Shelby will want one when she gets back. I put the brownies, my sandwich and a drink in a plastic bag and head toward the back door. Molly holds out my cell phone as I walk past her. It takes all the strength I possess, but I tell her to turn it off and hide it somewhere far away from me. If Ryan wants to get a hold of me, he knows where to look.
The bleachers by the main track are full now that practice is filling up with riders. I don’t feel like dealing with people right now, so I head over to the small kid track and take a seat on its empty bleachers. Ash’s truck is in view from here, and still, no one is there. I’ll keep an eye out for Shelby’s car.
One kid rides on the kid track and he isn’t very experienced. He’s slow and wobbly around every turn, giving the bike little bursts of gas instead of one steady flow. But everything about him is adorable, from his miniature-sized boots to his little gloves. With a bike only three-feet-tall, he is a tiny version of the big guys.
I’m looking for Shelby when I hear the boy’s bike sputter and die. He topples over in one of the turns, then scrambles to his feet and dusts off his pants. He strains to pick up his dirt bike but isn’t able to lift it. I look around for his parents but don’t see any adults in the area. Every vehicle is parked in the pit section of the main track, not over here.
He keeps struggling with the bike, digging his boots into the mud but making no progress. I put down my sandwich and jog over to him.
“Need some help?” I use my most kid-friendly voice.
“Yes please,” he says, breathless. I lift the bike and hold it up while he climbs on and cranks the motor back to life. He thanks me and rides back on the track. I jog back to my sandwich and watch him make a couple laps. He’s so freaking adorable. When he comes to the small jumps he stands up on the foot pegs, slows to a crawl and idles over them.
Five minutes pass, and he falls over again, this time in a different turn. Once again, he can’t pick up the bike, so I help him lift it out of the dirt. He wears blue gear with a black helmet and blue goggles. The only part of his body that’s visible is the skin under his goggles and his blue eyes. He is much younger than Teig. Where the hell are his parents?
I finish the first half of my sandwich and reach for the other. The boy gets more courageous with each lap. He increases his speed ever so slightly each time he goes over the biggest jump. It’s about four-feet high and six-feet long, which doesn’t even qualify as a jump on the main track.
He picks up speed and heads toward the jump, this time getting his bike a few inches off the ground. I cheer and clap loudly so he could hear me. Even though he’s slow, he’s more entertaining than looking at my phone all day. Two more jumps like that, and I’ll be completely over the pain in my chest caused by Ryan.
On the next lap, the boy rides even faster and jumps a few inches higher off the ground. When he lands, his handlebars wiggle and he falls over. I jump up and jog over to him.
“You were doing good, buddy.” I tap his helmet as I hold up the bike for him. His cheeks get fatter as he smiles under his helmet.
“Thanks! Did I get a lot of air that time?”
“Ye,” I say, not wanting to disappoint him. He is so freaking excited, and I wonder why his parents aren’t here to see his progress.
“Keep watching! I’m going to do it really good this time.” He flips his goggles back into place and races onto the track faster than before.
I take my seat on the bleachers again and watch him make another lap. This lap is faster than the last. This time he gets a foot of air over the big jump.
I
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