“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.
“Yeah, the trophies are way bigger. And if you win in the Amateur Pro class Ash races in, you’re basically guaranteed sponsorship and a ticket to the real pros. He’ll be famous.” She caps the nail polish and fans her hands over her toes. “It’s his dream. It’s the whole family’s dream.”
“So you know he’s gonna win?” I ask, fixing a smudge on my pinky nail. Ryan beat Ash last weekend, and if these were Nationals, then he would have even more people competing against him this time. But I don’t say any of that.
“Well, no,” she concedes. “But it would be nice.”
The pizza comes from a family-owned restaurant in Mixon. It’s my favorite. Every time I visit Dad for the holidays or Teig’s birthday, we order it, and I eat until my stomach wants to explode. I fill my plate with a mound of cheesy bread and one slice of pizza. Oh, yeah baby. Cheesy, parmesan coated slices of heaven occupy me while everyone else talks.
“Too bad I didn’t know we were getting pizza, or I would have told Ash to stay for dinner,” Dad says between bites of double pepperoni on a golden brown crust.
“Well it’s a good thing, I guess, because he loves cheesy bread, and he’d have to fight Hana for it.” Shelby eyes the food on my plate while taking a dainty bite of her pizza.
Everyone else looks at my plate while I bite off half the bread stick at once. Between chewing I say, “Yeah, he wishes.”
Shelby brings up Nationals, and she and Dad start debating about the best new riders in the area. He says Ash has a great chance of winning because this is his home track, but that everyone would have the same disadvantage because the entire track is changing for the race. Dad hired a crew to demolish the jumps and turns and do a complete redesign of the layout. He says it insures that this year’s National will be equal to the professional races.
Teig pokes me in the arm. “Is that your phone ringing?” I don’t hear anything, but he strains his neck and listens again. “Sounds like it.”
I bolt out of my chair without excusing myself, run up the stairs and dive on the bed to grab my phone off of the nightstand. It’s still ringing, and the number isn’t familiar.
Breathless, excited and on the verge of freaking out, I answer. “Hello?”
“Hey there.” Ryan. It’s Ryan. He called. Say something, my brain yells. Say something cool, or casual, or just say anything because it’s already been three seconds, and he’ll think you’re an idiot.
“Hey, who is this?” I say. Ha! Not only am I casual, I’m clever.
“It’s Ryan, from the track.” He’s clever too. He can’t possibly think I wouldn’t remember him by name alone.
My heart races as I run a hand through my hair. “What’s up?”
“I was calling to see if you’d like to do me a favor.” He’s smiling on the other end of the phone, I can hear it. If the favor is making out with him, then yes, I would love do him a favor.
“Sure,” I say, casual again. I’m getting good at this.
“Can you save me an RV spot with electricity for Saturday but not Friday?” His voice is sexy on the phone. I can picture his face and his perfect white teeth and how his bleach blonde hair covers his eyebrows when he talks. I want to tell him yes and that I’d love to save him a spot, but electricity spots are first come first serve only. Dad made it really clear that I’m not supposed to reserve them. I don’t even know how I would. But then he gives me a “Pleeease” and I think of those blue puppy-dog eyes and I break down and make the stupid promise.