There is no use in explaining, but I do anyway. “My friend’s brother is hurt really bad and-” On the other end of the phone, Mom gasps.
“Excuse me? Your friend? I am your mother!”
She’s so not going to forgive me for what I’m about to say.
“Everything is more important that your stupid fifth husband. I’m not going to the party and I won’t go to your next wedding either. Bye Mom.”
I end the call and throw my phone at the wall.
Chapter 12
Sunday morning is bittersweet. The excitement in the air is overshadowed by the reason we’re here. My own
personal struggles with Mom are tucked deep in the back of my brain to be dealt with later.
Three of us are needed at the gate to take entry fees. I’ve never seen so many people here and what seemed like limitless acres of parking is now a crowded sea of vehicles and dirt bikes. A cop directs traffic on the main road because the line of cars waiting to turn into Mixon take up both sides of the two-lane road.
The flyers Molly made aren’t the only reason for the large crowd. Oak Creek, Mixon’s competitor, closed this weekend and urged everyone to attend our fundraiser race in lieu of their series race. Molly says it’s their way of contributing to the cause, because even though we compete for business, the entire motocross community comes together for injured riders.
Camille is Fred Johnson’s wife. They own Oak Creek motocross park. She’s also a volunteer worker today. Felicia would consider her a Trophy Wife, the very thing Felicia desires to become before she turns twenty-five. Camille helps Molly and me sign in at the gate. Although the tattoo on her lower back might suggest otherwise, she is not the life of the party. While Molly and I greet everyone with a smile when they sign the clipboard, Camille just repeats the same thing to each passing car, “Print and sign.” “Print and sign.”
I enjoy working the gate much more now than when I first arrived in Mixon. I know all the usual racers by name and dirt bike number. One of the toddlers always gave me a high-five while her mom signs in.
As I walk to the next truck in line, I hear a deep bass rumble and can’t help but look for the tall black Dodge accompanying it. The sound gets closer as it turns from the street into the driveway. It’s a truck, but it’s red.
Disappointment creeps up, and I try to push it away. I don’t know why I keep thinking of him with everything else on my mind. He should be the last thing on my radar. He shouldn’t even be allowed to be on my radar. The bass booms again as the red truck gets closer. I look at it even though I don’t want to. The silver ram logo on the grill mocks me. Ugh. It’s also a Dodge. And it has the same sound system as Ryan’s truck, which means it also has the same kind of tailgate I was sitting on when Ryan kissed me.
At eight-thirty, I figure I’ve suffered enough and don’t want to sign-in whoever is driving the Ryan-clone truck. I walkie-talkie Dorothy and ask her to take over my work at the gate. I blame it on cramps – every girl’s ticket out of manual labor – and Dorothy rushes out to relieve me.
With nothing to do, and no desire to ask for something to do, I wander around the track aimlessly, trying not to think about Ryan. There’s no way he’ll show up today. Spending money on a race that will help the Carters is probably not his idea of a charitable deed. If only I knew why they hated each other. I can’t ask Ryan. And it’s definitely not a good time to ask Ash. I doubt there will ever be a good time for that.
Practice starts, and the roar on the track is louder than usual. On the trek from the gate to the tower, it takes me several minutes to weave through the trucks, bikes and people walking around. I pass Mr. Carter on the way and he nods at me. He’s with a group of motocross dads and all the attention is on him.
Teig appears on his bike, catching me off guard. He peels out in the grass and rides a donut around me before stopping at my feet. Dirt flies in my face.
“TEIG!”
His eyes widen under his helmet. He knows he’s in trouble. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get you all dirty.”
“Who taught you that? I’m going to beat them up.” I spit out grainy bits of dirt. Teig revs his bike to keep the motor from dying.
“Ash taught me. Go ahead. Beat him up.” He laughs. Of course it was Ash. Teig worships Ash’s mechanic skills as well as his riding skills. My little brother is grossly mistaken if he thinks I won’t beat up the guy I’m crushing on. After all, it will give me a reason to touch him, which is a pretty awesome thing when it came to crushes.
Wait. Did I just admit I have a crush? On Ash?
“I’m racing moto number four. Will you watch me?”
What did he just say? I nod. Oh my god, I have a crush on Ash.
“Hana?”
I slap his helmet, knowing he’ll only feel a slight tap. “What?”
“Moto number four,” he repeats.
Right. I need to watch Teig race. Not think about Ash. I slap my hand on his helmet again, shaking it from left to right. “Of course.”
I make it to the tower without any more dirt attacks and go inside the office. The door has an Employees Only sign that Dad is pretty strict about, but Shelby doesn’t apply. I find her sitting on the futon reading a motocross magazine. The color has returned to her face, and her hair is washed for the first time in a week. She’s wearing an outfit I gave her.