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I hear Hunter’s voice as if I’m tasting it.
Do you love me?
My teeth chatter twice before I stop them, and for some reason, tears fill my eyes. It’s the excitement. That’s all.
Do you love me?
I look around for him.
I didn’t tell him. I should’ve tried to call.
I close the visor and say the words as I see his face in my head. “I love you,” I whisper.
Taking out my phone, I go to my app, but then I remember I still haven’t redownloaded anything onto my new phone.
But as soon as I open it, I see a playlist ready to go.
It’s calledPirate Girl.
I grin wide, but no one can see.
He made me a mixtape.
I scan the songs, few of which I recognize, but I see one of my mom’s favorites from when I was a kid. I haven’t heard this in forever, but we would rage scream it in the car when it was just the two of us.
I press play, turning up the volume as the announcer introduces our race, and “The Collapse” by Adelitas Waystarts playing in my ear.
Men rev their engines around me, getting louder and louder, and some of my father’s guys move around us, taking pictures while I’m sure others are filming to research the footage later.
The purr of the bikes quickens, and my heart pumps as I watch the signal lights. They turn green, and I suck in a breath, all of us darting off at the same time as my feet find the footrests.
Bikes fly past at my side, the music blasts in my ear, and I see arms shoot up in the crowd as people cheer. Some of them know me by my dad, but I don’t know if it was announced that I was on the track too.
Either way, I am. Tightening into nearly a ball, I fall in behind everyone, struggling just to keep up, much less get ahead. The world zooms by in a blur, the wind barreling into me, and my heart races, feeling like I’m on a tight rope, and it’s not a matter of if I’ll fall, but when. Any second.
I can’t… It’s too fast.
“Come on, come on, come on!” I yell, firing it with more gas. I pull up, head-to-head with the racer in last place, all of us leaning left, hugging the curve as we race around.
A real superbike race can be over two-hundred miles long. The same massive lap a handful of times. Fallstown can’t accommodate that, and probably never will, but this allows my dad and his competitors to measure against each other. A “fun” exhibit of their designs.
Billy Waters, a racer out of Texas, swerves in front of me, and I tremble, jerking my handlebars. He looks over his shoulder at me as the guy next to me, whom I don’t know, skims his eyes behind his visor down my body and back up again. He jerks his wheel, faking me out, and my hands shake.
Fuck…
I let off the gas, starting to fall behind again. They keep staring at me.
Like I’m a novelty and not really here.
That’s how it always is. If I win, it’s because they let me. If I lose, then of course I did. Nothing I earn will be deserved to them.
And it makes you feel like the hill doesn’t have a peak. It’ll never end.
As we finish the third lap, I catch sight of my dad, standing with his arms crossed and watching. I start to face forward again, but I see Hunter.
At least, I think it was him.
He stood in front of the media booth, and it was quick, but he wore a black suit and white shirt, and his hands were in his pockets.
