“Dude, you ain’t got that trophyyet,” Clay says. “Yeah, you won some races, but that don’t mean shit.”
“Fuckin’ Jett over here, thinking he’s better than us,” Zach says, shaking his head. I know he’s just messing with me, so I lean back in my chair and put on a smug grin.
“We should hang out after the race tomorrow,” I say. “I mean, I’ll obviously get to the finish line first, but I’ll wait around for you all to catch up.”
They laugh and I’m punched in the arm a couple of times, but deep down it’s hard to keep up this confident exterior. I’ve barely trained in three weeks and soon my luck is bound to run out.
Yet when the gate drops on Saturday morning, I lean forward on my bike, elbows out, feet on the pegs. I pin the throttle and my bike roars into action, a cougar chasing its prey—the finish line. There are no bikes next to me as I take the first turn, meaning I got the holeshot—the first position.
I breathe in and out, and I focus on the track, letting all thoughts of everything but motocross leave my mind. The gears clink down when I slow for a turn, then the engine roars when I soar over a jump. All fifteen laps fly past me as if I’m going through life at warp speed, and then the checkered flag is waving as I fly over the final finish line jump.
Marcus is standing there with the other team managers as I roll my bike up to him, my heart pounding and sweat rolling down my face.
“Congrats little Adams,” Marcus says, referring to my father as the big Adams. He pats me on the helmet. “Looks like my newest rookie might take the series win.”
***
I don’t tell the family that I’ve exchanged my flight ticket for an earlier departure, because I want to surprise them on Sunday morning. I was originally supposed to leave at eleven, but I forced myself to wake up early and get to the airport at six-fifteen. It’s a three and a half hour flight from Arizona back to Texas, so I arrive just a few minutes after The Track has opened for the day. It’s race day, and the place is packed. I pull down the bill of my baseball cap in an effort to hide my face because there’s people all over the place, especially teenage girls. Most of the guys love the attention motocross gets them, but like I told the Team Loco guys—I’m settled down. I don’t care for the attention at all, not unless someone wants to comment on my racing skills, not my looks.
I slip into the building and go unnoticed for a few minutes because there’s so many people in here, visitors, and family members of racers.
The main building is where people pay their entry fee, race fees, and fill out waiver forms for racers. We also have a concession stand with a window outside so you can walk up and order stuff, as well as a daycare and a gym, plus employee only rooms like our break room.
I weave through the crowd and step behind the front counter to where Becca, my mom, and Keanna are working the front desk. Mom’s got Brooke swaddled in a blanket that loops around her shoulder like a kind of backpack that holds the baby against her chest.
Mom sees me first, and her expression goes from stressed out to relieved. “Oh my God, Jett,” she says, walking over to me. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”
“I took an earlier flight,” I say, smiling over her shoulder at Keanna, who looks at me and then turns back to her customers. Weird. I mean I guess I wasn’t expecting a full on make out session with all these customers in here, but a smile would have been nice.
Mom takes off the backpack blanket thing and hands the baby to me. “Hold her for a few minutes, okay?” she says, pulling the strap over my shoulder and securing it around my back. Brooke feels pretty securely stuck to my chest, but I keep my arms around her just in case. She’s sleeping, her tiny little baby face serene and totally conked out.
“I just need a break,” Mom says, looking exhausted. Her hair is in a ponytail, but lots of strands are frizzy around her face, and she has dirk circles under her eyes.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, baby, I’m fine,” she says as she grabs my face and kisses my cheek as if I’m still freaking five years old. “I’m just exhausted. That baby gets heavy!” She smiles and then grabs a water bottle from the mini fridge behind the counter.
I walk over to Keanna and bump against her shoulder since I can’t do anything else with this baby in my arms. “Hey beautiful.”
“Hey,” she says, not looking at me. She counts money at the register and then gives change to the woman on the other side of the counter.
I guess she’s stressed out from being so busy, so I try not to let her cold attitude bother me. I check the security of this baby backpack thing, and when I’m positive that Brooke will be safe against my chest without me holding her, I join Keanna and Becca and help sign in the customers.
It’s hard to help very much though, because people know who I am and they want to talk about Team Loco and the races and my latest interview with some magazine. I have to balance being nice to them and also trying to make them move along so I can help out more customers.
Eventually things die down as the races begin outside, and my mom comes back for her baby. There’s a sweaty part of my shirt from where Brooke was laying, but I tell my mom I don’t mind taking care of my sister at all. It’s what big brothers do, right?
Eventually, Mom and Becca head to the breakroom and it’s finally just me and Keanna. I put an arm around her waist and rest my chin on her shoulder.
“I missed you,” I say.
“Good.” Her voice is cold.
“Baby…” I tug her closer to me, kissing her neck. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
I gently turn her around to face me, keeping my hands on her waist. I look into her eyes, trying to do some mind reading, but it doesn’t work. “Baby, what’s wrong? You’ve barely spoken to me since I got home.”
