Chapter 2
Jett
Arenacross is a whole different beast from motocross, which is held outside on an open track. It’s even different from supercross, which is inside a stadium. They’re similar, but arenacross is small. Very small. A tight track with lots of jumps and hardly any room to move around. They’re usually held in smaller stadiums, like the one happening this weekend in San Antonio, Texas. There aren’t any arenacross tracks at home to practice on, and since most of them are built specifically for one race and then demolished so the stadium can host concerts and stuff, I never get to practice.
I’m not going to say I’m nervous, exactly. I’m just a little ready to get this over with.
My ultimate goal is to race in the actual AMA Motocross seasons. That’s the most professional of professional that you can get. Right now, I still have to race these smaller things and prove myself worthy to my team. Team Loco has a dozen other riders who are in their twenties and thirties who come from all over the world, and most of them can probably kick my ass on the track. Dad tells me not to worry about it because I’ll get there eventually. I’m confident that I will, but I have to put up with these smaller pro races first.
I throw my suitcase onto my bed and find two old socks left over in there from when I used it last time. Gross. I toss them into the dirty laundry hamper and then get to work packing up for two days in San Antonio. It’s only a few hours away, so Keanna and I decided to drive. Airplanes get stuffy and old after a while. I’d way rather spend three hours in my truck alone with Keanna than forty five minutes in a plane with strangers.
When all my stuff is packed, I haul it downstairs and set it by the back door so I’ll be ready to go at nine in the morning. My mom is hosting family dinner tonight to say goodbye to us, even though we’re only going to be gone for two freaking days. She’s making lasagna though, so I’m not going to complain.
When Keanna comes over for dinner, her parents and little brother are with her. Her parents, Becca and Park, are best friends with my parents. Most of the time this is a great thing because they’re all pretty chill as far as parents go.
Other times it can be totally embarrassing.
“There’s my future son-in-law,” Becca says as she walks by. She ruffles my hair, which is something she’s done to me ever since I was a little kid. But now that I’m six feet tall and she’s still five foot three, it kind of loses it’s meaning because she has to reach up so high.
I tell her hello and I ignore the future son-in-law comment. They always do that—act like we’re getting married soon, or sometimes like we already are married. I love Keanna with all of my heart and when I gave her that promise ring that she wears on her left hand, I knew one day it’d be switched out with an engagement ring.
But having your parents talk about it all the time is a little annoying. I know they’re just happy for us, but I don’t ever want our relationship to feel like something that’s been laid out for us without our input. When I officially propose to Keanna, I want it to be becausewechose to take that step in our lives, not because we feel obligated to.
“Hey,” I say, reaching out and brushing my fingers down Keanna’s arm.
She gives me this exasperated smile, and it’s probably because of what her mom just said.
We all sit around the dining table: my parents, Keanna’s parents, our little siblings, and us. Mom’s lasagna is delicious as always, and my baby sister Brooke, who is only four months old, looks at it like she wishes she could eat some instead of drinking her bottle.
Keanna’s brother Elijah is old enough to eat it, but he makes more of a mess with his food in his high chair that actually eating it.
The parents talk about whatever, and Keanna and I kind of split into our own world. We sit close together at the end of the table, my leg touching hers, my elbow brushing against hers as we eat.
It seems to take forever, but finally dinner is over. The parents all tell me good luck at my races this weekend, and I thank them and then drag Keanna upstairs to my room for some privacy.
***
Keanna didn’t allow us to stay up too late last night since we have to wake up early today, but I still feel like shit when my alarm goes off. My girlfriend is up and ready though, bouncing off my bed as if she’s been infused with the sunshine that’s filtering in from my blinds.
“No…” I say, rolling over in bed and hitting snooze on my phone’s alarm. “Five more minutes.”
“Babe!” Keanna says, walking over to my side of the bed. It’d taken only a little bit of begging on my part to get her to spend the night last night. She looks hot as hell wearing my T-shirt over her panties. She puts her hands on her hips. “You said if we leave by eight-thirty then we’ll have time to get bagels.”
“I did say that,” I say, pulling the pillow over my head. I take a deep breath and then sit up even though all I want to do is sleep some more.
There’s this bagel place on the outskirts of town and they sell New York style bagels that are freaking amazing. But the line is always long so it’s hard to stop on our way if we don’t have time to waste.
Keanna brushes her teeth while I get dressed, and I watch her from the reflection in the bathroom mirror. She’s wearing shorts and a tank top but she looks adorable. I love her in a ponytail. She always looks so happy and carefree when she hasn’t put much time into her looks. When we’re forced to dress up for some formal event or dinner, she always tends to freak out and worry about herself all night. Telling her how beautiful she is doesn’t ever help.
But on days like today, where all we have to do is drive to San Antonio and check into our hotel, she doesn’t stress too much.
There’s a heat race tonight, which isn’t that big of a deal. It’s basically a qualifier race to determine who makes it into the official race tomorrow. They only allow twenty five racers and about seventy five show up to qualify. That starts at six this evening, so we’ve got all day.
My mom is downstairs with the baby and she offers us coffee, but we decline because the bagel place has amazing coffee. I kiss my little sister Brooke goodbye and she touches my face with a drool-covered little hand.
“Thanks,” I say, rubbing my cheek on my sleeve.
“It means she loves you,” Mom says.
