Page 95 of Crew Girl

Or the Wicked Witch of Westvale, as Perry called him.

“I want to kick his ass,” said Baloo.

Cam loved his teammate’s fire. “But… he’s really good. He’s Westvale’s stroke, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Baloo said. The tough love Cam had dealt him hadn’t tamped the flames of his fire; it had stoked them. “But I’m the hurt party here. Meaning, I deserve to beat him.”

“Ummm. Not so sure about your logic there, Baloo.”

Baloo pressed his hands together in supplication. “I’m begging you. I need to tap into whatever it is you’re doing to stay on top of the leaderboard.”

Easy. He blocked everything else out and rowed. An admission he wasn’t going to make. It would only lead to a conversation he didn’t want to have eating up valuable time he couldn’t afford to lose.

“C’mon, Cam,” Baloo pleaded, misreading Cam’s hesitation. “Tell me what it takes to improve. Please?”

They were getting too close to the parking lot for comfort. Cam didn’t need to field questions about why he was riding an ancient ten-speed bike instead of driving his truck, so tried to think of the fastest way to put it. He’d give Baloo all the time in the world if he could, but the cars waiting to be repaired already had a claim on it. “Okay,” he said to Baloo.“He’s got you flustered. When you’re flustered? You’re messy. You come in hot and burn out. You start slow—can’t sync. If you want to crush this guy? Pretend he doesn’t exist.”

“Yeah, right,” Baloo said. “Not possible.”

Cam was about to suggest the trick where you imagined someone sitting in their underwear to make a situation less intimidating, then thought better of it. “Pretend he’s Josh.”

Baloo grinned. “Nice one. I can do that. Thanks, man. See you tomorrow.”

One more hour under the hood of this car, another cramming for school, then sleep. However much he could grab. He’d been working his ass off in the lead-up to tomorrow’s Rowing Invitational and needed every ounce of energy he could get.

“So? This is where you live.”

Cam knew the body attached to the familiar voice wouldn’t go away without acknowledgment.

“What do you want, Ryder?” Unless it was a million-dollar repair job, he wasn’t all that interested.

“Tomorrow’s Invitational,” Ryder said, eyes scanning the shop like he’d never seen grease or tools this close up before. Then his ice-blue eyes landed on Cam. “Looks like it’s between you and me.”

Yeah. He knew. You’d think his position on the leaderboard made this conversation unnecessary. But this was how the Regis kids rolled. Twisting a situation to their advantage even if the writing was literally written on the wall. “Pretty sure it’s me.” He picked up his wrench, ducked back under the hood.

“Must take up a lot of time,” Ryder said casually. Too casually. “Pulling shifts here before and after school. Busting your gut at practice.”

Cam shot him a look, wished he hadn’t. Ryder was giving him an appraising look, as if trying to figure out who had more muscle mass.

“Those sneakers are getting pretty worn.”

A bit like Cam’s patience. Something Ryder, apparently, wasn’t done testing. “You help me? I’ll help you.”

Cam put the wrench down. Where was this going?

“I need the Junior Team scout looking at me tomorrow,” said Ryder. “What’s it going to take for you to make that happen?”

Cam stared at his teammate incredulously. “Hold up. Are you asking me to throw the race?”

Ryder dropped the casual act. “I’m asking you to name your price. What do you want?”

Cam wanted to throw him out of here, but his dad was in the office and the noise Ryder would make when he landed wouldn’t be pretty.

“An erg?” Ryder suggested. “A vacation?” He looked around for the truck, didn’t see it. “A car?”

“Get out.”

“I can go higher.”