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My phone feels as heavy as a brick in my back pocket. An hour has passed since I texted Ryan, and he still hasn’t replied. I pace from one end of the pits to the other. Shelby still hasn’t returned, and I am beyond bored.
Familiar faces sit on the tailgate of a silver Toyota that’s parked next to Ash’s truck. Kasey and the chubby girl notice me and wave for me to join them. Kasey introduces me to her friend whose name is Lauren. They unpack riding gear from huge duffel bags.
“Do you ride?” Lauren asks while tugging on a thick boot that goes up to her knees.
“No, I’ve never tried,” I say. They look at each other.
“How can your dad own a track and you’ve never ridden a dirt bike?” Kasey asks. I shrug and they both look at each other again. She wears a tank top and leggings with large kneepads over them. She covers that with her riding pants, an elastic belt around her waist, and a jersey. I ask how she survives the heat in all of those layers of plastic. She says it’s worth it because motocross is the best sport on earth, and Lauren agrees.
“So how do you like your new job?” Kasey starts on the buckles to her left boot.
“The work is kind of hard, but it’s really great being in this atmosphere.” I check my phone and frown. “I don’t know how you can stand being around so many hot guys at once.”
They look at each other and giggle. Lauren holds out her arm and lifts the sleeve of her jersey, showing me the brightly colored rainbow bracelet on her arm.
“It’s not that hard,” she says. “I’m not even into guys.”
My phone and I sit on the bleachers and watch the girls race laps around the track. Just like their race results from yesterday, Kasey is always ahead of Lauren. Every time Lauren gains on her, Kasey flies through a jump and lands several feet in front of her. This only motivates Lauren as she speeds up and tries to catch her again, to no avail.
They only look like fast riders as they soar over jumps with the throttle pinned while sliding through a long sweeping turn. Then Ash gets on the track, passes them, and gains such a big lead that the girls could have been walking and it would have looked the same.
My stomach growls. My traitorous phone still hasn’t rang, vibrated or even lit up. I grab it and think seriously about throwing it in the pond. Then I compromise by shoving it in my sweaty back pocket. I need a sandwich.
Molly sweeps the kitchen floor. She tries to make my lunch, but I insist on doing it myself. The woman never takes a break from life and I need to start making sure that she does.
She has a batch of brownies in the oven and I hang around chatting with her while they finish baking. I don’t understand the idea of making brownies without a celebratory reason, but I’m not about to object. I wrap my sandwich in foil and save it to eat at the track.
I slump in a chair and stare at my phone while Molly cuts the brownies into neat squares. I read my one message from Ryan three times. Molly clears her throat, tapping her knife on the countertop.
“Are you upset about your mom?” Her eyes search my face for an answer.
“No, I’m used to her making stupid choices.” I look back at my phone to avoid her concerned stare.
“Honey, you’ve had your phone in your hand for the last couple days.” Molly goes around the counter and sits next to me at the table. “What’s wrong?”
My heart beats faster. She’s trying to have a special mother-daughter talk with me and that is something I never did with my own mother. I like Molly, but can I trust her? She brushes the hair out of my eyes and tucks it behind my ear. Then she gives me a warm motherly smile, and I crumble like a sandcastle under a child’s foot.
Hot tears form in my eyes as I search for the words to answer her. What is wrong? My problem seems so pathetic and insignificant when I put it in words. A guy doesn’t seem to like me. Stupid as it sounds, it is the worst possible thing in the mind of a sixteen-year-old girl. I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand.
“It’s stupid,” I say, looking at my phone again. Molly doesn’t pressure me to explain. She just runs her fingers through my hair again and listens. “This guy, at the track,” I start, expecting her to flinch or show some sign of anger that this is about a guy. She doesn’t, so I continue. “He really seemed to like me, and now it’s been days and he hasn’t called or anything. I even sent him a text today and he hasn’t replied.” It feels weird telling her this, so I leave out the part about the kiss and lock my eyes on a scratch in the table. Finally, she speaks.
“When I was your age, we didn’t have text messaging but, I would say if he hasn’t called you then he’s not worth it.”
“Or maybe I’m not worth it.”
“You can’t think like that.” Molly gets up and brings me a brownie. “I’ve had several guys at the track ask me if you had a boyfriend.” This gets my attention.
“Really? What did you say?”
“I told them they would need you ask you themselves.” She bites into her brownie.
A sudden surge of optimism fills me with this new. Maybe if Ryan keeps being a jerk, I can convince my heart into giving someone else a try. Ash’s face flashes in my mind, and he’s smiling.
I wrap up two more brownies to take back to the track with me. Not because I’m a fat ass, but because I figure Shelby will want one when she gets back. I put the brownies, my sandwich and a drink in a plastic bag and head toward the back door. Molly holds out my cell phone as I walk past her. It takes all the strength I possess, but I tell her to turn it off and hide it somewhere far away from me. If Ryan wants to get a hold of me, he knows where to look.
The bleachers by the main track are full now that practice is filling up with riders. I don’t feel like dealing with people right now, so I head over to the small kid track and take a seat on its empty bleachers. Ash’s truck is in view from here, and still, no one is there. I’ll keep an eye out for Shelby’s car.
One kid rides on the kid track and he isn’t very experienced. He’s slow and wobbly around every turn, giving the bike little bursts of gas instead of one steady flow. But everything about him is adorable, from his miniature-sized boots to his little gloves. With a bike only three-feet-tall, he is a tiny version of the big guys.
