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“I’ve been shifting a dirt bike for twelve years. Shifting a truck isn’t much different,” he says. I think I see a piece of his repressed ego shine through his eyes.
“So…where’s Shelby?”
“She’s with Jake the Snake,” he answers while backing out of the driveway.
“The snake?”
“It’s his racing nickname.”
“Oh like Ash ‘The Flash’ Carter?” I tease.
“Something like that.” He flashes me his too-relaxed-to-be-offended smile. We turn onto the bumpy road that leads into the track. He can’t drive more than ten miles an hour or the dust would engulf the truck and leave us driving blindly on a long, winding road. Walking would have been faster.
“So are they dating now?” I ask, hoping the answer is no or else Shelby had some explaining to do for leaving me out of the loop.
“Nah…not yet, at least. They’re going on some romantic picnic today.” The smallest bit of contempt seeps through his voice.
“Aww! Is this her first boyfriend?”
His finger taps on the steering wheel. “No, but it’s the first one I at least halfway approve of.”
The track isn’t open for practice yet because it’s still an hour until noon, but a large section of parking is filled with tractors and heavy machinery. The professional dirt movers put Marty’s old bulldozer to shame. These bad boys didn’t even have scratches on their paint yet and are all shiny and clean.
Ash follows me up the stairs to the tower. I hold onto the railing tighter than usual hoping to avoid another pathetic fall. But then I realize that if I slipped now, Ash would probably catch me with his exuberant masculine muscles, carry me up the stairs like Fabio and kiss me with the passion only true love knows. Just like Wesley and Buttercup. Well, maybe not the last part because my parents would surely see through the tower’s row of windows, but I allow the thought to linger in my mind until I arrive unharmed at the top.
Dad goes over blueprints with the man from the bulldozer company. He has over fifteen years’ experience in building racetracks, according to the slogan on the back of his shirt. Molly offers us brunch: an elaborate assortment of fruit and appetizers she threw together for our special company today. Molly keeps us so well-fed, Dad could have married her for that quality alone and I would have approved.
Ash sits beside me on the futon, which is a disappointing event after having the pleasure of sitting with him on his bedroom futon. The tower futon sucks in comparison. I feel Molly eyeing us from across the room with a coy sort of motherly affection. Ugh, it’s time for us to leave to avoid any awkward questions she may ask.
“What do I have to do today?” I interrupt Dad and the track-designing expert.
“Just sign in riders for practice,” he retrieves the clipboard from a drawer and hands it to me. “Don’t make Ash pay – he’s a house rider from now on.”
“Oh,” a distracted Ash joins our conversation when he hears his name. “Thank you, sir.”
Dad puts an arm around him and gives him a brotherly squeeze. “Your specialty is the whoops, correct?” Ash nods and Dad smiles. “Great, and what are your weaknesses?”
Ash doesn’t hesitate. “Nothing, sir.”
Ash’s popularity grows annoying as the third girl in a row fawns over him at the track entrance. Her brother signs the clipboard with snail-like speed while she chats with Ash, my Ash, complimenting his riding and hair. The two girls in the truck before her pointed out how cool his dreads were too. I’ve never talked to him about his dreads. Now I wonder if there is a cool story to why he chose the hairstyle besides the fact that it is “super badass” according to Miss Flirty in the backseat.
“Do you get tired of girls talking about your hair?” I ask as I wave through two cars without dirt bikes since they don’t need to pay.
“Not really. It’s more annoying when people ask to buy pot from me, since dreadlocks somehow mean I sell drugs.” He reaches out to shake hands with the driver in the next truck. It’s no surprise that the girl in the backseat swoons over Ash. At least she keeps her hands to herself unlike the last one.
When the opening rush of riders are signed in and paid for, Ash and I are left sitting under the tree, trying to stay in a shaded spot, which changes with the sun. We don’t talk much, and I wonder if he’s even still into me. I mean, he has to like me, right? Why else would he have spent all morning standing around while I worked? If he thought sitting on a weight bench wasn’t the time or place for a first kiss, maybe this tree is more romantic. There isn’t a soul around to see us, only the distant buzz of dirt bikes and the faint smell of exhaust fumes.
Ash leans back on his hands, squinting at me in the sunlight. “I should probably leave soon. I have a lot of work to do at the shop.” My heart rolls over and lurches to a stop. Here I am thinking about landing that first kiss with Ash, and he’s thinking about leaving? We are never on the same page.
“Aren’t you going to practice?” I ask, grasping for anything to keep him talking and not leaving.
“Not today.”
“But it’s your last chance to practice before the big race.” I lean closer to him. Surely he isn’t missing the last day of practice just because he promised his parents he wouldn’t ride anymore?
“The track is getting changed so I don’t see the point.” He rips out a few strands of grass and tears them into small bits.
“You haven’t been on your bike in weeks, Ash. Don’t you want to win?” I studied his eyes for an answer but his poker face was winning this round.
