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My new companion sets up a laptop, plugging it into a dock on the desk next to me. “That’s new,” I say over a massive bite of food. “Portable computers in the tower? I can’t believe they’ve upgraded so much.”
I may or may not be trying to sabotage whatever crush he may think he has on me by being completely disgusting. I bite off another bite and lean back in my chair, propping my feet up on the counter.
“Yeah, I’m the tech guy.” Lincoln types in a password and focuses on the screen, booting up whatever programs he uses for his job.
“I didn’t know we needed a tech guy.”
“Ya’ll don’t need one full time,” he says, tossing me a quick glance. “Which is why I’m also the marketing director, the guy who answers the phone on weekends, and most importantly—”
“So you’re a massive nerd?” I say, cutting him off. “I can’t believe this cool track has slipped into nerdom.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” he says, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “If you think answering phones is nerdy, you should hear my main job. I am the peewee instructor.”
“You teach little kids?” The peewees are the below five age group of little rug rats whose parents clearly don’t love them and therefore have bought them a dirt bike. We have a tiny kid track off to the side of the two big main tracks where little kids can ride without fear of their small bikes not making it up the big jumps. “I didn’t even know that was a thing here.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He leans a little closer to the laptop screen, eyes squinting as he highlights a row of text. “Mr. Fisher has branched out into motocross training. He hired a few guys as contractors to teach riding lessons during the off-season and on slow days. Turns out I suck at trying to make it as a professional racer, but I’m a stellar teacher to kids.”
“That’s really cool,” I say. Whatever self-imposed hostility I’d had over this new guy starts to melt away. I mean, teaching little kids is kind of adorable.
“So what do you do here?” he asks.
I hold out my arms, gesturing to my laid back position in Marty’s favorite chair. “Mostly I just wait for Dad to assign some mundane task. Unless it’s race day and then I’m swamped.”
Lincoln’s long fingers type something on his computer and then the printer whirs to life in the corner of the room. “Oh, to be the owner’s kid. I wish my parents did something other than slave away at shit jobs. But yeah, race days suck. That’s why we get paid double.”
He closes the laptop and slides it back into the bag, rising from the chair next to me. He gives me a little nod. “I’ll see you around, Hana.”
And then he’s gone. And as if by magic, all of my longing for Ash falls off the high mental shelf where I’d hid it and comes tumbling down, ruining my mood. I don’t like Lincoln. I’m not even sure he likes me, judging by his professional chit chat just now. That’s fine, because I don’t want anyone to like right now. There is no room in my brain or heart to even consider letting someone else in.
I stand up, looking for something to do in the tower, anything that will keep me busy and keep my mind off Ash. The paper Lincoln printed still rests in the paper slot, face down. I grab it and rush back to the door, yanking it open.
“Lincoln!” I call out to his retreating form. He’s already down the stairs and a few yards away. When he turns around, there’s a playful look in his eyes. I hold up the paper. “You forgot this.”
“Did you read it?” he calls back.
“No.”
I think he gnaws on his bottom lip but it’s a little hard to tell from up here. “Well, it’s for you.”
“Oh cool, thanks.” I step back into the frigid room and get all the way back to my chair before I read it. It’s a memo template, probably printed from the internet, like something you would see in an office on a movie. Only, Lincoln has typed in his own message in all of the blanks and then printed it for me.
MEMO
URGENT? -yes
FOR – Hana
FROM –Lincoln
MESSAGE – Would you like to have lunch with me and discuss all of those secret work topics you know but haven’t shared yet? (Pizza at Magic Mark’s, on me) I would have just asked you but something tells me you expect the utmost nerdiness out of me, so you get this memo. That’s what nerds do, right?
*
Molly’s brown curls bounce up and down as she reads the memo. “Aww!” she croons, her mouth forming a little puppy face of excitement for me. “That is so cute!”
“Is it cute?” I ask, voice hushed in case we’re overheard. Which is unlikely, since we’re standing at the front of the track, pounding signs that advertise the next motocross event into the hard-packed dirt. There’s really no one around to eavesdrop. “Or is it kind of . . . I don’t know, forward? I mean, he just met me.”
She makes this face like everything I’m saying is too much to believe. “Ya’ll are kids. He’s just being cute.”
