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“Yeah, but I heard some new guy entered the race. Some rich guy with a fancy bike. I just had to add a new part to my bike, and I really can’t afford to lose,” I say.
Worry causes a lump to form in my stomach. I quietly wonder what it would be like to not have to worry about paying bills or which creep boyfriend my mom will come home with next time.
“Why don’t you just come work with me at the diner?” Ally asks, though she already knows I’m going to turn it down.
Shaking my head, I glance at myself in the side mirror. My green eyes look almost sunken in and my hair is messy in a high ponytail. “I would never make the kind of money thatI need,” I explain. “At least with racing, I know how much I will take home if I win. With waiting tables, I have no way of knowing what I would make each night.”
The thought of being kicked out of my tiny trailer—though it is disgusting and in major need of repairs—is still a daunting feeling. I would have nowhere to go.
Ally pulls up to our school parking lot and I see the police already making their rounds on the school campus. It’s not uncommon for a fight to break out or a drug bust to happen before our first period of the day. As we walk across the lot, I suck in a deep breath. Other than racing, school is my only other chance at freedom. Maintaining good grades has put me on track to apply for college scholarships for next year. Most seniors here could care less about their futures. They know that they will end up at some dead-end job just like their own parents. But for me, I can’t allow that to become my fate. I want more for myself than becoming just another statistic that people pity and look down upon.
Walking into school, I ignore the loud sounds of students in the halls talking and slamming locker doors. All I can think about is my upcoming race and how I can escape this reality.
