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Stella
“Hey,rentwasduetwo weeks ago.”
Cringing, I turn as I hear the deep, throaty voice call out to me. Slowly turning, I spot Lucas, our overweight and sweaty manager of the trailer park. His eyes drink me in that creepy way that lets me know he is thinking something awful. He knows I am a minor, but guys like Lucas don’t really care about that.
“Yeah, I will have it to you by tomorrow,” I say, trying to plaster on a fake smile.
Several women around here have traded other favors to Lucas when they didn't have enough money to cover the rent, but I just can’t bring myself to that. Stooping that low isn’t my style and I want to get out of this place one day.
The harsh light of the dingy streetlamp glows around us, and I listen as the sounds of buzzing mosquitos hum through the air. Sweat slides down his greasy forehead as he licks his lips. My stomach drops and I want to puke right on the spot.
“That’s what you said last week,” he states, kicking up dirt and gravel as he makes his way over to me.
A cigarette hangs out of his mouth and the smoke billows around us as he nears me. I quickly check the time on my phone and realize I only have a few minutes until the race begins. I will be late and won’t get my name entered if I don’t leave now.
“I swear, you will have it tomorrow,” I fumble out, taking a step back. My bike is still hidden under a tarp behind the trailer, and I need to get to it now.
Lucas sneers as a wicked smile grows on his face. “How about we talk about other ways that I can collect my money,” he proposes, causing bile to rise up in my throat.
I can smell the stench of sweat mixed with stale cigarettes. I can barely muster my next words as fight back the gagging sensation. “Lucas, I am going right now to collect my money. I will leave it in the mailbox first thing in the morning,” I tell him.
I can’t stand here any longer. I turn to leave, but Lucas reaches out and grabs my arm, stopping me from escaping. His grip on my arm tightens and I feel panic rising inside of me. There is no use screaming for help. Out here, people yell, scream, and cry at all times of the day and night. The pleas just go ignored because getting involved could be deadly.
“I know you think you are smart, but you and your whore mother are about to get kicked out of here if I don’t get what I want, I will have to find other ways to be satisfied.” His grimy hands still hold onto my arm.
I try to squirm out of his hold, but he only digs his dirty fingernails deeper into my skin. His hot breath reaches the back of my neck and that’s when I finally feel my anger and fear grow into a toxic storm. Using my other hand, I shove him away, causing Lucas to stumble back a little.
“You little...” I don’t hear the rest of his insult as I race around the corner of the trailer and jump on my bike. As the engine roars to life, I hear Lucas running toward me. I kick off and begin driving out of the trailer park. The wind from the drive attempts to cool my down, but face is flushed with heat, and I hate how my life revolves around threats and worry. One day, I swear I will get myself the hell out of here.
***
I make it to the track just as Tank, the guy in charge of assigning the racing spots and collecting the bets, begins shouting orders. I see a large crowd forming behind the old, abandoned warehouse and I slowly pull next to a few other bikes. People stand around, drinking and smoking as they place their bets. A few girls strut by in short skirts and low tops, and I watch as the racers eye them with lust-filled eyes. Thankfully, my helmet is still on and covering my face. My black leather jacket hugs my frame and hides my breasts. Most people here know that I am a girl, but I heard there were a few new drivers tonight, and I didn’t want them to see that I was female.
I park my bike at the starting line and make my way over to Tank. His large frame towers over everyone else as he takes money and names down on his phone.
“Name?” he asks, as I approach him.
“Stella,” I say in a low voice.
Tank nods his head and jots my name down. Tank is a pretty decent guy. He doesn’t ever out me to the new drivers and doesn’t make a big deal out of a girl racing with guys.
After everyone has been entered, we all move back to our bikes and get ready for the race. The crowd clears around the track, standing close by so they can see all of the action firsthand. The track goes through the old warehouse district and has some pretty sharp turns and slick spots from years of unuse. I straddle my bike, watching as a guy I don’t recognize idles up next to me. Blonde, disheveled hair hangs over the guy's blue eyes and as he goes to place his shiny red helmet over his head, it’s then that I notice there’s more to this guy then his insanely good looks.
He’s driving one of those super expensive racing bikes. Why would anyone who could afford a bike like that, be down here on the rough side of Savannah? Noticing my staring, the guy turns and gives me a once over. I’m grateful that he can’t see inside my mask; because he would see my red cheeks and eyes that are drinking in him. My heart flutters and I have to push down that feeling. I am here to earn money. I can’t let some hot guy—wow, he is scorching hot—to distract me.
“You got a staring problem?” the guy growls out, causing me to lose focus for a moment.
He shakes his head and lets out a laugh before revving the engine on his bike. Damn, I have to clear my head, or this guy will cause me to lose the race. I focus my attention on the track ahead as a girl in a black and white plaid skirt and hot pink bikini top struts onto the track. She holds up a checkered flag and the crowd hushes. All I can hear are the engines purring and the sound of my own beating heart. I have so much at stake here.
“Man, I hate it when those rich kids come down here to our races,” a guy beside me bellows out.
He is staring daggers at the guy on the other side of me and I can’t help but feel the same way, too. Rich kids have no idea what it’s like to have to fight for what we have. They don’t understand the fear of not knowing how you are going to pay your bills or where you will sleep that night. They think this is all fun and games—a joke. However, for kids like us, this is survival.
I’m so lost in my own anger, that I almost miss it when the girl standing in front of us drops the checkered flag and announces the start of the race. I’m late kicking into gear and I know that slight mishap will cost me in this race. I launch my bike forward, driving as fast as I can while maneuvering through the broken asphalt of the track. My bike rattles a bit, but it holds up nicely as I make the first sharp turn around an old warehouse that was once used for shipping containers. I speed past a few guys, and I feel my own high starting to build. This is why I love racing. The suspense is wild and always makes me feel so alive.
The rich asshole is only a few feet ahead of me, but right now, it feels like he is miles away. Anxiety creeps in as I start to really worry that I could lose this race. If I can’t pay Lucas, the owed rent in the morning... I can’t even think about what will happen. I have no idea where mom is right now. She’s probably strung out on heroine at her latest boyfriend's place. Her cell phone was disconnected a week ago, so I really have no way of getting ahold of her. That thought, plus my own growing worry, causes me to push the accelerator down harder. I feel my bike jump a little as I push it harder than I ever have before. I speed past a few more racers, but as I see the finish line up ahead, the crowd is cheering, but I realize instantly that it’s not me who they are yelling for.
The rich asshole makes his way across the line and dread finally consumes me. I slow my speed as I make my way to the line. People crowd around him, and I fight back the hot tears that threaten to spill down my face. I hate crying—it's such a vulnerable emotion and I refuse to allow these people to see me cry. Shaking with rage, I hop off my bike and run over to the guy as he pulls off his helmet. A few scantily clad girls rush him, but I shove each of them out of my way.
