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“In your fucking lip,” he roars.
I flash him a big smile. “You mean this new lip ring is a problem?”
He shakes his head, brushing both hands through his hair. “Get ready, you piece of work,” he orders, inhaling sharply.
I give him a wink while I take out my other piercings, handing them to Drew. Jay mutters a couple of swear words under his breath. I ignore him and inspect the bike Mac fixed after I crashed it during a practice run back home.
“Looks good, Mac,” I tell him, paying attention to what he has to say about the new frame and the adjustments he made to the handlebars for improved grip.
Mac hands me my helmet, shaking his head. “Damn, boy. One day your luck is going to run out.”
I take the helmet from him. “Don’t need luck. Maybe I will one day, right now my pure talent will earn us all some green,” I snicker, bumping fists with Drew.
“God help us all.” Mac laughs, peering up to the heavens.
We head to the starting gate. The music and the commentators get louder as we walk past the stands. I don’t know how many people came out today—a couple thousand is my guess.
The starting gate marks the beginning of the three-hundred-meter track. I make my way up there, nodding to a couple of fellow competitors. Crouching next to my bike, I inspect the frame one last time. I may be a fucking slacker in some areas but not this one. This is my life.
I’m checking my pedals, and a guy bumps into me. “Watch it,” I warn him, turning around.
Ryan takes his place next to me. “Ready to start losing?” he asks. Fucker has been getting on my nerves ever since the season started. I mean, I did beat him at the world championships. And I fucked his ex-girlfriend after I won, but he shouldn’t be this fucking anal about it.
“What’s up, Ryan?” I ask mockingly, taking a seat on my bike. “Are you ready to bite the concrete like you did last time?” I waggle my hand, making the shaka sign. A couple guys laugh.
“Fuck you, Hunt,” he bites out.
I roll my eyes in response.
“Do you ever get tired?” Ryan asks, flipping me off.
“From what? Fucking your mother?” I say, keeping a straight face, sliding my helmet over my head.
“You fucking ass.”
One of the referees grabs his arm. “Watch it,” the man says to both of us.
I shake my head and peer around the track. I’ve memorized each hill, every bend in the road, every steep angle. Before a race, I usually walk the whole track to get the lay of the land. To get a sense of the layout, the concrete, the gravel, the dirt, locking it all in my mind. Luckily, I did that yesterday morning. Fuck, I hope I still remember everything.
Standing at the edge of the hill never gets old. I’m like two or three stories high and when I ride in a couple of seconds I won’t think of anything but the experience of the wind against my skin. With winning on my mind, I’ll be flying over the hills, and bringing home the gold.
The commentators introduce all eight of us one at a time. The men’s booming voices echo through the air. Some riders are from Australia; there are a couple from the Netherlands and Canada, and the rest are from the States. I know them all. We’ve trained and competed against each other for as long as I can remember. “And here is Hunter Cole, everyone, the twenty-two-year-old reigning world champion. Can’t wait to see what the bad boy of BMX has in store for us,” he yells.
Girls are screaming my name and the audience applauds. I raise my hand to acknowledge them. Without fans, I wouldn’t get paid, get sponsors, or get laid. Grinning, I scan the crowd and notice Jay standing next to Drew and Mac. Jay crosses his arms, scowling at me. I flash them my tongue. Drew shakes his head but smiles anyway. Jay flips me off, and takes out his cell phone. Weird. He never answers a call when I’m about to race. He grabs the railing for support. I stand and watch him leave the side of the track. Strange as fuck.
Cracking my neck, I slam my hands on my legs. I need to focus on the task ahead—the thirty to forty seconds it takes to get to the finish line, toward my number one spot. I make sure my helmet is in place. The gate moves up, everyone else stands with me and we balance on our bikes.
“Catch you on the other side,” Ryan yells over the roar of the audience. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, focusing on my body placement.
“Okay, riders, random start,” the referee says.
I grab the handlebars of my bike so tightly my hands hurt.
“Riders, ready! Watch the gate!” the voice says over the speakers. The beeping starts and as the gate drops down, I’m off, flying across the track. I drown out the commentators, the roar of the audience, and focus on the path in front of me.
I’m in shared first position with Louis, the guy from Canada. There is a crash behind me and the commentators yell. Probably lost a couple of riders on one of the hills.
The cheers from the stands get louder. I grip the bars even tighter, angle my bike in the air and jump over the first three hills.
