Jett

 

By some stroke of luck, I manage to win the Washington race even though I only got that one night of practice before the race. I chalked it up to sheer luck and nothing more, since normally I train every day leading up to a race, so there’s no way I could have actually ridden as fast as I did. Maybe the other guys on Team Loco just had bad days…along with the other twenty one racers on the track.

Whatever the case, I’m happy but still stressed as I go back home and continue taking over my dad’s clients and some of Park’s clients too. They’re too busy setting up the new race schedule and calling in the part time employees who help us run our normal races. Some of them can work all of the extra races, but some can’t so we have to hire more.

I’m more nervous than ever for the next race because I didn’t even manage to slip in a night ride at home. But somehow, I manage another win.

On the third week in a row of flying into another state on barely any sleep following days of working at The Track instead of training for my own career, I know I’ll be screwed. I arrive in Scottsdale, Arizona on Friday night, just in time to go to dinner with Zach, Clay, and Aiden. They pick some local cheeseburger place that sounds okay to me, but as soon as we walk inside, I realize it’s just a knockoff of Hooters, complete with skanky-looking waitresses.

“Are you gentleman all sitting together?” the hostess says after we walk in.

“Yes, ma’am,” Zach says in his twangy voice. He gives her that cocky smile of his that always makes the girls swoon. “But I’m not sure I’d call us gentlemen.”

She gives him a coy grin back and says, “Follow me.”

We’re seated at a table that’s higher than normal, with tall bar stools instead of chairs. As I look around, I notice that even the booths are tall like this. Weird.

Then I realize why.

“Hey there, handsome men,” a girl in booty shorts that could pass for underwear and a tight fitting spandex tank top says. She has long brown hair that’s wavy and smells like hair spray, which is probably why it doesn’t move at all. Her boobs are pretty much right in my face.

That’s why the chairs are tall. I’m sure they get a lot more tips when the customers are eye level with their assets.

“What can I get you boys to drink?”

“You could pour yourself in a glass,” Zach says. He hasn’t even been drinking today—alcohol isn’t allowed so soon before a race—but he’s already let his womanizing side loose. I guess he can’t help it.

Clay snorts and smacks Zach with his laminated menu. “He’ll take a Coke, and so will I.”

Zach gives Clay an annoyed look, but it’s for his own good. He’s used to getting all the girls because of his southern charm and motocross fame, but our manager Marcus is constantly telling him to get his head in the game and off of girls. He tends to flirt more than he rides, and it only gets worse with each new interview or magazine that features him.

Of course, that’s kind of a benefit for me, since the more he sucks at tomorrow’s race, the more I’ll be able to beat him. So I just order my drink and don’t bother giving him shit as he continues to flirt with our waitress, whose nametag says Princess, and I’m wondering if that’s actually her name or some scheme she uses to get guys to be infatuated with her.

“Dude,” Aiden says after we’re eating our food. He’s got a French fry in one hand and his cell phone in the other, the screen glowing and lighting up his face. “All these girls from high school who didn’t give a damn about me…” He shakes his head and puts the phone in his pocket.

“What about ‘em?” Clay says, not looking up. Clay is the tallest of all of us, and his arms of tattoos and newly shaved head makes him look like he doesn’t really belong in this group, but maybe a group of ultimate fighters or something instead. If I didn’t know him, I’d be a little wary of being in a dark alley with him. He’s not really an asshole; he just seems like one. He’s known for never giving autographs unless Marcus makes him, usually for the tiny fans who are round five years old. The truth is, Clay only cares about dirt bikes. Not girls. Not fame. The fact that he’s even speaking up now is kind of funny. “They trying to get your attention now?”

Aiden snorts. “I’d say. My inbox is full of nudes.”

Zach’s head snaps up. “Show ‘em!” he says with a mouth full of food.

Aiden shakes his head. “Nah, man. That’s invasion of privacy. Some of them aren’t even that good, trust me.”

Zach rolls his eyes. “Trust me, she sent them hoping you’d show her off to your friends.”

Aiden shakes his head and keeps eating.

Clay smacks me on the arm. “Are you the only one who doesn’t want see them?”

I shrug. “I’ve got the most perfect pair of boobs waiting on me at home.”

“Maybe that’s true,” he says with a laugh. “But they aren’t here now, are they?”

“Man, you know Jett,” Aiden says. “He’s our old man of the group—only eighteen and already settled down and shit.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” I say, taking a sip of my Coke. “But you see, instead of dating one girl after another, I’ve got my life already figured out. I got the girl… and the first place trophy,” I say with a smirk. I bite down on a fry and the guys all laugh and make annoyed noises.

“Dude, you ain’t got that trophy yet,” Clay says. “Yeah, you won some races, but that don’t mean shit.”

“Fuckin’ Jett over here, thinking he’s better than us,” Zach says, shaking his head. I know he’s just messing with me, so I lean back in my chair and put on a smug grin.

“We should hang out after the race tomorrow,” I say. “I mean, I’ll obviously get to the finish line first, but I’ll wait around for you all to catch up.”

They laugh and I’m punched in the arm a couple of times, but deep down it’s hard to keep up this confident exterior. I’ve barely trained in three weeks and soon my luck is bound to run out.

Yet when the gate drops on Saturday morning, I lean forward on my bike, elbows out, feet on the pegs. I pin the throttle and my bike roars into action, a cougar chasing its prey—the finish line. There are no bikes next to me as I take the first turn, meaning I got the holeshot—the first position.

I breathe in and out, and I focus on the track, letting all thoughts of everything but motocross leave my mind. The gears clink down when I slow for a turn, then the engine roars when I soar over a jump. All fifteen laps fly past me as if I’m going through life at warp speed, and then the checkered flag is waving as I fly over the final finish line jump.

Marcus is standing there with the other team managers as I roll my bike up to him, my heart pounding and sweat rolling down my face.

“Congrats little Adams,” Marcus says, referring to my father as the big Adams. He pats me on the helmet. “Looks like my newest rookie might take the series win.”

 

***

 

I don’t tell the family that I’ve exchanged my flight ticket for an earlier departure, because I want to surprise them on Sunday morning. I was originally supposed to leave at eleven, but I forced myself to wake up early and get to the airport at six-fifteen. It’s a three and a half hour flight from Arizona back to Texas, so I arrive just a few minutes after The Track has opened for the day. It’s race day, and the place is packed. I pull down the bill of my baseball cap in an effort to hide my face because there’s people all over the place, especially teenage girls. Most of the guys love the attention motocross gets them, but like I told the Team Loco guys—I’m settled down. I don’t care for the attention at all, not unless someone wants to comment on my racing skills, not my looks.

I slip into the building and go unnoticed for a few minutes because there’s so many people in here, visitors, and family members of racers.

The main building is where people pay their entry fee, race fees, and fill out waiver forms for racers. We also have a concession stand with a window outside so you can walk up and order stuff, as well as a daycare and a gym, plus employee only rooms like our break room.

I weave through the crowd and step behind the front counter to where Becca, my mom, and Keanna are working the front desk. Mom’s got Brooke swaddled in a blanket that loops around her shoulder like a kind of backpack that holds the baby against her chest.

Mom sees me first, and her expression goes from stressed out to relieved. “Oh my God, Jett,” she says, walking over to me. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“I took an earlier flight,” I say, smiling over her shoulder at Keanna, who looks at me and then turns back to her customers. Weird. I mean I guess I wasn’t expecting a full on make out session with all these customers in here, but a smile would have been nice.

Mom takes off the backpack blanket thing and hands the baby to me. “Hold her for a few minutes, okay?” she says, pulling the strap over my shoulder and securing it around my back. Brooke feels pretty securely stuck to my chest, but I keep my arms around her just in case. She’s sleeping, her tiny little baby face serene and totally conked out.

“I just need a break,” Mom says, looking exhausted. Her hair is in a ponytail, but lots of strands are frizzy around her face, and she has dirk circles under her eyes.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, baby, I’m fine,” she says as she grabs my face and kisses my cheek as if I’m still freaking five years old. “I’m just exhausted. That baby gets heavy!” She smiles and then grabs a water bottle from the mini fridge behind the counter.

I walk over to Keanna and bump against her shoulder since I can’t do anything else with this baby in my arms. “Hey beautiful.”

“Hey,” she says, not looking at me. She counts money at the register and then gives change to the woman on the other side of the counter.

I guess she’s stressed out from being so busy, so I try not to let her cold attitude bother me. I check the security of this baby backpack thing, and when I’m positive that Brooke will be safe against my chest without me holding her, I join Keanna and Becca and help sign in the customers.

It’s hard to help very much though, because people know who I am and they want to talk about Team Loco and the races and my latest interview with some magazine. I have to balance being nice to them and also trying to make them move along so I can help out more customers.

Eventually things die down as the races begin outside, and my mom comes back for her baby. There’s a sweaty part of my shirt from where Brooke was laying, but I tell my mom I don’t mind taking care of my sister at all. It’s what big brothers do, right?

Eventually, Mom and Becca head to the breakroom and it’s finally just me and Keanna. I put an arm around her waist and rest my chin on her shoulder.

“I missed you,” I say.

“Good.” Her voice is cold.

“Baby…” I tug her closer to me, kissing her neck. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

I gently turn her around to face me, keeping my hands on her waist. I look into her eyes, trying to do some mind reading, but it doesn’t work. “Baby, what’s wrong? You’ve barely spoken to me since I got home.”

She shrugs and looks away, not meeting my eye.

“Key…” I pull her closer, wrapping my arms around her and resting my chin on top of her head. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

She softens a little against my chest, and it relieves some of the fear I feel right now. “I don’t know,” she mumbles against my shirt. “I just missed you, I guess.”

“Well you’re acting like you hate me.”

She shakes her head, then looks up at me. “It’s just hard…” she says, tears filling her eyes. “It’s just hard.”

A lump rises in my throat, and another one settles in my chest. This is exactly what I’ve worried about from day one. That Keanna wouldn’t be able to handle my racing career. I hold her close and tell her I love her.

She doesn’t say anything back.