Page 151 of Shade
IT TAKES US an hour and a half to get to Glen Helen Raceway which is just north of San Bernardino. Scarlet and I don’t say a whole lot during the drive. She’s texting Mila. I know this because I look over her shoulder the entire time making sure it’s not a guy she’s texting. If it was, I’d probably rip her phone from her hands and toss it out the window. Just because.
Want to know what’s funny about this? I have probably fifty or sixty unanswered texts from women trying to get me to call them back these last three weeks. Why is it that I’m suddenly ignoring everyone except Scarlet?
Got me. Let me know if you have an answer because I don’t.
“I have a question for you,” Scarlet says to me, standing beside me as I sign autographs for the fifty kids at my feet.
“Oh yeah.” My eyebrows rise as I wipe the sweat from my eyes and then put my sunglasses back on, smiling down at the kids who can’t hear what we’re saying anyway over their own screaming. “What’s that?”
“Well, it’s not a dirty one, if that’s what you think. There are kids present.”
I laugh. “That’s unfortunate.”
“What made you go from motocross to freestyle?”
Believe it or not, most people don’t even ask this question. They just assume I chose freestyle because I liked to show off. And sure, that’s part of it, but believe it or not, that’s not why.
I lean into Scarlet and then motion to Tiller on the track with the kids, flying over the top of them and artfully arching his body into a superman pose, then grabbing the seat and pulling the bike back to him. “Freeriding started out as the original form of freestyle motocross and in these very hills around us. It was simply play riding. A way to blow off steam with no structure and natural jumps to execute the trick. Essentially, before X Fighters and X Games, these guys doing this, guys like my dad and Ricky on the weekends, it was a way to let loose. Eventually it became commercialized like everything else.”
“So what attracts you to freestyle?”
I motion again to Tiller and the smile on his face when he comes back to where we’re standing, a rush of kids wanting their helmets signed surrounding him. “It takes more dedication than motocross, for me at least. The thrill of making up a new trick, practicing it, and then delivering it, nothing beats that feeling.”
My eyes drift to Scarlet’s, and she raises her hands to my sunglasses, but she doesn’t remove them. She slides them to the tip of my nose and makes me look at her. “You’re pretty special, star boy.”
We’re back to star boy. I want to push her up against the billboard we’re next to and kiss the star boy from her lips, but I don’t. I smile, but then my stare drifts from hers to over her shoulder, and the smiles fades. Behind her are the pits and there are memories back there I can’t seem to shake. I want to leave.
My chest tightens, my heart thudding wildly against my chest and I swallow.
Scarlet takes notice in the change and glances in the direction of the pits, then backs up and creates two feet of space between us. “Did you guys come here a lot? Is that why you wanted me here?”
Why does she have to be so intuitive? I nod, but I don’t say anything. My voice isn’t there.
I swallow again; this time it feels dryer, like there’s sand stuck in my throat.
I breathe in slowly, and then let the breath out just as slow.
I’m done letting a memory control me. Twisting around, I face the pits, well, what would be the pits. In the last seven years, it’s changed, but I can still remember where the trailer was parked and where the party was. “She was raped at this track. . . after a race one night,” I tell her lowly when we position ourselves away from the kids. They’re interested in Tiller now anyway.
Scarlet gasps, her hand covering her mouth. “Oh my God, really?”
I shrug, leaning my forearms on the fence and resting my chin on it. “That’s what she told me.”
Looking over at Scarlet, I can’t help but see she really is trying to be my friend. And I want her to be. “Did you believe her?”
Again, I shrug. “I did at the time. . . now I’m not so sure.”
Before the conversation turns dark and not where I want it to go, Tiller hits my calf with the back wheel of his bike and hands me his helmet. “Take a lap, bro.”
I didn’t bring my gear. Purposely. I haven’t raced at Glen Helen since that night, and I didn’t want to. Maybe if I did the memory would leave with it.
Tiller nods to Scarlet. “Take her for a ride.”
“Oh no, I’ve had my fill of dirt bikes.” Scarlet backs up, palms raised and grabs at the fabric of her dress near her hips. “And I’m not exactly wearing the right attire here to be on a bike.”
“She’s right,” I tell Tiller, glaring at him. “You convinced her to ride a dirt bike earlier, remember?”
I no sooner get the words out, and we see Camden walking toward us holding his arm awkwardly toward his chest.
