I glance between the smiling guy and Moffy, a lot more coolly than his dad would be. Lo has no chill when it comes to his kids and dating. “You’re not interested?”
He shakes his head. “He’s cute, but…” Moffy stares off in thought. He’s bi and considered a top “eligible bachelor”in the nation. He’s never been in a serious relationship, and I think whoever ends up with Moffy will probably need to be tough as hell.
As new riders reach the gate, we all face the track.
Willow squeezes my hand in excitement and then starts snapping pictures.
“Let’s go!”
“You got this!”
Everyone shouts around me.
I cup my hands around my mouth and yell, “Ride smart! Stay sharp!” My pulse ratchets up.
USA’s BMX East Coast Nationals has been in full swing. Day three, and my kid already raced six motos to qualify for this Main.
Every time I watch my thirteen-year-old, I’m fucking nervous. It’s not a safe sport, and we’ve already dealt with a broken arm at age six. Lost control of the bike during a district championship.
Crowds cheer, “Come on! Let’s go!”
Eight competitors grip their handlebars. My thirteen-year-old among them. In the blue and black jersey and full-face helmet.
Let’s go.
I keep my arm over Willow.
“Set yourselves,” the announcer calls out. “Riders ready…watch the gates.”Beep beep beep.The gates drop, and I hold my breath as tires descend on dirt track. Speeding and flying over hills.
I clap and yell, and when the last lap comes, Willow grips my shoulder.
Our kid is in third and shooting for first.
“Wait, wait…” Willow says and then we wince when two competitors pass at the turn.
Shit.
We see the standing.
Sixth place.
“Good race!” I shout and clap. This year, our thirteen-year-old came in first at the East Conference Championships and needed to place fourth at this event to have enough points to attend Grand Nationals.
Have to wait till next year.
Willow and I meet the competitors at the end of the track.
“Awesome job,” I say with a hug and tap of the helmet. “You did great out there.”
“Except Iscrewedthat turn.”
“You’ll get it next time,” Willow encourages with a loving smile.
And then our kid grips the helmet with two gloved hands. Taking it off and shaking out a loose sandy-brown braid.
Our daughter smiles a gap-toothed smile like she won the race, even when she lost. “I did better than last year, faster start out the gate.”
“Yeah, for sure,” Willow says, passing her a water bottle.
