Graduation in a small town is so not a big deal. On Instagram, you’d think it’s some glorious affair, but in real life, the one hundred and twelve Roca Springs High seniors just gathered up in the gym and it was over in an hour.
Kylie’s mom threw a graduation party at her house afterward, and it was just us and a few friends, eating pizza and cake and soda and swimming in her backyard pool.
I kind of love this small-town life of mine. It’s simple, but it’s home.
Oh, and Trey had to fly out to Oklahoma to visit his grandparents so Kylie has been alllll mine. It’s good to have a best friend again.
I have not told her a word about Liam Mosely.
That’s because, as I remind myself on Monday morning, there is nothing to say about Liam Mosely. So what if he gave me a ride on the back of his bike during the pouring rain. So what if pouring rain is literally the most romantic situation on the planet.
So what if I can still feel his impressively hard abs underneath my fingers while I held on tightly as we rode through the pits?
None. Of. That. Matters.
The only thing that does matter is that the track finally dried up from that two-day thunderstorm we had, and I can finally ride again. The track is still open when it’s muddy, but I’m not a fan. They’re called dirt bikes, after all. Not mud bikes.
Mom gets so angry when my bike is muddy and I hose it off in the driveway because all that mud turns to dirt that never seems to wash off the concrete.
Kylie got stuck helping her mom do some cleaning around their house, so I head to the track alone. It’s Monday in the middle of the day and most adults have to work, so I have the track all to myself.
I spend a few laps riding for fun, and then I try to ride for speed. It doesn’t really matter, because I’m way too scared to race, but I like trying to go faster than I ever have. This new bike has a lot of power. But even I have my limits, and I’m terrified of the finish line jump. It’s this huge tabletop, ninety feet long according to the track announcer, and I can’t even come close to jumping a third of the way across it. It’s just too scary.
With a tabletop jump, the whole base of the jump is flat, like a table, with a ramp at the beginning that launches you into the air, and a soft slope at the end that brings you back to ground level and the rest of the track.
If you try jumping this monstrosity and you aren’t going fast enough to clear the whole thing, your bike will land with a massive thunk on the flat part of the jump. In motocross lingo, they call it “casing” a jump, and I’ve done it enough times to know I don’t want to do it again. Your ankles crash against the foot pegs and your wrists crash against the handlebars—that’s if you’re lucky enough to keep holding onto them—and your whole body is wracked with a shuddering pain.
So although I go as fast as I feel comfortable around the track, easily clearing few smaller jumps, I always slow down and roll the finish line jump.
Things are going great for an hour, and then everything changes. The new celebrity of the town shows up, and it’s obvious by the line of people who are hanging around his truck trying to talk to him. As if the guy needs any more of an ego…ugh.
When he gets on the track, I immediately pull off and head back to my truck. Practice days at the track mean everyone gets to ride whenever they want. But there’s this unspoken rule in small town motocross. If you’re crazy fast on a bike, you should be careful around everyone else. Just like when I’m riding and I see a little kid on a tiny bike in front of me, I’ll slow down and slowly ride around him so I don’t startle him, or worse, crash into him.
Guys like Liam don’t care about common courtesy. He doesn’t take fun laps around the track. He keeps the throttle pinned at full speed the whole time he’s out there, and for that reason, I don’t want to share the track with him.
He’s a show off, plain and simple.
I sit on my tailgate and bask in the hot summer sun while I wait for him to get off the track. He rides for forty-five minutes straight without ever tiring or slowing down.
This goes on for three days. I get to the track first thing in the morning to ride, and then Liam shows up at some point, swamped by adoring fans, and then he rides forever as if he owns the freaking track. By the fourth day of being unable to ride because of him, I decide to just pack up my stuff and go home. I’m tired of sitting here all alone waiting for some time to use the track.
Maybe I’ll start getting here at eight in the morning right when they open. Liam usually shows up around noon, so that’ll give me a couple hours to ride before he comes and ruins it all.
I pull off my gear and change back into shorts and a tank top, slipping my socked feet into some slides. I’m covered in sweat and completely exhausted from the heat and my annoyance with Liam, so instead of packing up my bike right away, I walk over to the concession stand and buy a sports drink. The stand is a little food truck thing that the owner brings out during the summer and during races. While I’m waiting for the girl inside to hand me my change, I look over and see Ryan sitting on the bleachers. This is the first time I’ve seen my former crush at the track in a while. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since graduation, when he smiled at me and acted like I hadn’t humiliated myself in front of him during AP Chemistry. I guess that was nice of him to do.
He’s flirting his butt off with another girl who doesn’t live in town but I see her here a lot. She’s tall and gorgeous and she rides a Kawasaki.
Ryan has to be aware of this fact because she standing there in her full riding gear, her hair all messed up from her helmet, and she is so very clearly a dirt bike rider.
But he looks smitten, and googly-eyed, and like he’s about to drool all over himself while he talks to her.
What kind of crap is that?
He specifically told me he didn’t like me because I rode dirt bikes.
I get my change and I crack open my lemon-lime Gatorade, trying to act normal as I walk past Ryan and his stupid girl crush. White hot rage and shame and all kinds of horrible feelings pour through my veins. Ryan lied. It wasn’t dirt bikes he didn’t like. It was just me.
I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t pretty enough or tall enough or funny enough or whatever this girl has that I don’t – I wasn’t that.
I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think a guy would like me. Clearly there’s something wrong with me.
“Hey, Bella,” Ryan calls out, holding up his hand in a friendly wave.
What a giant jerk. I give him a curt nod because now we’ve made eye contact and I have to do something, but I don’t have to be friendly about it.
Then, as if Fate decided that my day needed to get a little worse, Liam freaking Mosely comes riding up on his shiny expensive factory dirt bike. He leans it against the bleachers and then sits on the bottom row while his adoring fans gather around him.
His face brightens the moment he sees me. I wish I could walk anywhere else, but unfortunately the bleachers are right between the concession stand and my truck and I’m already here.
“Bella,” he calls out, waving his hand toward me. “Come hang out.”
“I’m actually leaving,” I say, shocking myself with how harsh my voice sounds.
“Because people like you hog the track and make it impossible for people like to me to have any fun.”
I walk faster, hoping to get back to my truck and get out of here before anyone else talks to me. But it’s just a few seconds later when I hear the heavy footfalls of motocross boots behind me.
“Bella, wait,” Liam calls out.
I can’t believe he left his bike and his fans back at the bleachers to follow me.
I keep walking the short distance to my truck and then I turn around, leveling him with a glare. “You heard me. You come out here every day and you hog the track as if it’s your own personal professional race, and guess what, it’s not.”
“You’ve been here every day?” he says, his face twisting in confusion. “I haven’t seen you.”
“That’s because you’re always on the track!”
He frowns. “It’s an open track. Everyone can ride at the same time.”
I shake my head as I grab my stuff and start loading it into the bed of my truck. “No, we can’t. You’re too fast. You tear around the track without a care in the world and it’s too scary to ride out there with you.”
I grab the metal ramp and slide it down the bed of my truck, letting it fall hard to the ground. It’s a ramp that I use to roll my bike up into the back of my truck. It’s also the worst part of riding motocross. Loading and unloading your bike is scary because the ramp is like four feet tall and my new bike is almost as tall as I am. I’m always afraid I’ll fall over or drop my bike or something equally awful. And now I’m even more nervous to load up my bike with Liam watching.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I had no idea.”
I scoff and reach for my bike, taking it off the stand. “Didn’t you realize that everyone gets off the track when you get on it?”
He bites his bottom lip. “I thought they just wanted to watch me ride.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh my God, you are vain.” I grunt as I pull my bike back and roll it around to line up with the ramp on the back of my truck. My hands are shaking because I need all of my concentration to get this thing into my truck. I wish Dad or Brent were here to do it for me.
“Everyone doesn’t love watching you ride, Liam. We come out here and we pay good money so that we can ride, too. But you’ll stay out there an hour sometimes, and it’s just not fair.”
“Why won’t you ride if I’m on the track?” he says, walking up to the other side of my bike.
“It’s too scary,” I admit, and the anger fades from my voice because this is embarrassing. “You’re too fast. I’m scared I’ll move the wrong way and you’ll slam into me.”
“I’m careful on the track.” He reaches out and takes the other handlebar of my bike with his right hand, his left hand going to the bike seat. “I wouldn’t slam into you.”
His eyes meet mine for just a moment, and then with all the ease of a professional, he walks my bike right up the ramp as if it takes him no effort at all. The whole process takes me like four minutes, one slow step up the ramp at a time. I want to hate him for it, but I’m grateful.
I reach for one of the tie down straps in the bed of my truck and hand it to him. He hooks it over my handlebars and then fastens the other one himself.
With my bike loaded, he hops out of the bed of my truck in another swift motion that makes my heart skip a beat. He’s so limber and strong, and it’s incredibly attractive. He takes the metal ramp and folds it in half at the hinges, then slides it into my truck bed.
“I’m sorry,” he says, as he closes my tailgate and then turns around to face me. “I didn’t know, but I’ll be better next time. I’ll take more breaks. Give other people time to ride.”
“Thank you,” I say, being surprised by him yet another time. I really want to stay and keep talking, but I know better than to do this to myself.
I open my truck door and Liam’s voice calls out my name. “Bella.”
I turn back to him. “What?”
“You’re a good rider,” he says. “I watched you when I first got here. But why don’t you go over the finish line jump?”
I shrug. “The same reason I won’t ride while you’re on the track.”
I close my door and start up my truck, and I refuse to look back at him as I drive away. I know why I don’t do the finish line jump, and why I don’t race, and why I shouldn’t have asked Ryan if he wanted to go out with me. It’s simple. Humans have been following this instinct for thousands of years. It’s the way people look out for themselves.
It’s fear.