Girl on Track

15| Butterflies

Most of my Sunday is spent Facetiming with Kianna. It's been hard finding a time when we're both free to talk, but we end up watching a bunch of old Disney films while eating popcorn together. It helps to dull the ache of missing her, even if it's just a little bit.

"So, how's your dad doing?" Kianna asks.

"He's better mentally," I say. "I mean, he still has his down days, but it's nothing like how it was. I think we're starting to get used to it."

"What do they think of your racing? That's gotta be tough on him, right? I mean, the last time I saw you, you told me you'd never get back on the track."

"I know, but technically, they don't know yet."

The disapproval on her face is evident. "Roxanna."

"Don't give me that face," I say. "You would have done the same thing if you'd seen this track."

"Except I wouldn't have," Kianna says. "My butt is far too bony for those bikes. I was sore for a week after you let me have a go."

I laugh at the way she'd waddled around at school. "I can't even explain it, Ki. Actually, I can. Remember when we went on that school trip to visit the canyons, and we couldn't stop talking about how it felt like we were on Mars? It was so incredible, so unlike anything we'd ever seen before, that we couldn't believe we were still on Earth."

"I remember," Ki says. "I still have all the selfies we took. You look stoned in half of them."

I ignore this and say, "Well, that's what this track feels like."

There's a knock at the door, and I jump as though we're talking about porn or something. Mom calls through the door to ask if I'm busy, and I quickly tell Kianna that I'll speak to her later.

It turns out, Mom wants us all to go for an afternoon walk, so she gets dad set up in his chair and then we set off down the street. We never went for walks back home–at least, not together–and I'd have probably refused if this were eight months ago. Now I'm just happy Dad is willing to leave the house.

"So, tell me about some of the new friends you've made," Mom says as she pushes Dad. "You never talk about school."

"There's not much to say." I wrap my jacket further around my body, trying to fight back the cold. "There's this girl, Vanessa, who is nice, and her friend, Niko. Oh, I work with this girl called Alex at the track. She's nice, too."

"Nice, nice, nice," Mom says with a smile. "I need to get you a thesaurus so you can expand your vocabulary."

I roll my eyes. "Sorry, I'll start talking like how Dad writes in his articles."

"Hey," Dad says. "What are you trying to say?"

"That some of us rely on a thesaurus a little too much."

"You just don't appreciate the beauty of word variation."

"I like being able to read articles I can understand."

Dad turns his head to try and look at Mom. "You understand my articles, don't you?"

Mom laughs and says, "Yes, honey. They're the best articles I've ever read."

Dad huffs at this quite obvious lie, and I burst out laughing. Even though it's just a walk–just a simple, ordinary moment–I am suddenly overcome with hope.

***

On Monday when I get to the track, I dread seeing Tyler. I haven't spoken to him since Saturday night, and I'm still mad about the bet. Or at least, the fact he never told me about the bet.