Girl on Track

26| Dressed to unimpress

It's not until we're home that I work what Niko called my magic. I'd been tempted to forgo the sleepover and spend the evening looking at my training notes, but maybe the sleepover's my chance to get through to Mom once and for all.

The magic involves sitting Mom in the kitchen, breath held, and saying, "Niko and Vanessa are having a sleepover tonight. Not only would I like to go, but I'd like to ride my bike there."

I hold my breath in the silence that follows. It's a brave thing to say, but I'm still on a high from the race this morning. How can she say no?

The silence extends, which makes me uncomfortable. She tilts her head to look toward Dad, who is staring at the floor like he's Switzerland. It must be hard having to choose a side. He knows first-hand what it's like to love racing, but he also knows the tragedy it brings.

"I'm nearly eighteen," I say to fill the silence. Maybe now isn't the time to keep talking, but I can't stand the tension. "I know that I lied, but I'm too old to be grounded. And actually, grounding hasn't been proven to be an effective form of punishment. It can actually drive a wedge between parents and teenagers." It's true, too. I'd Googled on the way home.

Her eyebrows furrow, her mouth contorted into a delicate frown. If there is one thing that scares my mother the most, it's the thought of losing her family.

"All right," she says, looking to Dad, and he gives her a reassuring nod. "You're no longer grounded, and you can have your bike back."

My throat tightens. Even though I should quit while I'm ahead, it feels like now or never. "What if I wanted to ride on the track?"

Her shoulders slump like she's already admitting defeat. "Something tells me that even if I say no, that's not going to stop you." There's this surge in my chest like her words have set me free, and then, "But you won't have my support."

My smile falls. It hurts that I've had to keep lying, but it hurts even more to hear the truth. "Are you serious?"

She extends a hand toward me, but I take a step back. "I love you," she says. The words come out powerful, weighted by passion and truth, but they don't seem to comfort me. "We both do, Roxy, but we can't condone you putting yourself in danger. If you decide to race, it's without our backing." She leans in closer, giving me a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Have fun at the sleepover. Message me if you need anything."

I nod curtly, unable to speak. It's not like me to cry in public, but right now there's a lump in my throat the size of a tennis ball. I should be happy that I'm free to race, there's no more lying, but the tightness in my chest suggests otherwise. It's like there's always a trade-off when it comes to pursuing the things you love: I get to race, but at the expense of my family.

***

Despite not being in the mood for a sleepover, I find myself surging down the old country roads in the direction of Niko's mansion.

It's been years since I've attended one, so I packed what I'm hoping are the essentials: toothbrush, toothpaste, spare clothes, and some old Mickey Mouse pajamas that make me look ten. Something tells me the low-cut tank top and underwear I sleep in are not appropriate attire.

As soon as I pull up, I'm in awe. With their Dad owning the track I'd expected the size, but I hadn't expected such grandeur. The building is white, covered in beautiful slatted french windows, which are fringed with ivy.

The driveway is filled with cars, which should have been my first clue. Still, I figure they belong to their ten thousand maids and pull up outside before killing the engine.