Girl on Track

57| In pieces

The first half of the race is peaceful – it's not often I get to ride with so few others on the track – and I feel myself relax in my seat as I get the upper hand. Despite the bravado, Sam is all bark and no bite. 

As though he knows this too, he picks up speed and draws in closer, his front wheel unsteady as he battles for control of his bike. For all his talk about finding a balance between speed and control, he's certainly losing the latter. I push ahead, picking up speed in a bid to outrun him, but he's hot on my tail, not through what I'd consider precision or skill, but what Tyler would say is recklessness – a recklessness I have to compete with if I want to gain the upper hand.

I'm almost relieved when the finish line comes into view. We hurtle toward it at full speed ahead, and when my wheels start to buckle and vibrate from the pressure, I fight to keep my handlebars steady. Several more feet and I'll be the first one over the line.

Sam gains closer, but my wheel takes the edge as I cross the line first,  my body exploding with excitement. I don't slow down yet – I couldn't if I tried – and Sam doesn't either. Instead, he acts as a barrier behind me, trapping me in. I try to slow down in the hopes he will too, but his wheel clips my bike. Just like that, the last of my control unravels.

The force of the hit sends me flying off my bike. I roll several times in a sick deja vu, certain Sam's bike is about to run over me. At the last second, he swerves as I rush to cover my head, curling into a ball as I wait for the pain to hit.

But it doesn't come. Other than a slight ache or sting in certain places, I don't seem to be hurt. I pat myself down, searching for anything that could be bruised or broken, but my lucky charm has saved me. I reach for my wrist, about to run my thumb across the shiny motorcycle pendant, but the bracelet is gone.

I straighten up as Alex rushes over and throws an arm around my waist. "Oh my god," she says, "are you all right? Don't stand, just–"

"I'm fine," I say, but my voice is breathless and shaky. Someone else comes to assist, but I brush them both off and scan the track. Sam has already taken his bike and got the hell out of dodge, but whether it's down to embarrassment at losing or because he knows I'm going to kill him remains to be seen. I ignore the sting in my shoulder and drop to my knees, patting around in the dirt for my bracelet. Maybe it's stupid, but the thought of losing the bracelet Tyler gave me hurts more than falling off my bike.  "Can you help me?" I ask. "I lost the bracelet Tyler gave to me."

"Forget about the bracelet," Alex says, crouching down. "You need to get checked out. I'm not having a repeat of last time."

"I promise I'm fine this time," I say, "I just need to find that bracelet. It's my good luck charm."

She sighs heavily. As someone who most definitely does not believe in luck, Alex no doubt thinks I'm being stupid, but I can tell she's about to start combing through the dirt anyway when her eyes fall to something behind me. "Oh no."

"What?" I turn around and follow her gaze to my bike. My heart drops, not just drops but hits the ground and shatters. I scramble toward it, picking up parts along the way. The main body of the bike lies crumpled at the barrier, bruised and broken and in no way reparable before the tournament.

A noise that sits somewhere between a word and a cry escapes my lips. I cradle the parts I've already picked up and fight back the sting in my eyes. For a moment, as I stand here and take in what's left of my bike, every memory and hope rushes back.

This is the bike Tyler gave me: the same bike that carried me over hurdles and hills and gave me the confidence to conquer my fears. It's the bike I'd spent hours on, committing to memory each curve and line and ridge. And up until now, up until the moment I'd seen it in pieces, it was the bike that would win me the tournament.