Girl on Track

68| No straight road to glory

Panic rips up my throat as I turn back around. My hands feel clammy, my body unstable as the grit beneath my wheels kicks into the air and sticks to my lungs. God, Tyler. What if he's hurt? What if he rolled off his bike and crashed into the barrier just like Dad did? What if it's serious?

Indecision wars inside me, one voice telling me to carry on riding and the other telling me I've got to head back. But that moment of hesitation lasts only a second before common sense kicks in. I start to slow down, ready to throw this bike into a Uturn and head back to Tyler. Some things are more important than riding, and being by his side when he could potentially be hurt is one of them.

My mind is frantic as I contemplate how to do it. There's a group of riders sitting just behind me, and turning around on a whim means potentially crashing into one of them in the process, putting us all in danger. Besides, I'm going so fast that I'll have to slow down first, which could cause another pile-up.

I bite my lip and glance to the left, gauging how much time I'll have to make it to the barrier before one of the others gets closer, and by the looks of things, not much. The logic in me says it's safer just to finish the race, but then flashes of Dad's accident fill up my head, and logic, as always, concedes in the face of love.

I need to get to Tyler.

Breath held, I'm about to make a reckless dash toward the outer edge when a familiar roar sounds behind me. I rise off my seat and turn behind me to get a better look. At first, there is nothing, just a cluster of riders concealed by a cloud of dust. Then slowly, as though I'm dreaming at first, a rider emerges from the dust, surging past the swarm of bikes still hot on my tail and breaking out into the open.

Tyler.

He's okay.

I barely have time to revel in relief. The next corner sits several feet ahead and is sharp, demanding my full attention. I let out the breath I've been holding and focus, wishing my hands didn't feel so clammy.

I've barely traveled more than a few feet when I hear the roar of Tyler's engine behind me. Sometime between watching the chaos from earlier and seeing his bike, I've involuntarily slowed. Not for him, either, not for any other purpose than, once again, I am scared. Seeing that pileup was too close of a call, and now all I can think about is how Dad had looked when we watched him thrown against that barrier.

Hot on my tail, Tyler hits the corner with the utmost precision. I falter a little, my fear getting the best of me after what happened to those riders, which gives him the seconds he needs to catch up. His front wheel takes the edge on mine as he forces command of the track. He moves fast at the next jump and soars through the air with a graceful finesse I've yet to master.

Frustration fills my chest as my legs begin to shake from the too-tight grip of my thighs. It's like every time I start to feel the slightest bit of power, it's ripped out from under me. A part of me is so fed up that I just want to quit, but then I look in my mirror, at the dust-coated racers fighting to catch up, and wonder if maybe that's the point. Power isn't supposed to be easy, isn't something that any of us can hold onto for long. It's dangerous and fleeting, lost and regained in a never-ending cycle, which means there's still hope for me yet.

My bike comes alive beneath me. A moving, living thing that hums and pulses with forks of energy that rattle the earth. I used to think it was the bike that held all the strength and power, that without it, I was nothing, but I see now that a bike can only do so much; the rest is up to me.

It feels like forever before the white flag waves, but when it does, I'm both relieved and disappointed. To have this tournament end would just feel so finite, like when you start on a journey and get to the destination, only to realize it's not what you expected. Which is why, for moment, despite the sheer exhaustion I feel, I don't want this to end.

The last stretch of track is fast approaching. If there is one thing I have learned from having various trainers, it's that there is no straight road to glory. No technique or method assures a rider wins. A rider must balance between control and speed, and that's what I intend to do. The rest of the riders have fallen away, which means this race is about us now; me and him, him and me, hurtling toward the finish line.

Tyler's dart around the next corner is steady, controlled, and that, I realize, is his weakness. He favors control – always has – and while it clearly works for him, it won't work for me. If I want to win this round, if I want any chance at beating him, I need to let go.

So I do.

Freedom takes over as I pick up speed. I can feel everything, from the wind beneath my arms to the stumble of my wheels as they snag on stray stones. My focus right now is unparamount: I'm attuned to the track, prepared for the next few dips and turns in a way that allows me to push full speed ahead.

When it doesn't look like my plan is working, I start to think maybe I'm wrong, that Tyler doesn't have any weaknesses and I'm about to lose the race, but then his front wheel falls out of alignment with mine, fading to somewhere behind me.

Another steep hill. I'm hurtling toward it, so fast I'm certain I'll careen right over and miss the descent completely, but still I don't slow down. Not because I'm being reckless – I've learnt that lesson too many times before – but because I know I can do this. For all Sam's faults, he was right about one thing: racing is a balance between speed and control, and I feel like I've finally found it.

Come on, come on, come on. I push myself close to the body of my bike in a bid to go faster, losing myself to the sharpness of my breath. My limbs suddenly feel weightless, my body a feather as I flutter over the last rolling hill. I can feel Tyler behind me, a lurking force only a fraction away from gaining back control. Another few seconds or a moment of hesitation, and he just might.

The thought urges me on, propelling me faster toward that finish line, which is now in clear view. And for a moment, as the crowd chants our names and I battle it out with Tyler, I know this is it, one of those life-defining moments you see in tv shows or read about in books; the kind you will never forget. And suddenly I'm flying, flying over that line and onto the other side like a caged bird finally set free.

It takes a good few seconds for me to skid to a stop, and when I do, I can't breathe. Emotion kicks in, not just one or two, but all of them, from happiness to relief to exhaustion to sorrow – I'm feeling it all. The sound of cheering echoes through my ears, but even as I turn to that flag, I still don't believe it, can't, not until Tyler appears in front of me and pulls me into his arms.

"You did it, sirenita," he whispers, and just like that, the one thing I'd hoped for but hadn't quite let myself believe until now, sinks in. I've done it – I've won the tournament. "Looks like the best rider won," he says with that perfect boyish grin, and he kisses me.

A/N

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