Shifting Gears

26. Consequences of Not Defining This

"You look like someone just punched your grandma."

I quickly wiped the sour look off my face, turning to Becka sitting next to me in the stands. The riders were just finishing the second race that day. My brother had raced earlier, he got first, and I knew he was somewhere in the stands watching this one but I decided to sit with Becka instead.

Earlier this morning, I had meandered over to Greyson's trailer, as I found myself doing everyday at the track when I could sneak away. I saw the dark-haired racer crouching by his bike, Champ perched loyally next to him.

"Hey, you," I said easily as I approached him. He didn't look up for a second, then his green eyes met mine briefly as he nodded, before turning back to his bike. The neon stripes in his racing gear glinted in the harsh sunlight. His dark brown hair was tucked into a baseball cap that sat backwards, a Monster logo shining on it.

I frowned, but carried on, coming to stand next to him. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder, perusing quickly for anyone who might see me here. "Want to go get dinner or something after the races?"

"Can't," he responded, his voice clipped. "I'm helping my uncle with some work around the house."

"Oh." I pursed my lips. "What about after?"

"Probably not, I'm pretty tired."

I raised an eyebrow. He was in a mood.

"Is something going on?" I questioned, treading lightly. "Did Clay do something?"

His chain clanked loudly as he yanked on it, a frustrated grunt coming out of him as he sighed, leaning back and hanging his head.

"No."

"Are you just saying that?"

"No, Cory," he snapped, looking up at me. "You're brother didn't do anything. For once. And nothing is going on."

I slowly lifted and dipped my chin. "Well—when do you think I can see you next?"

He exhaled harshly, standing and kicking at the dirt under his feet before walking to his trailer. "I don't know, Cory."

I opened my mouth to respond, but I heard a familiar voice behind me—Glen. He was calling out to another racer by Greyson's trailer. Quickly, I jumped forward and stepped into his open trailer, hiding from sight.

Greyson watched me, his eyes dark. "Maybe if you weren't so paranoid about someone finding you with me we'd be able to see each other more often."

My eyebrows rose. He was in a mood today. "Is that what this is about?"

The tall racer scoffed, stepping into his trailer to grab his helmet laying against the wall and a pair of gloves. "No."

"So what's going on?"

"Just forget about it, Cory."

With that, he replaced his cap with his helmet, his chest protector shifting as he latched it before pulling his gloves on. Then he walked over, kicked away his stand, and rode off on his bike toward the track, other racers and onlookers jumping out of his way.

I watched his receding back, my jaw hanging open.

And thus, I started being in a mood myself.

I quickly tried to put on a happy face for Becka, though, as I looked toward her. She was arching an eyebrow at me, straightening one of Glen's old jersey tops that she sported, her black hair swept into a low bun with strands falling over her shoulders.

"I was just—uh—just—"

"Mad that Greyson won again?" she finished.

I forced a smile. "Yeah."