Shifting Gears

1. Nice to Meet You (Not)

There's something exhilarating about being at the races.

The dust that drifts about, kicked up by the spinning wheels as the bikes race across the dirt; the deafening whoops and hollers of the fans in the stands; the smell of gasoline and metal, sharp and strong, filling your nose; the bright colors of the assorted riding gear of the opponents and their matching bikes flashing in and out of view behind jumps; the rough revving of the engines, and the silence of them as they're shoved into the air, gliding through the sky before falling with a cloud of dust.

Every time I came, every time I stood on the side and cheered my heart out, I never wanted to leave.

But that was before I ran into the big hothead himself.

On June twentieth, said boy raced right into my life. Well, "crashed" might be a better word.

— - —@— - —

"Hey, Lawson! You ready to rough up the newbies?"

My brother turned, a smile curving his lips. "You know it, Reid."

Reid had a smirk on his face, his pale blue eyes shimmering with excitement. All the racers had this air of anticipation right before a race. They were ready to get on the track, make some new ruts, cuss each other out as they passed, and pull some supposedly "accidental" wheelies as they rode right in front of the fringe of skimpily-clad girls on the sidelines.

I watched as Reid addressed me with a total change of attitude, a warm smile replacing the previous smirk. "Hey, Cory."

I smiled easily back at him. "Hey. How's the bike doing?"

Reid shrugged, looking over his shoulder at his truck and trailer parked just a few rows down from my brother's trailer. "Eh, bent handlebars are almost expected. But I don't need a perfect bike to win."

"Cocky, are you?" my brother countered. "Do you remember who won the race last weekend at Craybeck?"

Reid rolled his eyes. "You got lucky, Clay."

"By luck you mean skill?" Clay protested, crossing his arms. I let out a snort, stretching up to ruffle my brother's sandy blond hair.

"You keep telling yourself that, bro," I said smugly, laughing as he swat at my hand like it was a fly.

"Go away, Cory."

"I heard Ryvers was coming back this year."

Clay's gaze instantly hardened and snapped over as his best friend said those words.

"What? I thought he was racing the competition up in Omayle this summer."

Reid pursed his lips, running a hand over his military-cut brown hair. "I heard those got cancelled—too many people were transferring over here. So we'll have a lot more competitors now."

"We'll be crowded." Clay gritted his teeth.

"And Ryvers will be here. Looks like you yourself will have some competition."

A curse word was uttered under my brother's breath. Reid spread a hand out in a Sorry, I'm just the messenger gesture.

Meanwhile, I'd been standing on the side of the conversation, a confused observer.

"Um, who's Ryvers?" I questioned, rolling the name around in my mind, looking for any familiarity I had with it.

Clay was busy huffing and puffing, so I looked to Reid for the answer.

"Greyson Ryvers. He used to race here at Raven Heights, but he switched a long time ago. His family moved up north—too far away for him to come back down every so often, I guess."