Shifting Gears

7. The Jerk, and the Jerkier Jerk

Just to inform you, Greyson wasn't the only jerk at the track.

Meet Spencer Kale—long blond hair often pulled back into a so-called cool "man-bun," piercings on his ears, lip, and a few other places that he's boasted about but thankfully not shown, haughty guacamole eyes, and a walk that exuded the statement, "I think I'm a hotshot and that means I am."

Spencer has been around pretty much since Greyson Ryvers left to ride up north years ago. My brother's animosity had turned towards Spencer then.

But Spencer was different than Greyson. Yes, they were both cocky jerks—but Spencer was just plain dirty. He wanted to win, and he would use every single way he could to do it. He's been known to get into fights, but not in plain sight. Some racer will disappear in the parking field for a while, and then come back to the track with a fresh black eye or bleeding nose, limping hurriedly while being followed by Spencer and his brainwashed cronies.

Spencer was the kind of guy that attached frogs to firecrackers before setting them off, or grabbed random girls' butts as he strutted by, or hazed the newbie just to scare them away so he had less competition.

Greyson was a jerk, but he wasn't a jerk in those standards. Greyson was just... irritating.

So far in the year, we hadn't had too many encounters with Spencer—just the usual passing by with death glares shooting at one another.

Today, Reid went to the track early and informed us that Clay was in the first qualifying race of the day—the same with Reid. Clay always liked being early so he could prep himself, both physically and mentally, so we came early too.

Once we parked in our usual spot, we both hopped out, setting off to check in at the Shop for the qualifying races. Other trucks were pulling in, and people were hopping down onto the dusty parking lot, a crowd beginning to form as we made our way to the track. Excitement rumbled among the racers and fans.

We were almost at the Shop when someone stepped onto the road, right in front of Clay.

Spencer had tried to stand stoically in the way, but to my delight, my brother kept walking, his shoulder connecting with Spencer's, causing him to stumble back a little.

As the newcomer quickly collected himself, we stopped, and my brother and I both crossed our arms stubbornly.

Spencer smirked, his arm going around a blonde girl that suddenly appeared at his side. His eyes went first to me, and then to my brother, finding twin glowers on both of our faces.

"Well, well, well," Spencer started smugly. "The witch and her son is back."

I gave him a look that was reserved specifically for all Spencer Kales. "'Are' back," I corrected.

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Still the girl who thinks she graduated Harvard at five?"

"You're still the guy who thinks he graduated kindergarten?"

Clay cut in with a harsh, "What do you want, Kale?"

"Just wanted to give a proper greeting to my favorite guy and his hot sister," Spencer said.

I was one second away from kneeing his crotch.

"Get out of our way," Clay uttered through gritted teeth. "We don't want to talk."

Spencer chuckled easily. His hand disappeared behind the blonde's back, dropping farther down, and his bicep tensed for just one second. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

"Actually, I really wanted to ask how you're holding up with Greyson's appearance," Spencer admitted with a slight shrug. "He is pretty good. You're lucky you have the first qualifying race—I'm second, with Ryvers himself."