Motocross Me by Cheyanne Young Read Free Book Online

doubt she even convinces herself.
    “I don’t know why you’re upset about that. It’s not a big deal.” I’m disappointed that her story wasn’t more scandalous.
    “Maybe not to you, but it’s happened with a few other girls, too. Everyone wants my brother,” she says, dropping her chin in her hands. “You can’t trust the spectator girls.”
    “Spectator girls?”
    Shelby holds up a finger to shush me while she listens to the announcement about the next moto. “The girls who race are trustworthy, but the ones who just watch the races typically aren’t,” she says, stealing a quick glance at Alyson. “Except for me,” she amends, flashing a smile. “You can trust me.”
    I nod, wondering if college life would be like TV reality shows, where everyone has a knife waiting to stab you in the back. Felicia is the oldest friend I’d ever had, not counting shallow friendships I gathered at each school I went to as a kid. She’s never betrayed me, but then again, I’ve never had a brother.
     
     
    Many checkered flags later, moto number sixteen lines up at the starting gate. The bleachers have no empty seats. According to everyone, the Pro class is the best race to watch. Shelby focuses on Ash with her fingernails between her teeth. She says she hopes he gets the holeshot, whatever that means.
    All the racers are dressed head-to-toe in protective garb, so it’s impossible to distinguish between the helmeted heads revving their bike engines and waiting for the gate to drop. Luckily, I remember Ryan’s bike number, the infamous number ninety-six, so I find his red bike in the crowd. The gate drops and he soars past the competition, quickly grabbing the lead.
    “Ugh,” Shelby groans, slamming her fists onto her knees. I don’t want to disappoint her by cheering for Ryan, so I keep quiet. When the checkered flag flies across the finish line, Ryan is first, but her brother is a close second.
    “Once again folks, Raging Ryan for the win, and Ash ‘The Flash’ Carter in second place,” the announcer says. It sounds like Marty. “And in third place is Eric Morgan. Those are our cash winners in the two-fifty Pro class! Up next, the eighty Super-Mini, women’s class and then we’ll have a twenty-minute intermission.”
    “I better go console him,” Shelby says before I have the chance to ask if everyone has nicknames like “Raging” and “Flash.” We make our way down the bleachers.
    “My parents grill every Sunday race,” she says, stepping around a toddler in a dirt bike shirt. “You should come to our pit during intermission and eat lunch with us. I know they’ll want to meet you.”
    Mmm, food. “That sounds great.”
    I keep an eye out for Ryan while walking to the tower and I even take the long way through the pits hoping to see him. He isn’t at his truck but his bike is there, so he must be basking in his victory somewhere else.
    After meandering through the pits a second time, I give up and actually do walk to the tower. And because I have the worst luck ever, there he is standing at the bottom of it talking to other racers and drinking an energy drink while two girls smile at his every word.
    I call on all the confidence buried inside me and walk right through his group of friends, “accidentally” brushing my shoulder across his chest. I turn back to him, as if it was an afterthought. “Nice race.” All of their eyes are on me but the only pair I care about are the blue ones staring straight into mine, one eyebrow cocked in surprise.
     
     
    Inside the tower, I rest on the futon and play cards with Teig to pass the time until intermission. He’s in an exceptionally good mood, despite losing Go Fish four times in a row. This kid must always be on, just like his mother. I like that.
    The roar of engines die out, signaling intermission. Members of the staff water the track with huge water hoses and go over it with a tractor that ruffles the dirt and removes the ruts formed from this