Bella and the One Who Got Away Page 7

  12

  Bella

  Kylie and I stand in the parking lot for a long time, not saying anything, waiting for the shame to wear off. We got a stern lecture from the security guard who also gave a description of us to all the other security guards via his handheld radio. We are officially not allowed back in the pits.

  “We can go home if you want,” Kylie says, looking up at me like a little kid who just had their candy taken away.

  I heave a sigh and stare out at the vast concrete sea of cars that is the parking lot. “You paid for the race tickets. We should at least watch the races.”

  “I’m really sorry.” Kylie’s former full-bodied confidence has dwindled down to nothing. “For everything. It was stupid of me.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “It was really nice of you. One of the nicest things you’ve ever done. It’s not your fault that fate doesn’t want me to see Liam.”

  “I just don’t get it,” she says softly. She sits down on the concrete curb and I join her. We’re quiet for a moment while we watch people walking by, excited fans in their motocross shirts, all eager to watch the race tonight.

  “I just really thought you two were meant to be together.”

  “Maybe in another life,” I say. “But not this one.”

  Eventually the doors to the stadium open, and Kylie and I go inside with our tickets. I still feel awkward when we go past security, as if we don’t belong even though we actually do have tickets for the main event. Our seats are so high up that we have to take the stairs and then an elevator, and then another set of stairs to find our section.

  I can tell Kylie is upset about how things went down earlier, and I hate that my best friend is bummed out just because of my own personal relationship problems. I put a on a big happy smile. “This is awesome,” I say.

  “We’re so high up we can barely see anything,” Kylie says.

  “So what?” I say, still faking enthusiasm. “Let’s get some delicious overpriced food and make the most of tonight.”

  She gives me a look. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m super okay,” I say, and I mean it for the most part. “So what if we didn’t see Liam? I’m at the races with my best friend. This is still fun.”

  Kylie’s smile is tinged with sadness, but at least she’s smiling. “Let’s get nachos.”

  We each order a huge tray of nachos, not realizing how big they would be, and sodas. We find our way to our seats, which are so high up I get a little dizzy looking down at the track.

  “One cool thing about seats like this,” I say to Kylie, “is that we’re high enough to see the entire track. When you’re down low, you only see a part of the track and you can’t watch the whole race. This will be fun.”

  Professional races are always a huge spectacle. They open with fireworks and pyrotechnics and loud music. There’s a procession of Navy soldiers who bring out the American flag, which is so big takes a hundred of them to hold it out over the field. After the National Anthem is sung, the races begin. They play the anthem at the start of the races at our local track too, but it’s not nearly this big of an event. This is the big leagues, and no expenses are spared.

  Kylie and I watch the big TV screen that hangs from the roof, which is easier to see than the track below. All of the most famous racers are announced one by one and they ride out onto the track, waving at their fans. When Team Loco is announced, Kylie and I cheer for them. My heart seizes in my chest when I see bike number 136 ride out. He’s just a tiny little speck way down there, but he can still make my heart skip a beat.

  “Liam is so freaking hot,” a girl says. She’s sitting in the row of seats just below us with two of her friends.

  “He is, but I still want Zach,” the other girl says.

  “I will literally take any of them,” the third one says, wiggling her eyebrows as she reaches over and steals a French fry from the girl sitting in front of me. “But I want Liam, mostly because he’s single.”

  Kylie glances over at me. I roll my eyes. While the girls below us keep talking about all the sexiest features of each of the Team Loco guys, I imagine how funny it would be to tap them on the shoulder and announce that I used to make out with Liam Mosely. They probably wouldn’t believe me, but it would be fun.

  Before long, the races begin. I am at the edge of my plastic seat the whole time, watching Liam’s bike as he tears through the track. He looks amazing out there. Soon he’s up to second place, having held his own against twenty other racers. My bottom lip hurts from how hard I’m biting it.

  He might win! I can’t believe this. Liam might win. This is amazing.

  I know he sounded a little unhappy the last time we talked on video chat, but it’s clear to me now that he’s here doing what he wants to be doing. What he should be doing.

  Liam is a total professional, and he’s got the skills of someone much older and more experienced. I’m so proud I could do a happy dance. Instead I just cheer him on from my seat here in the nosebleed section, knowing he can’t hear it. He is truly doing what he was destined to do.

  And now I’m even more motivated to find out what I should do with my life, even if that means not being in Liam’s. He looks happy out there. Determined. Successful.

  I wish I could be happy, too.

  13

  Liam

  The tension in the air is palpable. Just like before every race, I am on edge, nervous and somehow excited. But it’s worse tonight. This is my hometown. Everyone is here—my family, my friends, and even my dad showed up. I know because he texted me a picture of his seats inside the stadium. He brought some woman with him as a date. I can’t believe he actually showed up. Everyone is here, except her.

  The only girl I care about.

  I take yet another deep breath, but despite what a million yoga instructors will tell you, this deep breathing is doing nothing to help calm me down. Maybe it’s because I’m not so much nervous as I am disappointed. After the brief interview, we had come back to our tables to meet with fans for the last half hour of the pits being open to the public. She never showed.

  Now, the main event is starting, fireworks are popping off and the crowds are cheering. The announcer says there’s fifty-seven thousand people in the audience tonight. All these people, and yet the one I really want isn’t one of them.

  A hand smacks on my back. I turn and see Jett standing next to me. We’re all geared up and ready to get on our bikes, which the mechanic crew have brought out to the track for us. It’s dark back here in the “backstage” area of the stadium. The roar of the pyrotechnics and music from inside mixes with the rumble of dirt bikes from back here. I’m surrounded by famous athletes from every single race team. We’re all hanging out back here waiting for our names to be called so we can ride out on the track and wave to our fans before the races begin.

  I couldn’t talk to Jett if I wanted to, because it’s so loud back here. I just make eye contact with him through the small opening in our helmets.

  He gives me a thumbs up and cocks his head to the side. He’s nonverbally asking a question. Am I okay?

  I nod once. I don’t give him a thumbs up in return – that would be lying. I’m just a single head nod’s worth of okay, not a thumbs up kind of okay.

  Jett gives me another friendly pat on the shoulder and then he takes his bike from a member of our pit crew and hops on it. I get on my bike too, nodding a thank you to Bret, the mechanic who keeps my bike in top running condition.

  All the more famous riders go out first, getting their names individually called out for their screaming fans. We’re still young in Team Loco. None of us have been pro for longer than a couple of years, with me being the rookie who still has a lot to prove. But the guys who have been racing professionally for ten years or more are like gods in the world of motocross. I still get a little starstruck when I get to meet them.

  Since we’re new, we don’t get our names individually called out, but instead they announc
e Team Loco. All four of us ride out at once, standing up on the bike, one hand on the throttle and one hand up in the air.

  I wave at the blur of people in the stands, not knowing where my family is sitting, just that they’re in the VIP box seats I gave them. Even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to find them amid the smoke and lasers that whirl around the track, giving everything an extreme carnival type feel. I follow my teammates over to the starting line.

  The next few minutes all go by in a blur. I ready myself on my bike, feeling every muscle in my body tighten and prepare for the race. My heart beats in a broken cadence. It’s the only part of me that isn’t ready for tonight. It’s the only part I can’t seem to shut off when I’m supposed to be focused. I get this vision in my mind of Bella sitting at home watching the races live on TV.

  Even if she didn’t want to come and see me with the VIP pass I gave her, surely she’d want to watch me race. Right? She can’t have thrown away everything we had. Somewhere, deep down, she still has to be that girl who wanted me to succeed.

  I don’t realize I’m biting my bottom lip until I taste blood. The thirty second board hovers in the air, held in place by some hot girl who won a competition to be the board holder. It means the race starts in thirty seconds.

  Everyone revs their engines, tips forward on their toes, and prepares to take off the second the gate drops. The sound is deafening, even when shielded by my shiny Team Loco helmet. Just when I feel like this broken heart is going to crush me, I decide to harness this pain and use it.

  My heart pumps faster.

  The gate drops.

  I pin the throttle.

  My vision narrows to a tunnel, the only thing in sight is the bike directly in front of me. I missed the holeshot by just a second, but it’s a better start than I’ve had all season. I stay right on his tail, nearly passing him a few times, but he’s got just a slight edge over me.

  Behind me, twenty-three other racers are trying to catch up. But we’re too fast.

  We hit a sharp turn and I see the side of the bike in front of me. Even though he’s beating me, I’m proud that it’s another member of Team Loco and not some other guy. Jett’s bike tears around the turn and soars over a triple jump. I keep the throttle pinned, and I nip at his back tire, getting close but not passing him. It’s not for a lack of trying, though.

  The twenty laps of this race speed by and before I know it, the checkered flag is flying and I’m in second place.

  Back at home, on my amateur racing track, I might have been upset by this.

  But second place in professional motocross is a dream come true. Jett is the only racer to beat me and he has more experience. This is his hometown too. I pull off the track and stop next to Bret, and yank off my helmet. I’m not ashamed to admit that I almost want to burst into tears of happiness.

  “Dude!” Bret says, giving me an excited fist bump. “Second place!”

  I step off the bike and he takes it from me and then I look over and see Jett barrel into me.

  As the rest of my team pulls off the track, they all swarm around us. It turns out Aiden was in third place and Zach and Clay tied for fourth. The officials have to review the timestamps to see who was a fraction of a second faster between them.

  “We got a full Team Loco podium,” Jett says, throwing his arm around me.

  I’m so pumped as we walk over to the podium, a large stage in the middle of the track. Just like at the Olympics, there’s three large black blocks to stand on. The tallest one is for Jett, and I stand on the second, slightly shorter one, with Aiden on the third place block. We’re given medals instead of trophies. I know the other guys have a ton of these at home, so many that they start to give them out to friends and family instead of keeping them all.

  But it’s my first one.

  The thirty second board girl puts my medal around my neck and beams at me. I pick it up and look at the design, a dirt bike and my hometown’s name embossed on the silver medal. Every race has the city’s name on the medals, and I’m so grateful that my first one is from my hometown. The next few moments are a surreal blur. I can see my face on the big screen that hangs from the ceiling. There’s a huge professional camera in front of me while someone puts a mic in my face and asks me how it feels to get my first podium finish of my professional career.

  I can’t even remember what I say. Something easy and normal, for sure. I’m riding high on adrenaline as we chat with the announcer and then we get to walk off and go backstage while intermission begins.

  It’s not until I’m back at the Team Loco pit that all this adrenaline comes crashing down. My heavy, broken heart cracks open, pouring over all that happiness I had just a few minutes ago.

  I crash on the couch inside our bus. The guys are all in a great mood, and their girlfriends are fawning over them. I’ve got no one as I sit here, drinking a bottle of water. My race may be over, but the night isn’t.

  There’s an after party and plenty of celebrating to do, but all I want to do is take an Uber back to my house and crash. Sleep is the only thing that will give me a temporary reprieve from the pain of losing Bella.

  I check my phone again. It’s been fifteen minutes since my race ended, and I’ve nothing from her. I have dozens of notifications from everyone else, congratulating me on my epic race with Jett. But nothing from Bella.

  Tonight I got the best finish I’ve ever had in my professional career, and yet, I feel, more than anything, like the biggest loser on the planet.

  14

  Bella

  Second place looks good on Liam. I’ve never seen him ride so well, and that’s saying a lot because I spent the entire summer at the track with him. He was on fire tonight. I sit on the edge of my seat, staring at the jumbo screen while Liam gets interviewed. He is all sweaty and adorable as a second place medal gets placed around his neck. He picks it up and grins at it, then looks right at the camera. For a second, it almost looks like’s he’s looking at me. My heart jumps in my chest.

  “Marry me, Liam!” the girl in front of me croons, holding out her hands to the screen.

  I look at Kylie and roll my eyes, and then when I look back at the screen, the camera has moved on to show Jett and his first place medal. He dedicates the race to his wife, Keanna, and while that’s sweet and all, it makes me grit my teeth.

  Keanna seems so nice and adorable online, but in reality, she’s kind of rude. She wouldn’t even try to hear us out earlier. She just turned us away like some lying fangirls who had never met Liam before.

  I look down at my empty tray of nachos. Stress eating can make you put away more food than you thought possible.

  “Second place is pretty good, right?” Kylie asks.

  I nod and drink the last sip of soda from my cup. “It’s the best he’s ever gotten.”

  “So he’s in a great mood,” Kylie says. “Why don’t you call him and ask him to meet up with us?”

  I give her a glare that could melt these uncomfortable plastic seats we’re sitting on. “Kylie, seriously. Just stop.”

  “Sorry,” she says, her shoulders slumping. “I didn’t mean to annoy you.”

  I stare straight ahead while the intermission starts, which includes a bunch of little kids that get to ride tiny little dirt bikes around the track for fun. I should tell her it’s okay, but it’s really not okay. She’s pushed me too far. She wants more than the universe has set out to give me, and she just needs to stop.

  A few minutes go by. The stupid girls in front of us won’t shut up about all the racers they think are “uber sexy” and they’re currently posting selfies to their Instagram about how much fun they’re having. Maybe I’d be having fun too, if I didn’t have any personal relationships with the racers.

  Kylie’s head falls on my shoulder. “Bells? I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”

  I let my head drop on top of hers. “I’m not mad…” I heave a sigh. “I just wish you’d realize that this whole thing with… you know who…” I s
ay to avoid having anyone overhear us, “is over. It’s done. It’ll never happen.”

  She sits up and gives me a sad smile. “Okay, fine. It’s done. I thought you guys were soul mates or whatever, but it’s fine. I can accept a loss.”

  I try to smile and I reach for her hand. “Thanks for trying, though. You’re seriously an amazing best friend.”

  She bats her eyelashes, which makes me laugh.

  “Want to get out of here?” she says. “We can go home and watch classic romance movies starring men who will never hurt us?”

  I nod. “Sounds good.”

  We hike up the steep concrete stairs all the way to the top level of the stadium and toss out our trash. Neither one of us can remember how exactly to get back to the ground level. We’re so high up that we had taken stairs and elevators to get up here, and because whoever designed this facility was stupid, or careless, I guess, there’s no easy way down. You can’t take just the stairs or just the elevator. It has to be some complicated combination of both.

  We meander through the long lines of people waiting at the bathrooms and concession stands and finally find an exit sign.

  Unlike the large carpeted stairs we used to get up here, this stairwell smells like vomit and cigarette smoke, so Kylie and I practically jog down the steps for three flights until the stairs abruptly end at a large metal door.

  “This says authorized personnel only,” I say, stopping in front of the big sign on the door.

  She shrugs. “How else are we going to get out of here?”

  I open the door, bracing for some kind of alarm to go off or something, but nothing happens. We’re just on another level of the stadium, but it’s clearly for employees. The hallway is completely empty.

  “Sweet,” Kylie says. “No more crowds.” She takes off walking, her voice carrying with a slight echo. “Look for an exit sign. Why are these places so confusing?”