he race is scheduled for Friday. Tyler and I will be the only two on the track, and the first one to the finish line wins. It means I can barely think straight during my lessons on Friday. My mind is on the race tonight, on how it would feel to beat Tyler Wakeford–how it would feel to lose to him.

At lunch, Vanessa quizzes me on my life back home. I try my best to give her my full attention, telling her about my best friend, Kianna, and how much I miss her. Vanessa's eyes cloud over, and she tells me about her old best friend, Sierra, who moved away last year. The two don't keep in touch anymore, which makes me anxious. What if that happens to Kianna and me?

When school lets out, I send a quick message to Kianna and then rush home for dinner. Mom wants to know what's got me in such a hurry, so I tell her I've got a shift at the cafe and I might be back late.

Mom sighs. "Well, I'm glad to see your settling in here, even if you are working at a track."

I glance at Dad, who has been quiet all evening. "You okay, Dad?"

He looks up now, startled. "Hm?"

"I asked if you were okay."

He forces a smile. "I'm fine, honey. I'm just tired. I think I'll go and lie down." He closes his eyes, looking pained, then adds, "Could someone help me, please?"

Mom jumps up immediately and goes to help Dad. I finish off my food with a feeling of dread before grabbing my helmet. As usual, the small voice in my head whispers, What if that happens to me?

The ride to the track is spent doubting my decisions. Losing to Tyler tonight won't just mean I'll have proved them right about me, it will mean I'll have no one experience to practice with before the tournament.

It's a big gamble, and I was never treated like this back in Arizona, but there is nothing I can do about that now. I need to focus on winning or risk forfeiting the championships, something I'm not prepared to do.

The track is busier than normal, and I have a feeling word of my race with Tyler has gotten out; they've come to watch me lose. I straighten up and park my bike in a bay before heading up to the patio.

I'm a little early, but observing some of the other racers might not be a bad idea. All tracks are different, each curve and bump like a whole new experience, and watching how other racers can handle them gives me a better idea of how I can handle them, too.

I spot Alex in the distance, serving a group of girls in the far corner. I wait for her to finish her table before heading over. "Why did you tell me to race if it went against this stupid code?"

She turns at the sound of my voice. "Because," she says, raising an eyebrow, "I hate that bullshit code. I wanted to see someone break it."

I sigh and say, "Glad you have so much faith in me."

Tyler chooses that moment to pull up to the edge of the track and park his bike in the bay. He scans the circuit, seemingly unsatisfied with what he's found before he turns and scans the bar.

His eyes find mine almost immediately. I think about turning and darting in the opposite direction, knowing it isn't good to talk to the competition in case he tries to get inside my head. But then he grins, and I realize he's not worried about this at all; he knows he's going to win.

I take a deep breath and watch as riders make it to the finish line. I'm in way over my head, I know that, but I've never been one to back down from a fight, even when the odds are against me.

Tyler heads up to the patio steps, his helmet still on, revealing only half of his face. Two of the girls on the table Alex served suddenly turn to watch him. He walks over to me and says, "Wish me luck?" 

"Nope," I say, nodding to their table, "but I'm sure they will if you ask."

He grins. "It only works if it's from you." He flicks down his goggles and my stomach flutters with nerves.

"Fine," I say. "Good luck. You'll need it."

A low laugh rings out, and I can just imagine the smile on his face beneath his helmet. "Guess I'll see you down there." With that, he makes his way back down the patio steps.

I wait a few minutes before following him to the track. The riders from the previous circuit flock to the patio, ready to watch the race. I remind myself that racing is what I'm good at, what, deep down, I'm certain I was born to do; it doesn't seem to help with the nerves.

I grab my bike and wait at the start of the circuit with Tyler. Nerves tug at my stomach, and I try to push them down. I've raced this track before. I know what curves and jumps are coming, even if I can't remember the order. There are no big surprises, nothing that might throw me for a loop–it offers me some semblance of peace.

I flick down my goggles, and Tyler turns to look at me. His face is hidden, so I can't imagine the expression on his face, but I can tell he's not worried. I, on the other hand, am terrified.

"Be careful," he says, but his voice comes out all muffled.

I turn to the start line and clutch at my handles. I don't know whether he's genuinely concerned or if he's trying to throw me off my game; I decide it doesn't matter.

As soon as the whistle sounds, we're off. I forget about Tyler, about my dad, about the people at the bar, and I focus on the feel of the wind as it rushes my cheeks. The bike throbs under me like a steady, familiar heartbeat. I turn swiftly at the next sharp corner and glance to my right. We ride side by side, neither of us able to get the upper hand on the other–at least not yet.

I fight back my nerves and crouch low to the handlebars, sucking in a breath. We hit another corner, but I'm half a second out. Tyler zips past me, lightning-quick, and I'm left to chase after him.

That second is all it takes. He's suddenly off, swerving and leaping and zipping around corners, getting further and further away. His maneuvers are effortless, his turns timed perfectly. I gave him an inch, and he's taken a mile.

A hill is coming up, and I grip the bike with my thighs as I race to the top. Parkwood looks perfect from up here. A forest of greenery surrounds the hills, concealing the houses within. A lake stretches beyond them, its water a pinkish-red beneath the sunset. Some might think it too picture-perfect, that nature has been molded to fit the town, rather than the other way around, but I like it.

The ride back down jolts my stomach like a ride. I feel myself grin as the wind hits my face, and for a second I don't care that I'm about to lose this race; I'm too lost in the feeling.

Tyler is waiting for me at the finish line. The high I'd been feeling has quickly worn off, and now I'm embarrassed. I climb off my bike and push it off the track while Tyler does the same.

We flick our goggles at the same time. I expect him to rub my defeat in his face, but instead, he looks serious. "You did good out there," he says. Then, as though he can't help it, he grins. "Gave me a run for my money."

Despite his words, I'm still angry at myself. "Yeah, well, not good enough it seems."

He frowns. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

I'm trying not to be a sore loser, so I nod and say, "Guess this means I owe you dinner."

That boyish grin is back. "If you want to back out–"

"A bet is a bet," I say. "Where are we going?"

"Mojack's," he says. "It's a popular biker bar around the corner from here."

I wince. "Sounds nice."

He smirks. "Don't knock it 'till you try it. They do the best food in town. Give me your number and I'll message you the address."

I'm about to tell him I'll just Google the address, but he's already taking out his phone. I sigh and read it out to him, watching as he types it into his phone.

He looks up now, his dark eyes gleaming through his visor. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Don't order anything expensive," I say, and then I turn and push my bike away to the sound of him laughing.

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