y gaze remains on the track. This time, I'm not focused on the roaring crowd or the banners waving back and forth. All I can hear is the sound of my heartbeat, a constant pulse that echoes in my ears, blocking everything out.

The sound of the whistle screeches through the peace, and suddenly, we're off. Engines roar along the dusty dirt track as each rider fights to the forefront. Now more than ever, the pressure is on; this race decides the champion.

It's this thought that pushes me harder than before – harder than ever. With the first race under my belt, a spark of energy bubbles inside me, waiting to be given full rein. I sink into the grooves of my seat, shoulders back, elbows out, and tighten my grip around the handlebars, ready to win or die trying.

The first corner is fast approaching. It's probably one of the trickier corners, with a sharp angle that forces some of the others to slow. I pick up speed, feeling the shake of my tires as they stumble and stutter over uneven dirt.

But I don't slow down, and neither does Tyler, who I can see out of my peripheral riding comfortably beside me, solid and confident. Maybe if I'd won the first round, I'd feel just as confident, but right now, I'm not just battling the uneven road; I'm battling doubt.

For the briefest of seconds, I close my eyes, playing Dad's words in my head. Doubt will always be there, he'd say on our Sunday morning races. Whispering in your ear that you'll never be good enough. But you know what you do with that doubt, Roxy? You take that doubt and you damn well prove it wrong.

My eyes flick open to see the corner is several feet ahead. A few of the others decelerate less than a fraction, but it's a fraction I plan to take advantage of. The second the corner hits, I speed up, skidding around the cragged bend before shakily straightening up.

Riders swarm behind me like an angry pack. Their engines roar, their bodies radiating heat behind me, but I don't turn around to see if they're gaining, I just focus on the shimmer of the road ahead. Just as in the first race, Tyler and I stay head to head, like we're in this together. I risk a glance at the same time he does and watch as he gives me a thumbs up. Smiling beneath my helmet, I give him one too before turning back to the track.

It's not long before a few of the riders overtake us. I'm being swallowed by the pack, fed to what feels like a group of hungry wolves, and it's making it impossible to focus. I take a deep breath, trying to lose myself in the rhythm of my bike, but when a second rider overtakes me, I panic.

On the open stretch of track is where your confidence will waiver, Dad would say. Don't let the other riders unnerve you. Think about something else. So, I do. In my head, I replay these last few months on repeat, starting with the first time I'd seen Tyler at the track. How I'd watched the way he glided over hills on the horizon, and for the first time since I'd gotten to Pinewood, felt like things would be okay.

The night of Niko's sleepover plays next. The jump of my heart as I bumped into Tyler near the bathroom, then our subsequent trip to the hot tub. My skin prickles with heat as I recall the way his muscles arched as he sank into the water.

Come on, sirenita, he'd said. How often do you get to use some rich kid for his hot tub?

The memory gets sharper as my bike picks up speed, allowing me to overtake several other riders. Heart pounding, I replay the way I'd sat on the ledge and slid my legs into the water. There, happy?

Always around you.

His mouth comes into focus, drawing closer as I think of how terrified I'd felt about kissing him, because kissing him meant there was no going back, as if I'd ever want to.

Sirenita, he'd said, my favorite word. Then his mouth caught mine as his fingers caressed me, setting me on fire. And now, as I recall the way his lips had felt, I realize it's impossible for me to separate racing from Tyler. The two have become synonymous, as though my love for one can no longer exist without the other. And I love it: I love that I can share racing with someone who feels the same, that there will always be this thread that binds us. Racing, in some ways, isn't just a hobby; it's our story.

The roaring tide of engines catch up. I thunder ahead in a bid to outride them, dipping to the right, but as I hit another turn and glance behind my shoulder, I spot the familiar glint of Kai's bike as he pushes between Tyler and me. Something about his bent forward posture and the tilt of his head unnerves me. He revs his engine, fighting to close the distance between us, and that's when I realize he's gunning for me. Not just me, but Tyler too.

Anger burns my veins as we hurtle toward a hill. It's an unfair tactic by riders who know they're not going to win. Instead, they take pleasure in bringing those down who still have a chance, and right now, that's Tyler and me. I glance at Tyler to see his posture has stiffened, a sign that he's furious. Not because he's worried for himself, but because he's worried about me. He tries to put his bike between mine and Kai's in a bid to protect me, but the move only eggs Kai on.

Just as the three of us careen up the hill, he jerks to the left, skimming my back wheel, and sends my bike into a frenzy. I lose control on the hill's descent, desperately gripping my thighs to the bike as it digs through my gear. At one point, I'm seconds from flying right off, but the ground inches closer, the hill straightening out to offer some respite, and I scramble back into position.

My heart pounds harder, but as the track bands out in front of me, my fear of Kai starts to dissipate. After months of training to get to this point, months of struggling to face my fears, I'll be damned if I let someone like him get to me. There are millions of things in this world to be scared of, but he is not one of them.

Instead, I focus on the power of my bike as it hums beneath my weight. The world is unfocused, obscured by a curtain of dust and debris. I zip around the edges and fight to keep my grip strong.

This part feels endless, an open stretch of road that gives any other rider the chance to gain speed, but I can't help but marvel at its beauty. Not the jagged hills on the horizon, which are beautiful in their own right, but the track itself, the way it coils through the valleys like an undisturbed snake. If I can only recall one image when I'm in my old age, I want it to be this.

But the second we round the corner, the peace is disturbed. Someone just ahead hits the angle too fast and rolls off their bike. Another crashes into them with a high-pitched roar that echoes above the engines. He spins mid-air, then rolls to the floor before getting to his feet.

Another swerves, but not in time to avoid the pileup, and several other riders fall. I narrowly escape the chaos, heart-pounding, and speed on ahead. It's not until I've caught my breath that I turn my head to check on Tyler and see he's no longer beside me.

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