y lessons the next morning are spent dreaming about the track. Call me obsessed, but after six months of avoiding the track altogether, it feels like I'm finally home.

It's as though a race track turns me into somebody else. It's not that I don't want to be the girl I am when I race, it's more that I don't know how to be. Without my helmet and bike, I blend into the background, just another face in the crowd. But the track gives me the confidence to want to be noticed; it's why I always go back.

At lunch, I sit with Vanessa, the girl who's been assigned by the principal to show me around. She's petite but curvy, with brown skin, curly black hair and big dark eyes, the kind of girl who is friends with everybody. We don't have a single thing in common, but I'm grateful she hasn't left me to fend for myself.

We make small talk about lunch and all of the different vegan choices, and then she dives into the cliff notes version of her life story. I'm grateful she talks enough for both of us. While she tells me about her desire to become a world-renowned surgeon, I find myself fantasizing about my own future–one that stars me as Parkwood's next champion.

It's not likely. I've been away from the track for so long that I'd never be ready in time for the race, but I can't help but dream about it, anyway.

When school lets out, I catch the bus home. It's a twenty-minute journey from Parkwood High to my house. I spend it looking out of the window with my earphones in, losing myself to some Ariana Grande.

Parkwood is your typical small, midwestern town. It's full of long roads and open space, with not much else. The move here wasn't for any particular reason except for that we needed a change. Home reminded mom too much of the accident, of heartache and physio, and crying until the early hours.

So, when Dad suggested we start fresh somewhere, she jumped at the chance. Mom owns an online cupcake company, and dad's an online sports writer, which means disruption to their lives was minimal. Mine, not so much.

My phone buzzes with a text from Kianna, my best friend from back home. She tells me about some drama that happened in gym today, and I text back with feigned interest, but already I feel the strain.

Back home, I shower and change into something more comfortable before eating dinner. Mom watches me with disapproval as I shovel down lasagna at the speed of light, sending splatters of sauce across the countertop.

"I suppose you're going to the track," she says, grabbing a cloth to wipe down the counter.

"I won't be back late," I say.

"You might not be back at all."

I frown a little. "I'm not going there to race. There's a job going as a waitress." The relief on her face is unmistakable. "But even if I did race, I know what I'm doing, Mom."

"So did your father," she reminds me softly, "and look what happened to him. The track doesn't care how good you are, Roxy. It doesn't care that you're my little girl, or that you have your whole life ahead of you. It will ruin your life."

I take a deep breath, placing my hand over hers. "You worry too much," I say, reaching for my helmet.

Mom beats me to it, holding it between her fingers with a far-off look. "And you don't worry enough," she says, slipping it over my head.

When I get to the track, it's as alive as ever. The sound of engines roaring is louder than the music I hear thumping from the rooftop. I park my bike and head up to the patio, searching for Alex.

She's busy serving a table but waves me over. "You made it. Head inside while I finish off this table."

I do as I'm told and make my way into the cafe, which is pretty much empty. I suppose most people come here to sit out on the patio and watch the races.

The table nearest the window is unoccupied, so I take a seat. From here, I still have a perfect view of the race track. It seems there is never a moment when riders aren't whizzing around it in a never-ending loop.

Alex walks in and briefly scans the cafe before walking over. She takes a seat opposite, pulls her hair back into an effortless pony, and smiles. "So, this is a family-run business. Right now, it's just me and one other waitress in the cafe. It can be pretty taxing some nights, and the customers aren't always the politest, but it's worth it if you like riding. You get a discount on your membership, which gives you unlimited use of the track and the onsite auto shop. Do you have any previous waitressing experience?"

I nod. "I used to work weekends at the local cafe back home. It didn't get too busy, but I learned the basics."

"Well, you can come in on Saturday for a trial shift. How does that sound?"

"Great." I'm staring out the window as I say it, still watching the race.

"You really love it, don't you?" Alex says, following my gaze.

I look at her and say, "Don't you?"

She smiles. "You know, if you want to race, don't let Tyler and the others stop you. It's Twenty-five dollars for non-members to ride, but if it's something you want to do regularly, we can get you a membership. I kind of want to see you in action myself."

On the table opposite, a few other riders sit waiting for the next circuit, their eyes narrowed. I'm not surprised. Starting at a new track is like your first day of school. I'm the newcomer, the stranger, and riders don't take too kindly to those outside of their circuit.

"I don't know," I say. I can imagine what my mother would say if she could see me now. But then what she doesn't know can't hurt her. "You know what? You're right." I grab my goggles and helmet from the table and, with a quick smile at Alex, make my way to my bike.

I head over to the small office just outside of the track and pay my twenty-five dollars. The man behind the desk smiles and flicks up the barrier, allowing me through. I wait at the start of circuit for the whistle. Tyler isn't racing tonight–I can't see his bike–but it doesn't matter. I might not be competing with the best of the best, but I'm thankful to be on the track.

I flick down my visor and take a deep breath. This–being here–feels right. At school I might be the new girl, the girl nobody looks twice at, but on the track, I get to be somebody else. Somebody bolder; I love it.

I'm off as soon as the whistle blows, speeding down the old dirt roads that make up the track. My body vibrates against the bike, sending electric jolts through my arms.

This is what it means to be free. I have never felt as in control as I do when I'm riding a bike. I jump and turn, darting around narrow corners before zipping up hills. I pass bike after bike, leaving a trail of riders in my dust.

I finish the track a good few seconds before half of the others, but I'm still overtaken by five. It's to be expected–after months of casual riding, I'm a little rusty.

On the way back to the patio, I spot Tyler and his friends hanging over the balcony, watching me. I meet his gaze, which is dark and intimidating, but it is defied by the boyish grin on his face.

Once in the safety of the parking lot, I stop to pull out my flyer. The track at Parkwood is far more complicated than the track back home, and it took all my concentration to safely make each jump. I might have beaten half the guys in my circuit, but half isn't all, and I have a feeling the championship is going to be a lot more difficult–and dangerous–than this.

"You're not thinking of entering, are you?"

I turn to find Tyler standing with his hands in his pockets, watching me. He looks dangerous in the dimly lit parking lot, and for a second, my heart pounds.

"So what if I am?"

The corner of his mouth lifts. He furrows his eyebrows like he thinks I'm insane. "The track they use for the championship is nothing like the one you just rode," he says, stepping closer. "It's dangerous."

I'd like to think his warning is out of genuine concern, but I think I know better. I neatly fold the flyer in half before slipping it into my pocket. "Thanks for your concern, but I'll be okay."

His eyes gleam back at me; I hate the arrogance that sits beneath them. "Your funeral."

He turns and leaves, and I glance at the flyer. The championship is only five months away. I'd need to practice day and night to even come close to being ready, and even then winning seems unlikely. But when I think about Tyler's smug face and how good it had felt to be on that track, I know I at least have to try.

💕