y trial shift on Saturday goes by without a hitch. There's not much to waitressing at a place like this, and after showing me the ins and outs of the place, Alex tells me to stay away from the alcohol and we're good to go.

I mostly have to clear away tables and clean dirty glasses. The first hour or two are slow to get going, but as the evening goes on, I feel my confidence grow.

The customers, for the most part, take it easy on me. They smile and say thank you when I wipe down their tables, and they make harmless small talk while I bring them their checks.

Out on the track, Tyler prepares for his race. I watch as he pushes his bike up to the barrier, where the ticket office lets him through without pause. Does he live here, or something?

I start to grow antsy as the other rides take their positions. While I've decided in my head that I want to compete, it hasn't changed the fact that I'm terrified.

Throughout my shift, I imagine my dad at home in his wheelchair, dreaming of his racing days. If I compete and something goes wrong, is that going to be me? Am I foolish for wanting to do something that carries so much risk? Am I selfish? It would kill my mother if something happened to me, but it's killing me not to race.

For eight months, I have accepted this ban on racing. Not because Mom said so–I've been known to break her rules before–but because I've been scared that what happened to Dad will happen to me. Now that terror is waning, not because I'm any less scared, but because my desire to compete is stronger. I miss racing, I need it, more than I ever thought I did.

I gather up some empty glasses and head into the back, popping them in the dishwasher. Then I head back out onto the patio and scope the area for anyone who needs serving.

The rooftop is beautiful at this time of evening. The railings enclosing it are coiled in fairy lights, and little electric heaters are dotted around, battling the slight bite to the air. I turn back to the race track, which is lit up with headlights.

The whistle blows, and the racers are off, zipping down the beaten track before turning the corners. They each move with unique precision, a style that is distinctly their own. I could watch them all day and never grow bored, just like when I used to watch my dad.

At some point, Alex calls me over for a mini-break, and we lean over the railing of the rooftop to watch the sun go down. It's peaceful out here, despite the sound of revving engines. It's like we've left the real world and teleported into another dimension, meant just for us.

"I've never seen a track so busy all the time," I say. "Back home, you'd get a few on the track every so often, but that would be it."

Alex smiles knowingly. "With the annual championship being held in Parkwood, the kids around here take it a lot more seriously. Don't get me wrong, some of them come and ride just for fun–there's not a lot to do in this town–but then there are people like Tyler who practice around the clock. Winning is all they think about."

I'm silent as I watch Tyler perfect another jump. He steers around a particularly steep corner, then curves and swerves down a hill. My fingers twitch, almost as if I can feel my bike's handlebars in my palms.

"I'm thinking about entering the championship," I say, still looking ahead. I know if I look at her, I'll see the doubt in her expression, so I keep my eyes on Tyler. Wanting to race this last minute is insane–I already know that.

She looks away from the track to study my face. With what's left of the sun shining down on us, I notice the little bits of gold in her eyes. "It's five months away," she says, "and you said you haven't raced lately. Are you sure you'd be ready in time?"

I shrug. It's the type of thing you can never be sure of, no matter how much time and effort you put in. But despite the risks, despite the backlash, despite everything working against me, I know I need to do this. My father never got to take that final medal of his home–a part of me wants to do this for him.

"Maybe not," I say, "but I want to try."

Her eyes search mine, dark and inquisitive. "We better get you ready, then. Get here for seven a.m tomorrow. You can ride with me before the track opens."

"Really?" I ask. "You'd do that?"

She turns to the track again, honing in on Tyler's silver bike as he crosses the finish line. "I kind of want to see someone other than Tyler win for a change." She turns to me now, her full, pink lips curled into a smile. "You did good today, by the way. Your trial is over – you got the job."

I smile and thank her before heading inside to gather my things. When I make it back onto the patio, Tyler is sat at one of the tables, surrounded by his friends. A pretty brunette is leaning over him, whispering something in his ear while he grins.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder, glad that my shift is over. The last thing I feel like doing right now is serving him. I walk past the table, over to the steps, when one of the guys on their table hollers at me. I turn mid-stride and take in the one who'd stopped me.

"What's your name?" he asks.

I study him briefly, taking in his auburn hair and green, cat-like eyes. He's got a beer in his hand which has very little left, so either he's not a rider or he's ridiculously stupid.

"Roxy." My voice comes out strong, confident, such is the power of the track.

He smiles a little. "Nice to meet you, Roxy. I'm Sam." He pauses for a second. "You know, I saw you ride the other day. You're pretty good – I hear you're thinking of entering the championship."

I look at Tyler, the only person he could have heard this from. Tyler turns away from the brunette to watch me back. His eyes are dark, almost clinical as they assess me, waiting to see what I'll say.

"Not thinking," I say, straightening up. "I am."

Tyler breaks into a beautiful grin. "Looks like I've got some competition then, sirenita."

Sam grins and nudges Tyler's shoulder. They're making fun of me, I know they are, and I suddenly feel nervous. The track is supposed to be my safe place, the one place I feel accepted; now I'm not so sure.

"Looks like it," I say.

"The thing is," Sam says slowly, "we've talked about it, and we don't feel you should be riding with us. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're welcome to use the track before six, when the other amateurs train, but the evening rides are for those of us who actually have a shot at winning the championship, you know?"

A shiver makes its way down my arms. I look at them sitting there, and it feels like my first day at school all over again. "And if I say no?"

"It's not a request."

I stiffen then turn without another word, heading down the steps toward my bike.

There goes my safe space.

💕