om manages to persuade Dad to visit the funfair this weekend. I don't have the heart to tell her I'm too old for cotton candy, so I smile and say I can't wait.

Even Dad seems chipper this morning. He hums while he reads his morning paper, and Mom sings while cooking some eggs. I sit at the table with my notepad and pen, going over my notes from the track. For the first time in a long time, we feel like a family again.

Dad looks up and says, "Don't tell me you're doing homework on a Saturday. Leave it to Sunday night like everyone else."

I smile and say, "It's not homework. I'm just making some notes for work."

Mom turns and places a plate in front of me stacked high with eggs, french toast, and mushrooms. "You know, I'm really impressed with how committed you are to your new job," she says. Her expression grows all sappy, and I know what's coming. "You're just growing up so fast. Soon you'll be going off to college and leaving us behind."

I roll my eyes. I've heard this speech a thousand times–more. "I'm sure I'll remember to visit."

She lightly swats me with the hand towel she's holding. "Oh, that's reassuring. Did you hear that, honey? She's sure she'll remember to visit us."

Dad grins and starts to tell me about how he met my mother in college. He'd been studying engineering by day and training by night but somehow still had the energy to 'woo' my mom at a house party. I cover my ears because I don't want to spend my Saturday morning listening to my dad talk about 'wooing' my mom, but it just makes him louder.

When breakfast is finished, I help Mom to clear up the last of the moving boxes and then head to the gym. My agreement with Tyler means he'll only train me Monday to Friday, so the weekends are mine to do what I want with.

It's a taxing session, and it only serves to remind me just how unfit I've become since quitting riding. I hadn't known it at the time, but eight months makes all the difference.

My thighs are aching by the time I'm finished, but it's a good kind of ache, the kind that tells you you've worked hard. It's why I decide to make use of the pool and the sauna while I have them to myself. The kinder I treat my body these next few months, the easier it will be for it to recover.

I'm early enough that I'm the only one here, and it's nice to be able to unwind with my thoughts. I go a few laps in the pool before heading into the steam room, where I breathe in the steam and what smells like eucalyptus.

At some point, the door swings open. I watch through the steam as Tyler closes the door behind him and takes a seat next to me. Despite the steam, I can still make out his body perfectly, which means he can make mine out, too.

I fold my arms across my stomach and glance at his stomach. He's got the body of someone who lives and breathes the gym. Taut muscles, a hard, brown torso, tree trunk legs. I realize I'm staring and glance at his face, but his eyes are closed as he breathes in the steam.

He takes in a slow, deliberate breath. "They put the eucalyptus in the steam," he says. "Helps you to breathe better."

I breathe in, too, focusing on the way the smell tickles my nose. Already I can feel my muscles releasing, and I sink into the bench and close my eyes.

"Did you hit the gym?" he asks.

I nod and then realize he can't see me. "I tried to. I didn't realize how much of a difference eight months could make. It's like I'm starting from scratch."

"It feels that way," he says, "but it's not from scratch. Your body won't take long to adapt when it's done it before. You just need some patience."

"I need patience?"

He looks over and smirks. "It's not exactly your strong suit, either."

I'm about to argue, but he has a point. "So, when can I move onto the harder circuit?"

He wipes a bead of sweat from his eyebrow and says, "You're not ready."

"We won't know that until I try."

He goes to speak, then shakes his head. "You're used to getting what you want, aren't you?"

I smile. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It is." He looks at the ceiling like he's contemplating something. "You free after this?"

I can't ignore the excitement in my stomach. "For the next few hours. I'm going to the fair this evening with my parents." I pause and add, "Are you going?"

He smiles a little. "I don't think I've been to the fair since I was twelve."

I suddenly feel juvenile and need to explain. "It's the first time we've been able to coax my dad to leave the house. I'm kind of stuck going."

His eyes darken, and he looks at his hands. "I think it's nice that they want to do family stuff."

"Don't yours?"

He laughs now, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "My parents are divorced. I live with my dad, but I still see my mom sometimes. Most of her family stuff is with her new family, though." He looks up from his hands like he hadn't meant to say all that. "One lap. We'll ride it slowly, let you get a feel of it, but that's it. Alright?"

"Sounds good to me."

We spend the next five minutes in silence, breathing in the steam before we get to our feet. Tyler opens the steam room door and steps aside, so I go to squeeze past him. I miscalculate the space and my chest brushes his. There's this split second where we're both stood under the tiny archway, skin to skin, and my stomach jolts. I hurry through the door and into the locker rooms to shower and change.

My heart is practically humming with excitement, and I'm in such a rush, I don't bother to dry my hair. I shove it into a plait and pull on my riding suit and helmet before meeting Tyler by the track.

He doesn't say anything when I get to him. I just follow him off the track and down a beaten path and over a hill, which leads to the next circuit. It's bigger than the main one, but it's not just the size of it that intimidates me, it's everything. This circuit is like a whole new world. New turns, new corners, new jumps, and skids; I'm like a kid in a candy store.

"Stay close," Tyler says in a low voice. "Try not to end up in the hospital."

I nod and then we're off, racing down the narrow track at a similar speed. For the next five minutes, I'm wearing the biggest grin under my helmet. This particular circuit leads up through the mountains, a bright yellow dirt path against a backdrop of greenery. I imagine at high speeds, this route could be deadly if the turns aren't hit properly, but at this pace, it's serene, peaceful; I feel like I've stepped into another world.

"Pick up speed," Tyler shouts above the noise of the engines. "We're about to go up a steep hill."

My foot slams the pedal in excitement. We amble up the hill and past a thicket of trees before Tyler races past me. He slows to a stop a few feet ahead and confused, I do the same. He kills the engine of his bike, climbs off, and flicks up his helmet.

"C'mon," he says, leaving his bike by the side of the path. "I want to show you something."

I leave mine next to his and follow him a little further down the path and off to the left, where he takes my hand and pulls me through a gap in the trees. We emerge on the other side near the edge of one of the cliffs, which overlooks the whole of Parkwood.

I've never seen anything so breathtaking. At this time of the day, the sun is at its brightest, so the town is drenched in a light golden hue. Tyler pulls off his helmet and takes a seat, so I take one next to him. I'm not usually scared of heights, but being up here makes me feel a little panicked.

"It's amazing," I say.

He smiles and glances over. "Yeah, it is."

We're quiet for a moment as we take in the view. He's sitting so close, his arm and knee are touching mine. "Alex found it when we were kids," he says. "Made me promise never to show anyone else." He looks over again and grins. "If you tell her I brought you here, she'll probably kill us both."

I smile at the thought of them as kids, discovering this secret location. Kianna was the closest thing I ever had to a sibling growing up, but I imagine even that isn't the same as a true sibling bond. When I look at how Alex and Tyler are now, it's depressing.

For a second, his eyes flit to my lips, where they hover. His face is so close, I can make out the little flecks of stubble on his chin and the way the sunlight liquifies the brown in his eyes. Any second now, and I'll be leaning in closer, so I force myself to turn to the horizon.

"I've been thinking," I say, and he looks up. "I don't want to use Alex's bike. I mean, I wouldn't like someone borrowing my bike. I already have some money saved from my job back home. A few more weeks working at the track, and I can probably afford something low to mid-range."

He's quiet for a moment. Then he shrugs and says, "It's your decision, but the better your bike, the better chance you'll have at winning."

I nod and look into the distance. "I know."

Deep in my stomach, the doubt begins to work its way in. I could train every morning, buy the best Motocross bike money has to offer, and when that tournament comes, I still might not be ready. Still might not be good enough.

It's the scariest thing of all.

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