y the time eleven hits, the place is packed. Alex is busy serving hordes of patrons, who have gathered around the patio for the perfect view of the track. The parking lot, which was pretty much empty less than twenty minutes ago, is now overflowing with trucks.

I suddenly feel hot. I hadn't expected this many people to show, and if I do something stupid and embarrass myself, I'll never be able to show my face here again.

My breathing comes faster, so I move to the railing and hold onto it tight, concentrating on the coolness of the metal beneath my palms. If my dad ever got this nervous before the start of a race, he never once showed it. He'd smile right up until the moment the starting gate dropped, and he'd smile right after, too. He never once questioned his ability to race, and maybe that's what separates a good racer from a great racer: the absence of doubt.

If he were here right now, he'd give me some speech about how I'm going to kill it out there. How I'm going to make him so proud, no matter what the outcome. But he's not here, and now there's this hole deep inside of my chest, like something is missing.

I sigh and look out into the distance. Next to the entrance is a makeshift booth with a banner that reads, Registration, sign up here. Standing several feet away from it are Niko and Vanessa, looking entirely out of place. Vanessa keeps brushing away imaginary dust, and Niko's got his camera firmly glued to his hands, ready to capture my victory – or failure.

With a deep breath, I head down the steps and make my way over, where the pair of them pull me into a three-way hug.

"I'm so nervous for you that I have a stomach ache," Vanessa says. "There are so many people here. I think I'd throw up if this many people were about to watch me compete."

We all pull back so that Niko can shoot her a disapproving look. "I don't think that's helping, Ness."

"No," I say. "Definitely not helping."

He turns to me now, wearing that lopsided grin. "C'mon," he says, taking my hand, "let's get you registered."

We make our way over to the booth. He's right about everyone knowing who he is – as soon as he tells them I'm a guest of his Dad's, they're all suddenly clambering to help me. I fill out the necessary forms, attempt to listen to the instructions they give me, and then the three of us plant ourselves on the closest bench while I try not to hyperventilate.

"I feel like I'm going to throw up," I say to no one in particular.

"Hey," Niko says. He half turns to face me, gently pushing my hair back. "You're gonna be fine, okay? And Vanessa and I are going to be cheering you on the whole time."

"Even if I fall on my butt?"

"Especially if you fall on your butt."

Tyler chooses now to pull up to the edge of the track and park his bike in the bay. He scans the circuit, sees Niko's hand still lingering by my cheek, and falters. His eyebrows furrow, his dark eyes boring dangerously into Niko's.

"What's his problem?" Vanessa asks.

That's what I'd like to know. "No idea." I rise to my feet, wondering if Tyler is going to come over, but instead he gives me the briefest of nods and heads off to register.

I'll admit, I'm hurt. This is the qualifying round, the race that determines whether I'll make it to the tournament, and he can't even say good luck?

Just when I think I can't feel any worse, Sam makes his way over. Niko sighs and mutters something I don't hear as his brother pats my shoulder. "My little racer all ready?"

"Pat me like that again and I'm going to make it so that you can never have kids."

"Which would actually be doing the world a favor," Niko adds.

Sam's eyes narrow at his brother. Only lord knows what poor Niko has to deal with at home. "What are you even doing here? You hate racing."

Niko waves his camera and says, "I like taking pictures."

"Whatever." Sam turns to me now, wearing that same sneery smile. "Hope you're feeling lucky. You fail this round, and there's no more bet. Plus, the guys will never let you live it down. I doubt you'd be able to show your face at the track even in the afternoon circuit."

I scowl and step forward – to do what I'm not sure –when Tyler suddenly appears beside us and rests a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"I do," Sam says with a sickly smile. "I'll be on the balcony watching." With a quick look at me, he adds, "You lose this round and you owe me a lot of money. Remember that."

He walks off, and it occurs to me that I'm a part of a bet without knowing the stakes. Just how much do I owe if I lose?

Vanessa lightly taps my arm, pulling me from my thoughts. "We're gonna go find a spot around the track, okay? Have a good race."

I nod, and the pair give me another hug before heading off, leaving me alone with Tyler. I turn to face him, arms folded, and glare. "Why are you even friends with that guy?"

He doesn't have to ask who I'm talking about, it's clear I mean Sam. "Friends is an oversimplification," he says. "He owns the track – it's not exactly wise to piss him off."

"Yeah well, maybe it's not wise of him to piss me off," I mutter.

His lips curl upward, catching me off guard. "I don't disagree there."

I'm acutely aware of how close we're standing. There's an announcement over the intercom, calling all racers to head to the track, which sends my nerves into overdrive. Tyler leans in, tucking a curtain of hair behind my ear, and whispers, "Guess that's our cue. Good luck, sirenita."

I swallow hard. I'd started to think he wasn't going to say it, and now that he has, the nerves that have bothered me for most of the morning are now replaced with butterflies.

❤️