Girl on Track

18| Nice knowing you

The feeling of knowing you're in impending trouble is like no other pain. I pace back and forth, contemplating sleeping over at Vanessa's, but it'll only delay the inevitable. Sooner or later, I am going to have to face my mother's wrath.

"Maybe she'll understand," Tyler says.

We've been sitting in the parking lot for over an hour, mostly in silence, as he watches my subsequent meltdown.

"Understand?" I turn to face him, allowing my eyes to meet his. "My mother is the queen of holding grudges. Literally the queen. I'm going to be grounded until graduation." I gnaw on my thumb, the way I always do when I know I'm in deep shit. "There's no way she'll let me race in the qualifying rounds."

Tyler frowns and gets to his feet, closing the distance between us. He'd been mildly amused about things up until now, but he can see how serious I am. "Hey, it'll be fine," he says, pulling me into a hug. "We'll find a way."

The moment his arms wrap around me, everything else is forgotten. The qualifying rounds, Mom's fiery wrath, all I can think about is how solid and warm his muscles feel arched beneath my arms.

It's the first time we've been up close and personal like this. It's entirely nerve-wracking, like the moment you're about to get on stage, and you think you've forgotten your lines. But behind the nervousness, the urge to be sick, adrenaline pounds through your veins.

It's followed by butterflies, a quick burst of flight that makes me pull back. As much as I'm enjoying being trapped in his arms, my guard is up high, an impenetrable shield between us. Butterflies for Tyler Wakeford is not a good sign. I'm still ninety percent certain he's harboring some dark, ulterior motive, and I've already promised Alex that I wouldn't be another notch on his belt.

I won't be.

"I should go," I say, even though I really don't want to. The thought of heading home makes me nauseous. "You're probably never going to see me again, on account of the fact I'll be dead, so it was nice knowing you."

The corner of his mouth lifts. "Hey, I promise to come to your funeral."

"Yeah?" I contemplate this. "Would you speak?"

"Maybe."

"What would you say?"

His eyes gleam with mischief. "Here lies the girl who lied a lot." 

Despite the internal war in my chest, it's hard not to smile. With a playful shove of his arm, I resign myself to my miserable fate and drive home on my own bike, leaving the KTM at the track. It's not like I'm ever going to use it again anyway – not if my mother has anything to say about it.

My parents are waiting in the kitchen as soon as I walk in. Their expressions are flat, stony, and I know I'm about to be subjected to a night of interrogation. I take a seat at the table like I'm about to face a firing squad. Even Dad looks pissed, and he rarely gets angry unless it's serious.

"I trusted you," Mom begins. "I trusted you, and you lied to my face. How could you after everything your father has been through? Everything we've all been through?"

"I'm sorry," I say, and I mean it. As much as I love racing, I never intended to hurt them. It's just that lying, while wrong, seemed like the option less likely to at the time. "I just didn't want you to worry."

She shakes her head, her forehead crowded with worry lines. "Lying to your mother doesn't make her stop worrying. She never stops. The difference is that now I can't trust you."

It's the age-old speech of I'm not mad, just disappointed, and it's working. Knowing she's disappointed in me– that they both are – hurts like hell.