Girl on Track

29| Runnin' on empty

Even though it's childish of me, I spend the next morning ignoring Tyler. I can't bear to face him after what happened, so I don't reply to his message about training and instead head to the gym, where I take out my frustrations on the leg press machine.

It's easy, at first, to focus on the pain, but then the burn in my muscles starts to ease off, giving me time to think. Heat stirs inside me, little shockwaves that travel to the pit of my stomach, where they grow and multiply. I have never, in all my seventeen years on this planet, been hung up on a kiss. But god, was it a good one.

The workout helps to unknot my muscles, and it's not long before I start to feel sane again. I finish off on the treadmill before heading to the changing rooms to shower and slip on my bikini.

The moment I get to the steam room, all the tension leaves my body. Steam swirls around me, brushing my face and seeping into my pores, warming me like an embrace.

Eyes closed, I let my mind wander. As always, it goes to the tournament first, because that's what I'm scared of. As much as I love competing, there is always this voice in the back of my mind that tells me I'm making a mistake.

What if something happens? What if I get hurt? What if I end up like Dad? I'm certain if he'd known that the last time he rode would be the last time he rode, he wouldn't have competed that day. The thought is enough to make me want to cancel all my sessions, but despite the uncertainty, the risk, giving up is not an option: it never has been.

The door to the steam room creaks open. I freeze, certain Tyler's about to walk in, but as the steam clears a little and the figure sits opposite, I realize it's not Tyler, it's Alex.

"You're up early," she says.

"Figured I'd get a gym session in before my shift," I say, but my voice comes out stilted. All I can think about is how much she's going to hate me when she finds out what I've done.

"How's training going?" she asks. "Tyler being hard on you?"

I swallow. "It's fine, and sometimes, I guess. He's not the most patient trainer."

She laughs a little. "Yeah, he gets that from our dad. Teaching is not their forte." She opens her eyes now, tilting her head to watch me. "That's what I always wanted to be, you know."

"A teacher?"

She nods. "When I was little, I always dreamed of becoming a riding instructor. I used to hang around the track with a clipboard and write little notes about all of the riders and what they could improve. Most of them were teenagers and didn't take too kindly to being told what to do by an eight-year-old, but I loved it."

I smile and say, "Maybe that's your calling."

She shrugs. "I don't believe in callings."

I nod, but I don't think she's right. Sometimes there are things you have to do, even if they're dangerous. Even if they don't make sense. But you do them because something inside you compels you, like magnets being drawn to another. Maybe it's arrogant to think racing is my calling, but I can't imagine doing anything else.

We spend the next ten minutes soaking up the steam before getting ready for our shift. I don't particularly feel in the mood to serve tables, but it's nice being at the track. I can forget about what happened last night at the sleepover, can forget that I'm an awful friend to Alex, and I can focus on being productive.

***

When it starts to get late, Sam walks over and plonks himself on the table I'm cleaning. I don't notice at first, because I'm too busy scanning the balcony for Tyler, but then Sam clears his throat, forcing me to turn around.