I get to the track early the next morning, finding it peaceful now there are no other riders around. Alex was right, the time before school is the perfect time to practice, and it means I have nothing to focus on but my bike and the open road.

Alex is already suited and booted by the time I make it, her helmet between her fingers as she waits for me at the start of the circuit. "We'll take the easy route," she says, using her finger to quickly outline the part of the track we'll be using.

I follow her movement, watching as her finger traces the same route I'd taken during my last race. I learn there are multiple paths on this one circuit that, if taken, make riding that much harder. Alex tells me the group races only ever take place on the easy route for safety reasons, and now that I know I've been riding an easier course, I'm itching to try something harder.

"You're not ready yet," Alex says when I ask. "You might be good at this route, if a little rusty, but those other routes are a world of difference. Give it a few weeks and we'll see."

I raise an eyebrow, knowing I can't spend weeks on an easy route if the tournament is only five months away. I need to spend these next few months nailing those harder routes if I want any chance at winning, but Alex is already grabbing her bike and slipping on her helmet, forcing me to do the same.

We ride around the track at a steady pace, with Alex riding slightly in front as I lazily take in the views. It's beautiful this time of morning, with the sun only just beginning to rise behind the mountains. It seems to turn everything a lovely shade of gold. 

After a while, we slow to a stop at the side of the track to watch the sun come up. "Are you going to enter the tournament?"

Alex unhooks her water bottle before taking a sip. "Nah," she says, wiping the lid before extending the bottle toward me. I take it and press it to my lips, taking a long, much-needed sip. "I ride because I enjoy it. Once you start competing, it feels like it takes all the fun out."

I hand her the bottle back, able to understand her viewpoint, though I don't feel the same. That feeling of overtaking someone, of completing a jump or a turn that nobody else on the circuit can do, is the most amazing feeling in the world. Riding makes me feel alive, but winning–being good at something–is what makes me happy.

"I think you have a real chance, you know," Alex says. She turns to face me, her brown eyes skimming my face in approval. "You just need to make sure you put in some serious training before the tournament."

I find myself beaming at Alex's appraisal, grateful to have made a friend. I'm struggling to get by at school, and I've failed to connect with anyone in my classes. I know it's partly my fault; I'm too unapproachable, too willing to blend into the background, and unless people make an effort to talk to me first, I often go completely unnoticed.

"Race you back to the start?" I ask.

Alex grins. "Fine." She climbs onto her bike, and I grin before doing the same.

On the count of three, we're speeding as fast as we can back to the start, swerving around sharp corners in a way that has my heart pumping at full speed. The only time I feel truly in control is when I am riding, and it's a feeling I could chase forever.

I wonder if this is why my father misses it so much. If it tears him apart to know he'll never feel the metal on his skin or the thrill of making a particularly high jump. After his accident, he'd stopped watching me ride, and I know it's because it's too hard for him to have to remember what he had. What he's lost.

I make it to the start of the circuit well before Alex, and I grin as she pulls up next to me, flicking up her goggles to reveal flushed cheeks. "You have an admirer," is the first thing she says, nodding to somewhere behind me, and confused, I turn around.

Perched on the balcony overlooking the track is Tyler. Nervous, I push my bike toward a bay and kick down the bike stand before making my way up the patio steps. He straightens up when he sees me, flashing me the kind of grin that makes me think he's up to something.

"I'm about to do a circuit," he says. His voice is low, deep, but husky and warm. "Wanna join me?"

I tilt my head, squinting at him in the glare of the sun. "So now you want to race me?"

He grins again. "It's not a race, sirenita. It's just a ride."

"What does sirenita mean?"

He raises an eyebrow and grabs his helmet, pulling it over his head. I'm about to relent when Alex walks over, looking somewhat annoyed.

"You ready for round two?" I ask.

Tyler looks at me through his goggles, then pins that hostile gaze on Alex. Alex stares back at him, the corners of her mouth tilted upward in a smirk.

I'd have to be blind or stupid–or possibly both–not to notice the animosity between them, and I can't help but wonder what the history is there, whether it's to do with the track or something else entirely–possibly exes. Either way, I just hope whatever is going on between them won't get in the way of my training with Alex.

"No, you two lovebirds hurry along," Alex says. She turns to me now and flashes a smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, Rox."

I nod and, after giving Tyler a suspicious look, head back downstairs before making my way toward the circuit.

A/N

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