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I can enjoy quietly watching him.
The track opens, and the judges position us on the starting grid. There are several rows of nine racers, men and women, and for the moment, the first four from each row need to be ready to go.
From my position, I spot my little niece in the crowd, and I nod her way. She laughs and applauds. My Luz is so beautiful! But my eyes fly up to Eric once more.
He doesn’t move.
He barely breathes.
But there he is, willing to watch the race despite the anguish I know it’ll cause him.
Again, I try to focus. I have to be in the top four if I want to qualify for the next rounds. I clear my mind and gun the motor.
Hearing the roaring of the engines makes me shiver, and when the judge drops the flag, I hit the throttle with everything I’ve got. I’m in a good position from the beginning, and, remembering my father’s warning, I’m careful on the first turn, which is too bumpy. I skid, accelerate, jump, skid again, and after three laps, while others are dropping left and right, I come in among the first four and qualify for the next round.
When I come off the track, my father hugs me, happier than a pig in mud. Everyone congratulates me on my success while I take off my dirt-smeared goggles. My niece is excited and can’t seem to stop jumping up and down.
“Congratulations,” says Frida. “It was awesome, Judith!”
I smile and take a gulp of Coke. I look past Frida but don’t see Eric coming to hug me. I finally spot him several feet away, talking to Andrés, Glen in his arms.
“Are you really going to keep your distance like this?”
“Yes.”
“He’s made a great effort to come.”
“I know,” I reply, “but I didn’t ask him to.”
“C’mon, Judith ... ,” Frida insists.
We talk for a while, but I refuse to budge. I’m not going to talk to Eric. He doesn’t deserve it. He told me we were over, and I gave him back his ring. End of story.
The morning goes by, and I keep winning laps until I reach the finals. Eric’s still here. I see him talking with my father. Both are focused on the conversation; my father smiles and gives him a manly slap on the back. What are they talking about?
“You look like you could use a Coke.”
I turn to see David Guepardo offering me one.
I accept, and, while we wait to get our warning for the last race, we sit down to drink our sodas. Eric, not far from me, takes off his glasses. He seems to want me to know he’s watching me. To acknowledge his irritation. I turn my back on him, but I can still feel his eyes on me. This bothers me and excites me at the same time.
David and I talk for a long time while we watch the last qualifying run. My hair floats in the wind, and David grabs a lock and puts it behind my ear.
I bet that really throws Mr. Zimmerman for a loop!
I don’t want to look, but curiosity gets the better of me in the end, and I see his expression has gone from one of discomfort to total fury.
Of course!
There’s the five-minute warning for the last race before the final round. David and I get up, fist-bump, and head toward our motorcycles. My father hands me my helmet and goggles.
“Are you trying to make your boyfriend jealous by hanging out with David Guepardo?”
“Papá, I don’t have a boyfriend,” I say. He laughs, and before he says anything else, I add, “If you’re referring to who I think you’re referring to, I told you we’re finished.”
My good-natured father sighs.
“I don’t think Eric is thinking like you. I don’t think he thinks it’s over.”