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“Fine. Smash your head against the wall—see if I care.”
He takes off and leaves me, taken aback and with a sour taste in my mouth.
On the seventh day, my father reminds me about the motocross tournament we go to every year in Puerto Real, a nearby town. But this year, I’d prefer to enjoy Eric’s company. Still, when I see how enthusiastic my dad and his friends are about our going and my participating, I give in and talk Eric into going with us.
Eric isn’t so sure at first about where we’re going. He lets me know he doesn’t really like extreme sports. And then he sees my motorcycle in the trailer, and my father and his two soul mates, Lucena and Bicharrón. They’re talking about jumps, scrambles, and the rest, and then he understands exactly what I’m going to do. His expression lets me know he’s uncomfortable with all this.
“I don’t want you to do what they say you’re going to do,” he whispers. We’re standing just a few feet away from them.
“Listen, Eric, I’ve been doing motocross since I was six. And look, I’m twenty-five, and I’m still whole.”
But his face and mouth betray the tension he feels.
“I promise you’ll have a good time,” I insist. “Just come and you’ll see, all right?”
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” I hear behind me. “My beautiful Jerez racing girl.”
I turn around and see Fernando. My stomach tightens, but I try not to give myself away. Bicharrón looks at his son and then at Eric. I feel as if he’s as tense as I am, but I try my best and smile.
“Fernando, this is Eric. Eric, this is Fernando.”
They shake hands. I’m right between them, and I see how uncomfortable they both are. Luckily, my father claps and says we have to go. Fernando says he’ll join us, and Eric immediately lets me know he’ll follow on his motorcycle. I decide to go with him.
When my father, Lucena, Bicharrón, and Fernando get into the car and take off, Eric gives me a helmet.
“I don’t like that Fernando guy.”
“Jealous?”
“Should I be?”
“Not at all, love.”
When we get to where the race is going to take place, my father, his friends, and I greet everybody. At ten thirty, Cristina, the organizer of the women’s motocross, gives me my number—fifty-one—and tells me the first elimination round is at noon.
Eric doesn’t say a word. He just watches. With every passing second, I see the increasing worry in his eyes, and I try to help him relax. But when I put on my red leather coverall, my body armor, boots, gloves, and helmet, he blanches.
“Jude, I don’t want you to do this. This is too risky.”
“Come on ...! Don’t be silly.” I try not to let this get to me.
Fernando watches. He can hear us.
“Come on, beautiful ...,” he says, coming up to us and wearing a fake smile. “Just gun it and you’ll leave us all in the dust.”
“That’s what I’m going to do,” I respond.
Fernando is carrying two beers. “Want one?” he says to Eric. “This beer is for you. This other one is for me. I don’t like to share.”
What is he doing?
Eric doesn’t say anything, but I can sense his misery.
“Did you know ‘our girl’ is an expert on jumps and scrambles?” asks Fernando.
“No.”
“Well, get ready.”