Status: Chapter 25 to come!

Reach for the Sky

Training.

The five of us piled into Travis’s big yellow truck and headed into town. Travis was a frightening driver even when trying to be tame (probably especially when trying to be tame), he practically slid around corners and into the parking lot at Cernic’s with his jacked-up truck, leaving Oakley with a moderate case of motion sickness as we walked into the motosports shop.

“Travis, Jolene and Co! And a dog! What do you guys need now?” I spared the strange-looking man behind the counter a grin, and placed my list on the table.

“Uh, I got a date over in Spain, and I have to be a dirt bike rider for them,” The guy looked at me funny, so I offered him a hand. “Scottie Finnegan, nice to meet you.”

“Oh, man, you’re the quad rider girl!” I nodded as the others busied themselves looking at things around the store. “What are you doing that requires a dirt bike?”

“X-Fighters!” From across the store, atop the biggest Kawasaki quad she could find, Jolene shouted. I sighed, as the guy went into a crazed tirade - and spared Jo a look of malice as Achilles butted his head into my hand.

“But do you think you can round up these things?” When the goofy clerk nodded, I thanked him and walked over to where Oakley and Travis were admiring some new model of some dirt bike with the big black dog in tow.

“Man, you can be such a bitch, Scottie,”

“Aw, shut up Oakley. You know how well I do with people.” I sighed, and sat down on the bike they were observing; vying for my attention, Achilles placed his front paws on the side of the bike and nearly tipped it over on me. “Ah, crap. Achi, down boy. Go lay down. Damn. I have to write a synopsis of my career for them to read at the event. Not enough hours in the day,”

“When we get back, you’re strapping on those knee pads and working in the foam pit with Special Gregg, right?” Travis asked, watching as the obsessive clerk brought a box of stuff out to the front desk, then disappeared.

“I’m going to test out the bike on the motocross track first, but yeah.” Oakley rolled his eyes at me. “Please Oakley. Just…” Frustrated, I got up and proceeded to the front desk to inspect the second box the kid brought out - this one had black body plastic stuffed into it.

“Oh man, this is great stuff. Thanks, kid. Which bike is mine?” I asked, looking at the bikes in the front of the store. The kid shook his head.

“We’re loading it into Travis’s truck. Right now.” I nodded, cut Cernic’s a check, and enlisted the guys to carry the boxes out.

“So tomorrow my number plates will be set? Thanks so much man. Come on Jo, Achilles, we’re burning daylight!”

I spent the rest of my day in the foam pit, and ended it laying on the couch, exhausted. The couch was where most of my days began and ended for the next few weeks, even Travis was amazed at how tenacious I was. I didn’t stop for lunch, and the only time I took off was in the morning to do my runs.

“Aren’t you done yet?” Oakley asked one day at lunch - while everyone took their break, I worked on a backflip Cordova, a trick I had seen in a videogame and had managed on a quad at one point.

“Come on Oaks, it’s like you don’t even know me any more.” I groaned as he pulled me up out of the pit with the tractor.

“Sometimes I wonder.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, as I pet the ever-faithful Achilles, who always awaited me every time I exited the foam pit.

“Honestly, Scottie, you definitely aren’t the same girl I brought up here in March.” I glared at him, kicked the bike into life, and rode away - still thinking about what he said as I flipped into the foam pit again. Oakley threw me the line, which I secured to the frame of the bike yet again - there was a spot where the black paint was worn off the frame from the cable.

“What makes you say that?” I had to shout to be heard over the sound of the tractor as Oakley pulled me out.

“The Scottie I dropped off knew well how long her body took to heal, would never ride a dirt bike in any sort of competition ever, and knew when to quit before she hurt herself. Pastrana’s whacked you out, Scottie.” Once again, I took off and threw a different trick into the pit.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” I called as I fought my way to the side of the pit for the cable - but Oakley was gone. “Shit.” Achilles panted happily in the driver’s seat of the otherwise empty Tractor, and followed me into the house as I limped my way inside, cursing my way through Travis’s house out to the back, where everyone was eating.

“So nobody in the pit until someone helps me get my bike out.” I didn’t even look at Oakley, who sat beside Jolene, eating a hot dog.

“You left her in there, dude?” Andy rounded on Oakley as he handed me a plate with a hamburger. I whipped off my helmet and plopped into a random chair as far away from my best friend as I could manage; but distance didn’t stop him from glaring at me.

“Achilles tried to work the tractor, but he lacks opposing thumbs,” I shared half of my hamburger with the dog as I wasn’t particularly hungry; I could feel both Travis and Oakley’s looks as I did so, they had both been worrying about how much I had been eating - or not eating. Oakley of all people should have known about my eating habits before a big event - the only person in the house that seemed to understand was Jolene, she agreed that nerves had a big part in practice as well as the actual event.

“Back to practice,” After we had all finished eating I stood, helmet in hand, and left in the direction of the pit. Before I knew it, Travis and Oakley had both caught up with me.

“Scottie, you really need to eat something.” Travis began, but I cut him off.

“I had a huge breakfast Travis, you made it for me remember?”

“And then you went for a ten mile run. Scottie, you should be ravenous by now; it’s like a hundred and forty degrees in the pit.” The pair had blocked my way out the front door, so I turned and made my way to the side door, laughing to myself as the boys and Achilles rushed to beat me to the other door.

“For real? I’m twenty years old, and you two are lecturing me on my eating habits?”

“No, I’m going to lecture you about how you’re not letting yourself heal, Scottie. How many jumps a day into that pit? How difficult is it for you to get in and out of there? How many wrecks on dirt have you had in the last week, is the pit even necessary any more?” Oakley grabbed the back of my ride jersey to keep me from walking back to the front door - I could walk around the house all day if they wanted to try and block the exits. Eventually I would get out.

“Oakley, when was the last time you rode a dirt bike in a competition like this? I know how hard I need to work to do this. Travis, why do you care how much I do or do not eat? I know how much I need to work off of.” I whipped around and smacked Oakley’s hand off my shirt.

“We’re just worried Sweet Cheeks, don’t fight with us.” Travis went to lay a hand on my injured shoulder, and I shied away from his touch knowing how much the pressure of his grasp would hurt. “Scottie? Really?” He looked hurt, and I turned away so I wouldn’t have to see the pain in his green eyes.

“Just let me train myself, guys.” I couldn’t have seen it coming as they both pinned me to the back of the couch, Travis grabbed my shoulders and Oakley my legs. “Ah, God, let go that hurts!”

“Scottie, we’re worried about you,”

“Travis, you’re going to break my shoulder.” God his grasp hurt. The unlikely duo set me down on the couch, and sat on either side of me in order to prevent escape. “I mean, what do you want me to say?” Oakley put his hand over my mouth.

“Just listen to us. We’re worried about you, and we want you to slow down.” I nodded, and crossed my arms in front of my chest.

“I want to see your shoulder.” I went to stand up, but Travis’s arm pinned me down again. “No, Scottie. Normally, you run around wearing next to nothing all the time, and now you’re always wearing a jersey day and night and refusing to take it off. Let me see it.”

Resistance was futile - one of the boys could easily pin me down, and their combined effort meant I had no hope. With a sigh, I pulled off my chest protector and then my ride jersey. Travis gasped at the bruised mess my shoulder had become since my last crash, Oakley bit his lip as he surveyed my back - the cuts the chest protector had caused weren’t healing as well as I would have hoped.

“Scottie,” Travis traced the outline of the metal plate in my collarbone through the black bruise it had caused, and gently placed a cold hand on the swelling on my shoulder.

“Oh God, they’re all bleeding,” Oakley jogged into the kitchen for a roll of paper towels. I took Achilles’ head in my hands as I sat back down on the couch, betting my dog and murmuring soothing things to him as if he were the one that needed it.

“I think you’re done for the day,” Travis said, as he and Oakley began to blot at the cuts on my back.

“Oh please Travis, I’ve seen you break your ankle and hit the jump seven times before you let the guys call an ambulance.” I protested, but had resigned myself to the imposed ban on riding. “Damn it.”