Reid takes his big hands and firmly places them on either side of my head, forcing me to tilt my head up to meet his gaze.
“Adelaide, you are one of the best riders in your division. Everyone knows that except for you.”
I want to reply, but I don’t trust my voice right now. Instead, my eyes drift closed and I do my best to let Reid’s kind words sink into my skin, even if they’re lies. At least they’re sweet lies.
“I’ll see you first thing tomorrow, okay?”
His voice wavers a little, like he’s worried I won’t show up. Of course I’ll show up. There’s no other option. I said I was going to compete, so I’ll compete. The only way out of this is on a bike or in the back of an ambulance. I nod back, wishing I could find it within me to give him some kind words too.
My shoes melt into the hot concrete as I watch him walk back to the van. Riley is nowhere to be found. She must have gone to find solace in the air conditioned hotel lobby. At least I hope she stayed in the lobby, because I don’t have a key.
Part of me wishes Reid would had gotten a hotel room. Maybe I should text him and tell him to sleep in Willa, it’s going to be hot tonight. His van doesn’t have air conditioning or even adequate air flow, so it feels like the courteous thing to do since I won’t be sleeping there.
I’m not sure my daydreams can handle him sleeping in my sheets, even when I’m sleeping somewhere else.
Riley showers first since I know I’d end up using all of the hot water and don’t want to throw being inconsiderate on top of being anxious. I pace around, trying to let the view out of the window calm me down, but instead it does the opposite.
I can see the outlines of the trails all the way from here. The unobstructed view of the gondola would probably be a selling point for most hotel guests, but for me it’s an incessant reminder of what awaits me tomorrow.
Tomorrow’s event will take place at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort. In the winter, the lifts carry snowboarders and skiers, but in the summer they let bikers use the gondolas. Most ski resortsdo this now, and it’s wonderful. This way we can experience all of the downhill terrain without any of the uphill work.
I’ve ridden here before—once just for fun, and once for an exhibition ride—but never for an actual competition. It’s not a race per say, although speed is one factor that they judge you on. Each individual gets to ride the trail on their own, and riders are scored based on speed, technical skill, and style.
Technical skill is my strong suit. I’ve studied the trails and the features to the best of my abilities. If they would let me, I’d walk the trail for days before the competition just to plan out my every turn. They closed the bike park all week so that no rider had an advantage over another. The first time any of us will see the final trail and the conditions of the dirt will be the moment the announcers blow the first horn during the qualifier.
I’m going second, in the girls division that is. Typically, girls ride after the guys do—it’s unfair. I wish we could go first, that way there’s nothing to compare ourselves to.
The longer I have to fidget my feet in the dirt before riding, the worse I do.
Riley taps on my shoulder, breaking me from my stare-off with the bright red gondola in the distance. I let the water run until it resembles the depths of a volcano and let out a sigh of relief as the steam wafts off of my salty skin.
Finally, my lungs fill to capacity and my heartbeat slows down. I’m not sure when I discovered I needed water to stay grounded, but it’s all that works these days. I have a therapist—my anxiety levels aren’t normal and I know that—but I’m not sure it’s really helping. Every session, I log on and consult my notes app to see what issues were jotted down to discuss that day. I rattle them off to her and ask her what she thinks and she nods. Awkward silences settle between us as she makes intense eye contact with me. The way she purses her lips together pissesme off. I’m not sure if it’s some sort of exposure therapy or what, but it’s not helping.
Since starting therapy, I’m more in my head than ever. Self-awareness has never been my issue. If anything, awareness might be my issue.
The water starts to turn lukewarm, and I reluctantly step over the edge of the shower onto the cold tile. I have to come up with another coping strategy, because this is a luxury I won’t have for the rest of the season.
White cotton envelopes me as I pull on the hotel robe. My immediate thought is to consider how many people have worn this exact robe before me and how gross it is, but I shove the unhelpful idea away before it can take hold.
There’s a light pink blush across my cheeks and the bridge of my nose. My freckles look even more prominent against the inflamed skin. The wash cloth won’t make the specks of brown disappear, no matter how hard I scrub. My hand floats over the doorknob, but I’m scared to open the door and see what Riley wants us to do with the rest of today.
All I want to do is order food and curl up on the bed. Riley very rarely wants to lounge around. And if she does want to lounge, she wants to make us do a themed activity. Paint by numbers with wine—something like that. Usually, I love her for it. Her zest for life and the way she makes anything and everything into an event is something I envy, but the last thing I want is an event before the event. I’m maxed out.
An audible sigh escapes me when I finally open the door and see Riley sitting criss-cross on her bed, decked out in the same robe as me with a white towel on her head. There’s a tray of food in front of her and it doesn’t look healthy or farm fresh. It looks greasy, exactly what I need.
There’s a twin tray on my own bed, and I flop myself behindit without hesitation. The mozzarella stick crunches in my mouth and I hold back a moan. “Ugh, thank you, Ri.”
She smiles at me and holds one of her mozzarella sticks up in a cheers. “It’s your big day tomorrow.”
I finish chewing. “You don’t want to go out?”
Riley shrugs and I almost believe her, but I catch her glance at the door. She does want to go out, but she can tell I want to—no need to—stay in. It warms my heart that she finally notices my needs without me having to ask.
She’s not a bad friend—really, she’s not. It’s just that sometimes she moves too fast, and she forgets to look at what’s going on around her. Usually, I don’t mind. I don’t need anyone to look back and check that I’m okay. It’s nice to have someone notice sometimes, though.
We spend the afternoon eating and chatting. There’s some stupid reality TV show on in the background. Riley explains it to me, but I can’t find it in myself to care. I only want to lay here and be with my best friend without having to feign excitement or muster a smile.
The sun sets, and it’s golden beams make their way through the linen curtains. I roll myself off my queen bed and drag Riley off of hers. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk downtown.”
