“I’ll be fine,” I say, flashing my mom a confident smile.
Mom’s worried expression doesn’t go away, despite my best efforts to reassure her. “You drive safely. Keep an eye on the road. Dallas drivers are terrible,” she says with a grimace. “I hate driving to Dallas.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “I promise.”
She smiles and gives me a goodbye hug. Dad has never been much of a morning person, so he’s still asleep, but he’d given me the same “be safe” lecture last night.
It’s just an hour’s drive. It’s really not that big of a deal. I’m almost nineteen years old and I’ve been driving for almost four years now.
Once my mom finally lets me go, my nerves ramp up to crazy levels. I haven’t even driven out of town yet and I’m already so nervous I think I could puke.
I had one phone interview with a man named Marcus, and it went well enough that he’d invited me for the second, official interview. I have to remind myself about the great phone interview every time I start getting nervous. The first interview went well! This one will, too.
I’d felt stupid as I admitted that I didn’t know much about motocross when he asked. And I might have fudged my experience a little, by saying I “loved” watching the Dallas professional races. I didn’t tell him I’d only been to one race my whole life. But he hadn’t asked me much about the sport. Instead, he verified that I’m free to travel and that I can stay busy and work hard.
Check, and check. I am so ready to leave this town. I’m ready to get out and experience the world. Of all the internships I’ve applied for since summer, this is my first call back. I grip the steering wheel and take a deep breath. I can’t blow it.
In the two days since I got the call, I’ve been studying Team Loco and motocross online. I learned that there are regular dirt bike riders who ride just for fun at local tracks, just like how you’d play basketball for fun at a park. Those tracks have races, too, but they’re just a local thing. Then there are the big leagues. Like pro football, only with dirt bikes. That’s what Team Loco is—a professional motocross racing team.
They hire racers to represent their brand and race in the supercross and motocross seasons each year. From what I gathered online, supercross is what they call races that take place in a stadium, like what I saw with Mandy and her family. The supercross races travel from state to state and they build an entire dirt bike track on the floor of the stadium and then tear it down after the race so that the stadium goes back to normal for football games or concerts or whatever. I read that the stadium in Houston has a big storage facility where they keep all the dirt they use for the races, and it gets trucked in every year to build the track again. That’s so much work for just one day of racing.
Motocross is a little different. It’s the professional races that take place outside on real tracks that operate all year long. There are both motocross and supercross seasons each year, and people really seem to love it.
I was practically dancing up and down when I read the list of states that host professional races. California, Arizona, Colorado, Florida—just to name a few. If I get this job, I’ll get to travel all over the country and visit the biggest cities. I’ll finally get out of my small town and maybe I’ll discover what I want to do with my life. Maybe I can find myself. If not, at least I’ll have an adventure.
So much is riding on this internship and before I know it, the sun has risen over the horizon and I see the Welcome to Dallas street sign on Interstate 45.
I can’t believe the time has flown by so fast. As people start heading to work, the road fills up with cars, and I check the time on my phone, worried that I might be late. I’d left early enough to give myself half an hour before my interview, but by the time I pull up to the address Marcus gave me, there are only seven minutes to spare.
Crap.
The Hilton hotel has a separate business entrance off to the side, which is where Marcus told me to meet him in conference room 2.
I take one last look at myself in the rearview mirror of my car. There are only five minutes until my interview starts and my heart is pounding. But at least my makeup looks good.
I had my hair trimmed recently, so my light brown locks are neat and not one long tangled mess like they had been before school ended. My hair is smooth and silky thanks to a conditioning treatment I did last night, and my makeup is soft and professional. I have a nude lipstick and a soft smoky eye. It felt good putting on makeup and nice clothes after so many months of lounging around the house. I’m wearing a gray pencil skirt, black heels, and a deep purple blouse that makes my eyes pop. Mom said I look like a “young professional,” which I hope is a good thing.
I also hope I won’t have to wear this sort of outfit every day if I’m going to be traveling and doing work for a sports team. But first impressions matter.
I take a deep breath and leave the safety of my own car, walking quickly into the building. The conference rooms are easy to find, and soon I am standing just outside of conference room 2.
I keep my shoulders back and I try to look as confident as possible. The man sitting at the table smiles when he sees me, and he stands up and walks over to shake my hand.
“Good morning,” he says, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “I’m Marcus. You must be Ms. Dunn.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Have a seat,” Marcus says. He gestures to the table against the wall that’s set up with coffee, pastries, and a fruit tray. “Would you like something to eat?”
“No thank you,” I say, leaving off the fact that if I were to eat something right now I’d no doubt be puking it up a few seconds later. That’s how insanely nervous I am right now.
Marcus wears jeans and a black button-up long-sleeved shirt, and I feel overdressed. He’s in his forties, with dark hair that’s been highlighted and gelled at the tips. He’s very tan, and has a distinct pale tan line on his face from where he wears sunglasses.
Overall though, he seems like a nice guy. Hopefully he’ll also be great to work for.
Marcus takes a donut and refills his coffee and then sits across from me at the circular table. “I know I told you a lot on the phone, but I’ll try to elaborate more here,” he says, taking a bite of his donut.
I relax a little. Never in my life has an interviewer eaten a donut during the interview. Maybe I shouldn’t let myself get so nervous.
