A tumble of little kids ran toward us laughing and shouting. They washed up like a wave of chattering pebbles, all pointing at the designs sketched on poster board behind Ryder.
“...or maybe we should back burner that idea until later,” he finished with a laugh.
“Later sounds good.”
Jean elbowed me and coughed, though it sounded like “dinner.”
I rolled my eyes. “Want to get dinner tonight?”
“Love to. Jump Off’s?”
“Seven?”
“Seven.”
That was all the time we had because the radio announcers and the crowd all went wild.
I glanced up at the screen.
The split screen was still split, one camera filming the back of a red and blue skater, one camera filming the front.
Myra and Rebecca.
The skaters were neck and neck, speeding down the middle of the highway, orange cones zooming past as they powered toward the bakery. Whoever made it to the bakery first, won.
Rebecca was lean and fast, her smooth strides eating up the distance.
Myra skated in a deeper crouch, arms pumping, legs digging into each stroke. If body language could make a sound, she’d be a snarl.
“Go, go, go,” Jean whispered.
I crossed my fingers, my heart pounding in beat to Jean’s chant.
Do this, I thought.Take that woman down a notch and show her what Reed blood is made of.
They were closing in fast, Myra catching up to Rebecca’s lead inch by inch. The rumble of motorcycle engines was almost drowned out by the cheering crowd.
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.
Myra pulled up beside Rebecca. For a moment that would have been captured in slow motion if this had been a movie instead of real life, they were in perfect rhythm, perfect stride, perfect unity.
They were on the last stretch.
This could be a tie.
Neck and neck. Step and step.
Then Myra winked at the camera.
Winked.
She dug in hard, put on a burst of speed, and left Rebecca in the dust.
If the crowd had been wild before, it went absolutely bonkers now.
Jean screamed, punched the air, and threw herself in my arms. I screamed, and patted Jean’s back. Holding her tight.
“Nothing we can’t do,” she said fiercely.
