Rev Girl (2 page)

‘Gotta fly, got a race to win!' Lasha said, raising a hand in a ‘royal' wave. ‘Save yourself the humiliation of another dud season next year, Kassedy. Seriously.' Lasha spun around, tipped over the lip of the hill and dashed off for the finish line.

Clover started to cry, and punched the seat of the bike. Her heart was bursting, from the frustration of an entire season spent fighting for every point she could get. She was showing promise, and had scored solid podium results in a string of events from Texas to Wyoming. She was in second place behind Lasha and close enough to win the championship. Close enough to prove to her father that she was ready to tackle the Pro Ladies Class, and finally have a shot at sponsorship and making racing her career. After all, she was no good at school. Racing was her only shot.

And I've blown it!

Sobs were shaking her so hard, she fell backwards, into the boulders. It was either that, or flipping with her bike back down the mountain.

She let the bike rest against her throbbing thighs. Heard the final revs of Lasha's engine, as she disappeared, to victory. Cold tears poured down her cheeks, the stain of disappointment on her skin, etched trails in the dirt.

The rest of her class rode by. A few girls called out, to make sure she was okay. She listened to the last bike, its sound disappearing into the fog and the forest.

It was over. And as if losing to Lasha wasn't bad enough, as if bombing in her final year of juniors wasn't enough humiliation, now she had the abuse at home, and at school, to look forward to. Her dad would roast her; he'd been into her all season about taking it seriously, riding smart, and how important it was to get sponsors to help pay and to win. Her mother would roll her eyes, and use this final failure as further evidence why, as she always said, ‘Clover can't focus on racing and school, she can't have both! She needs to grow up, get her marks up, and get a real job!'

Worst part was, this summer, she had been trying. She'd been racing, while all the other girls were hitting parties and meeting guys.

Now she had no chance of being accepted by the cool, older girls at school. Of the nastier ones easing up on her. At least if she was winning races, they would leave her alone. News always made its way back to Silvertown High, and if she was achieving, it was like she was a legitimate biker. Not some ‘try hard'. She imagined the crap she'd cop for losing their state title to Lasha. Not only was she the ‘Loser Canuck' she moved from Canada to Silvertown just before her freshman year in high school and Canuck was their term of endearment she was also the loser who hadn't been at ANY of the summer parties. The loser who didn't even podium in racing.

Now she was stranded, twenty kilometres from the pits and any another human beings. It was freezing and nearly night. She hated the dark, or more accurately, was irrationally afraid of the nameless things that lurked there, deep in the woods.

The sweep riders would arrive soon to tow her bike back to where her father would be waiting. Her heart sank.
I'm
such
a
loser
, Clover told herself with disgust.
And now, I'm gonna pay for it.

The race officials at the finish line were all wearing looks of pity, except for one Lasha's big-bellied father, who smiled at her smugly. But Clover hated pity more.

Another sweep rider fixed her broken chain, and brought back her bike. As soon as she'd seen the medics for her cuts and scrapes, Clover hid in the truck until her dad had loaded the bike up, and they were finally free to leave.

On the drive home the cuts in her legs burned under the bandages fitted by the ambulance crew, but nothing hurt more than her pride. After making sure she was okay, her dad Ernie hadn't said a word to her and she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye.

In that moment, as Clover stared out over the passing landscape, it was as if even the sun had given up on her. It was setting, flashing its final rays of brilliance in shades of bright yellow and red. None of its warmth found her face. Usually she found this drive back over the range, towards Silvertown, Idaho Springs and the city of Denver, beautiful, especially in autumn, or during deep winter's crystallised white. Tall mountain peaks and deep, snaking valleys. And at this time of year, the browning fields, the dandelions long since seeded and blown away by the chilling winds.

Tonight, however, her beloved mountains served only as a reminder of her crash. Her failure. She'd have to wait until next season to race Lasha again. And it would never be the same. Next year, they'd be seniors. Clover was nearly seventeen years old. And Lasha would move straight to the Pro Ladies division. What would Clover do?

It was a question Ernie was obviously itching to ask her, ‘You're really going to have to have a long think about what you can do in the off season to prove to your mother that you should be allowed to race next year,' Ernie said, without turning his eyes from the interstate lit up by their yellow headlights. ‘This was your last chance to get a title, so I could approach a sponsor to help out with the increased costs of going into the pro class, but, now . . .' He shut his mouth quickly, to avoid saying what he really felt. Clover bit her bottom lip. She kept her eyes on the sunset, now the deep red of blood.

‘Clover?' Ernie's voice was sharp. ‘Listening?'

How could I not?

‘Cut the attitude.' Ernie sighed and raised a hand from the wheel to rub at his crinkled, brown eyes. His moustache was looking especially grey.

He took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses with the front of his T-shirt. ‘Promise me you'll wash your bike when you get home from school tomorrow?' Both hands returned to the wheel, and his knuckles went white from the force of his grip. ‘You really need to start pitching in with the maintenance.'

‘Will do,' Clover lied. She didn't even want to look at the thing. She wanted her bike to be the furthest thing from her mind. To feel like a normal teenager. She was sick to death of being pushed into racing, and longed for the days when she enjoyed it. She did love to ride, didn't she?

‘It would be great if you cut the crap before we see your mother,' Ernie said. ‘It won't help. She's looking to spend a lot of money on a new horse for your sister, so I'm sure she's hoping you'll decide not to go senior and focus your efforts on school work not that we've spent even a fraction of what they do on bloody horses, but you know your mother.'

Clover tuned Ernie out. She turned her body fully towards her door and closed her eyes. To everything. She wanted to scream, ‘
I don't give a shit anymore!
' Enough trying to please her father. It didn't work anyway. She wanted to start living. To feel like the other girls must feel accepted and cool, for just being themselves for once in her life.

At that moment, Clover made a decision that made her smile, and she was instantly relieved, and excited.

Party time.

Clover parked her black Chevy pick-up truck in front of Sera's units, on the outskirts of Silvertown.

She killed the engine and hopped out, slamming the door behind her. Her truck was ‘ancient' according to some of the kids at school. It was rusting around the wheel wells and made a whining noise from under the front end, but she loved it all the same. Getting out on the open highway, cranking the radio. The same as being on a motorcycle you were free. Her truck was the best thing her dad had ever bought for her, aside from her dirt bike. Even if the truck was just supposed to get her to and from school, and to the local motocross track for practice.

Across the sidewalk, a chilly wind whipped at Clover's face. It made her think of her blotchy skin, void of any makeup. Of that pimple on her chin and purple shadows under her eyes. She shuddered, and whipped up the hood of her sweatshirt, pulling it close around her face.

She'd looked for some makeup before leaving home, but couldn't find the kit Sera had bought her for her sixteenth. Jasmine, her little sister, had probably hidden it somewhere. Clover had worn makeup a few times, before race season had started and her mind had become consumed with beating Lasha and shutting her dad up.
And how did that turn out for ya, genius?

Clover shook the thought from her mind, and decided to ask Sera to give her a makeup lesson. Clover probably never wore it because she looked like a clown when she put it on. Sera would take the piss out of her for asking, but she no longer cared. She needed help with her hair, too Sera always told her she needed to get it highlighted. It was long and flat and mousy brown. A ponytail was about all she could do. No way she could survive another day feeling so plain.

Sera's mother was a motel manager in a neighbouring town, and was never home.

‘What the hell, dude?' Sera said, as Clover pushed past into her tiny unit.

She plonked herself down on the lounge, resting her well-worn skate shoes on the coffee table.
It really smells like hospital in
here today.
She smiled at Sera who had posed by the front door, one hand on her hip. Trendy, dark denim jeans that looked looser than they'd once been. Sera's favourite T-shirt; black, with ‘Crazy Bitch' scrawled across the chest in bright red, looked just as tight as ever, though. She was wearing her boyfriend's football jacket open, to display her slogan.

‘You're even later than usual,' Sera said. ‘Is school optional today, Canuck?'

‘Sure is.'

Clover wanted to hide here forever, if she could manage it. Facing the girls at school could wait for another day.

Sera laughed in her easy, slightly evil way. ‘Don't think Ernie would approve of that!'

‘Don't give a shit what Ernie would approve of.' Clover spotted the liquor cabinet.

Sera tapped across the linoleum entryway in her stilettos that she sported in the heat of summer and the snow of winter and flopped down next to Clover, letting an arm fall around her shoulders. She checked her phone. ‘Seriously, Clove, I'm gonna be late to meet Chris.'

‘Screw school,' Clover said, her eyes still on the alcohol.
Vodka. Schnapps. Tequila …
‘I'm over it.'

‘You have my attention!' Sera said, slapping her on the back. ‘We've never actually skipped class before!'

‘Text Chris, okay? Tell him you'll see him after school.'

Sera started typing. ‘Shit haven't you got English today? Everyone says you can't skip English.'

‘Not till last period.'

‘So, we have all day then!'

‘Pick us out a movie, will ya, Ser?'

Sera kicked off her heels and grinned. ‘Don't know what's gotten in to you, but whatever it is I like it!'

Clover eased back into the lounge. She could breathe, finally, after holding her breath for so long. The voices of her parents were already fading into the background of her mind: ‘Do well at school, get serious, get the grades!' All summer it had been push, push, PUSH. ‘Make us proud, like your sister does! All you have to do is WIN.' She glanced across at Sera. ‘Any parties this weekend?'

Sera's perfectly shaped eyebrows arched, and she smiled. ‘Of course. Camp Shitty, Friday night. Don't tell me you want to come?'

Clover winked, and grinned.

‘Holy shit!' Sera yelped, jumping to her feet. She grabbed Clover by the hands and pulled her up. ‘Tell your dad you're sleeping here. Mom will cover for us if he calls. This is awesome!' Sera pulled Clover into a hug, and kissed her on the cheek. ‘What a special occasion this is. Skipping and planning your first ever partay. I'll make some popcorn and a few drinks.'

‘Yeah, all right.' Clover took a deep breath in, then let every bit of air expel from her chest. ‘Sounds perfect.' She'd had a few drinks before, when she'd slept over at Sera's and they'd stayed up late, watching TV and getting giggly. And once at one of her parents' New Year's Eve parties, they hadn't cared what she was up to. She remembered having fun. All the cool kids did it.

‘So, whatever happened on the weekend really pissed you off, huh?' Sera popped her head out from the pantry.

Clover nodded.

‘The race. Well, at least you won't have to worry about that for a while. We can finally hang!'

Clover watched Sera retrieve two tall glasses, and fill them with ice cubes from the freezer. ‘Hey, Ser?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Can I borrow some clothes?'

Sera spun to face her. ‘How long have I been dying to dress you?!'

‘No need to gloat.'