Race day
dawned bright and cool. Perfect weather
for sliding a four-wheeler through tight turns and tripling jumps Mark thought
as he unloaded his quad from the trailer. When it was safely on the ground, he pulled on his racing gear and went to
register.
The official at the table handed him a
packet of papers. “Since you’re only
sixteen, a parent will have to sign, giving you permission to race,” she said.
Usually Mr. Dan came with him and acted as
his guardian, but today his dad had insisted on coming. Mark walked back over to the truck. When he opened the door he saw that the
floorboard was already littered with beer cans.
“Dad, you know you can get me disqualified
if they catch you drinking,” Mark said.
“Don’t worry son. No one will know. See, I brought a soda can, and I’m going to
empty my beer into that. Everyone will
think I’m drinking Pepsi.” He smiled
crookedly and said, “I came here to watch my son win, so go get ‘em.” Then he lifted the can to his mouth and
drained it. “Hey, pour me another beer
into this can. I guess I should have
brought my glasses. I keep missing the hole.”
“You keep missing because you’re too drunk
to see,” Mark mumbled, but he poured the beer for his dad and dropped the can
into the floorboard. “I’ll see you after
my race,” he said louder. “I parked you
here so you can see the track. You won’t
even have to get out.”
Mark walked over to the pit area and
pulled on his helmet and goggles. Then
he sat on his quad, waiting for his first race.
He turned when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
Derek was standing just behind him. “Hey, Drunk’s Son. Remember our bet. You win, you get the key back,” said
Derek. “You lose, you do whatever I
ask.”
Mark cringed at Derek’s nickname for him. His
last name was Anderson, but Derek had been calling him Drunk’s Son since the
day he lost his first motocross race to Mark in the seventh grade. The name
stung because of the truth behind it, but he had learned to ignore the taunts.
“I haven’t forgotten,” he said
tightly. “You’ll be handing me a key at
the end of this race.”
The announcer called for the riders to
move to the pre-staging area. Derek
walked over to his quad. “Prepare to
become my slave,” he called over to Mark, gunning his engine before he drove
over to his starting gate.
No comments:
Post a Comment