Believe in Me (Jett #1) by Amy Sparling Page B

Keanna’s rejection that I hadn’t paid attention to where I was standing. And now I’m soaked.
    My teeth grit together and I stand up, using my shirt to dry off. That’s it. Keanna doesn’t want anything to do with me and I will no longer sit around here like a pansy with my head in the clouds. I won’t pine after some girl who hates me. I’ll throw myself back out there and get a firsthand reminder of why I don’t do relationships.
    I finish turning on the sprinklers, making sure I’m on the right side of the spray nozzles, and then set an alarm for an hour from now to remind me to turn them off.
    Once I’m back at the track, I flip open my contacts list and scroll. Although Emma would jump at the chance to come over, I’m kind of sick of her. After a few minutes of scrolling through girl’s names, I hit up Facebook instead. I type: Boreedddd.
    And then I shove my phone back in my pocket. With any luck, someone will invite me out to do something. So what if it’s a Thursday—it’s summertime.
     
    *
     
    After work, I head into the main office to get a snack out of the mini-fridge Mom keeps behind the front counter. All the riding lessons are done for the day so thankfully there’s no customers or kid’s parents loitering inside. Thursdays are usually early close days for us so I open a can of Sunkist and plop down on one of the barstools at the front counter. I worked my ass off today. I feel more exhausted than when I spend the whole day riding. Dirt bikes take a lot of endurance and strength, but it’s a kind of strength I know by heart. Pulling the throttle and kicking the bike into another gear comes naturally to me now. It’s all muscle memory and when I’m riding the bike around the track, it’s a full body workout that feels more like playing. I love every second of it. I do not love the manual labor I did today.
    Dad walks in talking on his phone. He hangs up a second later and then grins at me. “Ready for your first paycheck?” he says, handing me a folded piece of paper.
    “Not really,” I say in a joking tone as I open the paper. “Now you and Mom are gonna make me buy my own stuff.”
    Dad laughs. “Yep. That’s the beauty of making your kid get a job.”
    “Wow, two hundred bucks,” I say, ripping the check off at the perforated edges. “Not bad.”
    Before Dad can say anything, Mom calls his name from somewhere down the hall.
    “Shit, she sounds like there’s some drama going on,” Dad says, rolling his eyes before he walks away.
    I can hear Becca’s voice saying hi to Dad and suddenly whatever drama they’re discussing I want to be a part of. Carefully, I slide off the stool and walk down the hallway, making my shoes step as quietly as possible over the black and white checkerboard tiles.
    Becca, Mom, and Dad are talking in the kid’s playroom. It started out as a daycare when I was a little kid, but now it’s kind of a lounge area for kids, teens, and parents. There’s couches and TVs and stuff in there. I walk up to the doorway, pressing my back against the wall so I can eavesdrop.
    Becca’s talking. “It’s been a week now, and I just don’t know what to do.”
    “Her mom isn’t answering the phone at all?” Mom says.
    “Most the time it goes straight to voicemail but sometimes it’ll ring, so that must mean her phone is on, right?” Becca says.
    “So what are you gonna do?” Dad asks. “Call the cops?”
    “What!” Becca sounds offended. “Why would I do that? The girl isn’t a criminal, Jace.”
    “Yeah, but,” Dad says, slower now. He’s probably trying not to piss her off anymore. “Maybe you should report the lady as a missing person or something. Or turn the girl into child services since she’s a minor.”
    “No, I won’t kick her out,” Becca says. “I actually like having another girl around. Makes me think of the kid I never had. It’s fun having someone to hang out with and she’s a sweet kid, Jace. She really is.”
    “Oh we