Shifting Gears

11. Tea's the Season

"I don't think you should go."

I shot a look of surprise to my brother who had appeared in my doorway. It was approximately one hour before the Fourth of July party was going to begin at the track, and I had been sitting at the vanity in my room getting ready.

Clay was biting his lip nervously, his brown eyes hiding behind furrowed eyebrows.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice low.

"I don't think you should go tonight. To the party." The words rushed out of his mouth in one breath, like he had been building up courage to walk to my room and say them.

"Why not?" A strand of straight blond hair floated into my vision as I cocked my head. Most of it was pulled back into a tight high ponytail that fell down the length of my back. I had ripped jean shorts on, chunky black sandals, and a tight red tank top. I had even put some makeup on my face—some eyeshadow to cover the smears from the removal of my attempted eyeliner, and even some bronzer to glow against my cheekbones which were already nicely tanned from being out at the races so much this summer.

Suffice to say, I don't dress up much. Thus, I was not really in the mood to hear this from my brother.

He took another breath, his interlaced hands coming apart to fall to the side of his navy shorts. "I don't think you should go, because it gets a little...rowdy. And with the riders from Omayle there this year, I just think it'd be best if you stayed."

"Is this because of Greyson?" I raised and eyebrow at him.

"No," he lied.

"I can take care of myself, Clay, you know that. And Greyson says a lot of crap but I don't think he'd actually do anything."

"How can you say that?"

I shrugged, answering honestly, "I don't know, I just don't think he will. He's just doing it to rile you up." 

He sighed, scratching the side of his clean-shaven face. His blond hair, color identical to mine, fell into his eyes as he shook his head. "I just don't think you should go."

I rolled my eyes, annoyed with my brother, and turned back to look in the mirror. My rigid posture was enough to signal that I was done talking about this. He didn't leave for a moment, but soon I heard his footsteps retreating down the hall and going down the stairs.

After about ten minutes of switching my shoes twice and my shirt three times, I settled on what I originally put on and stood up, popping my lips from the lip gloss I had just applied. Then I froze as I heard a car turn on.

I ran out of my room, almost falling down the stairs as I rushed to the kitchen window.

You gotta be kidding me.

Clay's truck was kicking up dust in the dusky sunlight as he sped out of the driveway. My jaw dropped. I looked back to the detached garage, but I knew I'd find no vehicle. The car my mom and I shared was being used by her, and my dad's car was also in use—apparently they needed to take both cars to the same event they had tonight, I thought in annoyance.

So I was left car-less, ten miles away from the track where the party was held.

What a slimey move, brother. 

I pulled out my phone and called him, and heard ringing. And more ringing.

"You little piece—"

My muttering was cut off by Clay's voicemail.

After I was done mimicking his stupid voice, I ended the call and huffed. Fine.

I looked up another name in my phone and dialed, then hugged myself with my free arm as I listened to the ringing.