Behind The Glasses

20:

It was ten to seven in the morning. I wore a white, floral print dress, handing out refreshments. My hands trembled, I spoke politely to those around me; I was absolutely terrified. 

Hunter had woken me up at five, he had wanted us both ready and dressed to impress for quater to six, when the boss would arrive at the house. We would then walk together, united, to the course, and open the gates. 

At half past six the boss had opened the gates, ever since there had been a steady influx of trucks and vans, each containing numerous bikes. It was a good turn out. The race wasn't until nine, which is why bikers and sponsers milled around in the floodlit yard, as the sun was not yet up; and which was why I was now serving refreshments. 

Hot drinks, cold drinks, food of all sorts. The boss was still up in his office, observing from a far. He had been dressed in an imaculately pressed suit, a sleepy eyed Evan, curled up in the corner of his office. "Excuse me, where are the toilets?" a biker asked, I put on a polite smile, masking my tiredness, before turning round. 

"Harper?" Adam cried, astonished. He was in full leathers, hugging him in all the right places; he was turning more than a few heads. "Hi Adam" I reply quietly, heat rising in my cheeks. 

"I though you said you knew nothing about bikes" he chuckled awkardly. Silence. "So does your dad own the business or something? I compliment the hospitality."

"My brother and I run the track actually" I mumble; despite the heat rising in my cheeks, I can only feel myself getting colder and colder. "Here have this" Adam quickly interjects, swinging his jacket off, and tucking the over sized jacket around me. "You look almost as good as I do" he teased. 

"I think I look better in full leathers" I smile, "I'm not really pulling off the dress and jacket look at the moment."

"You're racing here today?!"

"Of course, why wouldn't I be? We own the track."

Adam looks awkward, flushing slightly for a moment. "Can we speak in private?" - I nod in response, leading him into the main building, taking a left, then another; into a small room that had never really finished being built. Adam grimaced at the interior - the shell grey walls, ceiling floor; pain stains and brushes lay where someone had once attempted to paint a patch on one wall; but the tools lay discarded on the floor, covered in a thick layer of dust. We cover our mouths as we talk.

"You know... you know that, what were doing here... it isn't... well, it isn't exactly legal." Adam stutters, glancing around cautiously, as though by leaving his lips, he had made himself a condemned man in the eyes of the law.  

"Of course I know, I've been doing this for years" I smile. "It'll be fine; it always is. Now, go and get ready, I'll see you on the track."

*

I knew my gloves would stay firmly on my hands, but I was producing enough sweat for them to easily slide off; we hadn't even started yet. I had wiped my visor three times by now, but the screen was again condensed; I had never been this nervous in my life. 

I lean back on the bike, eyes flitting upward to the screen and rolling text above us. Each rider was registered with a number, and underneath lay the long list of sponsors and 'with special thanks too's. I look at the formation: Adam and Owen are three rows behind me. Like with te Grand Prix, all prestigious riders sit at the front. I am currently sitting in fifth, as curtousy for hosting; not because I was any good. 

That was what terrified me: how good everyone else was. I mean, I raced Olivia and her brother around the track all the time, I used to race Hunter too every now and again; but now, this was something entirely different; a whole new, proffessional, ball game. 

How had I not seen this coming? How had I not doubted myself until now? 

"And with special thanks to our hosts, Hunter and Harper; and their sponsors." 

My eyes flick up at the screen, which has now gone pitch black. I turn the keys in the ignition, feeling the bike jump into life underneath me. The rider to my right smiles as the bike lurches slightly, and I have to steady it with my feet. 

I wait for the engine to quieten to a hum before I dare to look back up at the screen. Sixty seconds. I wipe my visor, trying to calm my breathing; I hope the others don't notice I am trembling beneath my leathers. 

Thirty seconds, I let the engine rev a little; kicking myself off of the stand, feeling the pressing weight of the bike over my whole body. The screen above us flicks, the numbers counting down slowly from ten. 

Zero.