The Racer and the Rider

Chapter one- Billie

Checking the time on my phone screen, I jump out of bed. Fuck. There's only ten minutes until school starts. I reach under the bed for some discarded clothes. I feel around before gripping a handful of fabric.
Throwing on a pair of faded black jeans and a long sleeved grey top, I rush down the stairs.
My mother is sat at the kitchen table, platinum blonde curls tightly wind in a bun at the nape of her neck. She wears a tight blue suit with pointed heels and a headband to top it all off. Her lips are smeared with red and her eyebrows have been plucked into thin arrows.

My dad left years ago just after I was born, leaving my mum and I alone together. We've never been much of a family, very few home cooked meals, no family gatherings and special occasions are rarely celebrated. I'm okay with that if it means spending as little time with my overly critical mother.

It turns out my dad had fathered another child who was a few months older than me. When my mom found out -a year later- she kicked him out of the house. He lived with his new family and six years later had the twins. Now they are ten, we are 17 and the relationship between my parents hasn't improved at all.
But I still go and stay there from time to time. His wife, Carol, is really nice and makes everything feel homely and special. She is also the worlds best baker. Like ever. My mum isn't like that.

When she sees my outfit she purses her lips and looks me up and down.
"No boy is ever going to notice you if you dress like that, I mean you didn't even try to put any make up on,"
This is an argument we have on a daily basis.
I roll my eyes and grab a piece of bread, forcefully shoving it into the toaster.
"Well I don't need any boy to notice me, Mom,"
At this she scoffs, a habit that is used often in reply to anything I say.
"You think that now, but Maggie Walker's daughter was single until she was 26 and now she's a mother with no husband,"
Sometimes I have no idea what my own mother is trying to say.
"And what's wrong with that?"
The toaster pings and I grab my breakfast, ignoring the fact that the toast is burning hot.

"Well I'm going to school. Where education matters, not boyfriends,"
With that I turn and leave out the front door.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I left my jacket in my room. I can't go back in and continue discussing boys.

I jump onto my motorbike and kick into gear before speeding off, knowing my mother is watching me from our pristine kitchen. She has always hated my love for racing and that only fuelled my determination to become successful because of it.

I made my Betty out of scrap metal and discarded parts, having bought a broken and old model. I would spend every day, for hours after school fixing her up and searching for the right parts in the enormous scrap yard.
But it was all worth it when she was ready. She was good as new and looked more expensive than she was.

I pull up at my school parking lot and climb off.  A group of jocks are crowded together, shouting and jostling. That only means one thing. He steps out of his car and fist bumps his friends. His matte black Camaro has been the talk of the school for more than a year and I am sick of it. His thick blonde hair is styled to look effortlessly handsome, dishevelled slightly. Every girl in school has fallen for his piercing blue eyes. Everyone but me.

As he makes eye contact with me I show him my favourite finger and he scowls.
"Fuck you Anderson!" He shouts.
"You wish!" I balance my helmet on Betty's leather seat.
I walk towards him and crosses his arms. Damn I want to sucker punch that smug face of his right of his enormous head.
We're standing face to face now, me a head shorter than him but the glares I'm sending tell people I mean business.
We stand for about two minutes, never breaking eye contact, silently challenging one another.

Suddenly, someone stands between us. She has dyed red hair and big green eyes. A grey crop top reveals a flat stomach and skinny jeans that  were practically designed to showcase her curves.
"What's going on Sam?" Even her voice is fake. God I hate Veronica Darwin almost as much as I do him.
"Nothing, just little old Billie being a bitch," He spits, wrapping his arms around her.
"Come on babe, we need to go to the prom planning committee meeting," She pulls him away and he looks over his shoulder one more time.