Read Motocross Me for Free Online

seems contradictory to have the words amateur and pro in the same title, but Molly explains it in layman’s terms for me. Real Pro motocrossers are like NFL players, and the Amateur Pros are like college football players. The Pro class is the only race that gives cash prizes for first through third place. Ryan’s appeal skyrockets because not only is he gorgeous, he signed up for the infamous Pro class.
    “Hello again,” Ash says, looking into his wallet. “250 Pro and 250 open, please. Ash Carter.” I scribble his name next to the two classes and take the cash he shoves under the cutout in the glass window. It’s odd that he’s still wearing normal clothes when the rest of the riders who signed up were already in their racing gear.
    I almost don’t believe the boy with dreads who hadn’t bothered practicing yesterday would be racing in the Pro class with Ryan. Maybe he’s one of the delusional guys who want to be faster than he is. He rubs his eyebrow and draws in a deep breath.
    “Hey, if you get disqualified and haven’t raced yet, can you get a refund?”
    “Um, I don’t know,” I say, wondering what someone could be disqualified for in motocross.
    “Can you ask Mr. Fish- eh…never mind.” He walks away as his voice trails off, but I think I catch an , I don’t care mumbled under his breath. That was weird, but so are dreadlocks, so I dismiss it and greet the next rider in line.
    After signups, there is a brief rider’s meeting, where my dad goes over the flag colors, (of which I already know, thanks to Molly) the rules of the race and other boring things that pertain to riders. Ryan listens to the meeting while standing with his friends, who are all muscular and sexy in some degree.
    Yeah, I can get used to this life. Also I owe Felicia an apology.
    I meander through the crowd and stop next to Ryan as casually as I can manage while pretending to check my phone for messages. He gives me a quick nod then returns his attention to my dad. Dad wraps up the meeting by urging everyone to enter the drawing to win a Mixon Motocross T-shirt during intermission.
    When Ryan walks away, I go in the same direction pretending to have something on my mind. “Hey Fisher,” he says, striding up next to me. “Where ya going?”
    “I’m supposed to be looking for, uh, this thing.” I point ahead to where I know his truck is parked, so we can walk together for a while.
    “Want to see my new bike?” he asks. Right, as if he had to ask.
    He shows me his two custom-modified racing dirt bikes. Not that I care what kind of motor it has or how many strokes it is, but I pretend to. I do a pretty good job of swooning over the custom graphics and aftermarket pipe, handlebars and suspension – whatever all of that means.
    I officially meet his dad, who lounges in their motorhome watching the morning news. He’s the first adult who hasn’t fawned over meeting Jim’s daughter. And although my greatest wish has been that everyone just leave me alone, it kind of hurts my feelings when he does just that.
    Ryan talks a lot about racing. He tells me how many sponsors he has, how many amateur championships he’s won, and generally everything great about himself. I manage to drink an entire Redbull between saying, “Oh really?” and “That’s cool.” It’s more boring than listening to Dad talk about motocross families and his feelings . Still, I refuse to believe that Ryan isn’t perfect in every way.
    I mean, maybe he’s not stuck on himself. Maybe he’s just nervous like I am and doesn’t know what else to say. When his soliloquy comes to an end, he hops up in the bed of his huge truck and sits on the tailgate. He offers his arm to me and helps me climb up beside him.
    “So you got a boyfriend?” He sounds as bored with the question as I am thrilled.
    “Nope.” I try to sound bored like him, but I know I’m not fooling anyone. “If I did, I don’t think he’d want me hanging out with you.”
    Ryan’s eyes