Page 34 of Take My Place

Romy holds out his hand, and I takes it. As he leads me over to his bike, I turn to Milly.

We’ll talk later,I mouth. Milly nods, eyes wide.

Just as Romy said, there are fewer competitors than there would be for a Bomber Derby, the entry fee presumably chasing away some of the poorer bikers. Of course, Archer and Declan are here, along with some of the more distant relatives of the Houses.

Races like these were an opportunity for the less powerful House members to climb the ranks and gain a little kudos. Although few of them stood a chance against Archer and Romy, a strong showing still made them look more important–and helped them make connections with the other Houses.

Interestingly, neither Archer nor Declan have someone riding pillion with them tonight.

Romy notices, too.“Looks like those guys are already embracing their loser status,” he laughs. “I guess no one wants to ride with them.”

“Or maybetheydidn’t want to ride with anyone?” I suggest lightly, hardly daring to believe that the reason why they were on their own might be because if they couldn’t have me on the back of their motorbikes, they didn’t want anyone else.

“I doubt it,” Romy scoffs. “But it’s going to make it all the sweeter when we pass the finish line first. I’ll have the girlandthe prize.”

He turns the key in the ignition and his bike comes to life. “Come on, Ivy. Let’s show them how it’s done.” He pats the space behind him and I climb up like the good little puppet I am pretending to be.

Matt speaks into a bullhorn as the competitors draw up to the starting line. “Are you all ready?”

Ten or so bikers rev their reply.

“Now, remember. Winner gets all the money and all the glory. So it’s time to see which one of you has got what it takes to finish first. Ready… set… go!”

I cling tightly to Romy, my arms wrapped around his waist and my knees gripping his thighs as his bike lurchs forward. This race is more straightforward than a typical Bomber Derby. All we need to do is circle the block a few times. The one to do it fastest won.

Romy takes an early lead, vying with Archer for first place.“Give it up, Archer!” Romy yells over to him. “You’re going to lose this race–just like you lost Ivy!”

I bristle at his words. I am not some trophy to gloat about. Sometimes Romy can be a real jerk.

Archer doesn’t bother to reply, letting his riding speak for him. He kicks things up a gear and his bike pulls ahead.

Romy doesn’t act phased, waiting for the first corner to undercut Archer and take the lead from him. We pass so close I could reach out and touch Archer. It isn’t unknown for pillion passengers to sabotage rival racers, but I’m not going to do anything so sly. If Romy can’t win the race on his own merit, he doesn’t deserve to win.

Archer and Romy are so caught up in their personal vendetta against each other, they aren’t paying any attention to the other riders. I can feel Romy start in surprise as the angry stranger who’d argued with Matt over the buy-in suddenly overtook all of us.

“What’s he doing?” Romy exclaims.

I’m just as surprised. I know how these people work. If the youth hasn’t paid his fee, it isn’t going to go well for him after the race.

Romy and Archer exchange a look, the pair of them nodding at each other. I hold on even tighter to Romy, knowing the pair of them are going to work together to defeat the mysterious upstart.

Romy and Archer push their bikes to their limits, coming up behind the man on either side. Suddenly, they move in unison, veering off to the right. Although neither of them touched the man’s bike, the unexpected move distracts him and he yanks the steering to the left to avoid an anticipated impact. He overcompensates, and his bike falls into a long slide, sending the man tumbling.

“Yes!”

Romy and Archer bring their bikes close enough to each other to high five. Then it is business as usual. With only a couple more turns left to the finish line, it is still anyone’s race, but I’d lost interest in which of the two is going to come first. Their behaviour sickens me. It revealed everything that is wrong with this place–you could be deadly rivals, but anyone else threatens your position and suddenly everyone is best buddies. What is wrong with simply doing your best and seeing how it panned out?

As we took the final corner, Romy and Archer were neck and neck.

“Don’t worry, Ivy!” Romy calls over his shoulder at me. “We’re going to win this one.”

Something comes over me, maybe it’s resentment that two of the richest people I’d ever known conspired to make sure someone who really needed the prize money wouldn’t get it. Whatever it is, a little mischievous imp takes over and I tap Romy on the shoulder.

“Over there!” I cry.

There is nothing to see, but the sudden distraction is enough to make Romy slow a little, giving Archer the advantage. He blasts his horn in victory as he crosses the finish line before us, the victor once more.

Romy screeches to a halt. Second place is not good enough. I get off the back and step away from him as he pulls off his helmet.

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