Page 1 of Revved up & Ready

Chapter 1

Cam

Ten years ago, the Pacific Coast Highway Ventura, California

Nothingbeats the full-body rush of winning a motorcycle race. It’s like someone shook up a bottle of champagne and sprayed it straight into my soul. My mouth aches from smiling, every hair on my body stands on end, and my pulse is a drumbeat in my ears.

Although, the last two might be because I’m not wearing anything between my helmet and boots.

And, oh yeah,I’m currently running from the cops.

It’s been one hell of a night.

Sadie

Ten years ago, a dorm room– Corvallis, Oregon

“Study break,” I announce, plopping down onto Devon’s bed with my laptop.

My roommate glances at me from her desk. “Not ready for a break.”

“You said that two hours ago,” I whine, tapping my fingers next to her mouse. “Hurry up andgetready. I’mbored.”

She arches a brow but goes back to her project.I’ll have to be more persuasive.Grabbing my favorite little orange pipe, I pack a fresh bowl and offer her some greens. She eyes the brightly colored glass and checkered lighter in my hand, considering for a moment before closing her computer. “Fine,” she sighs—like getting high on a Friday night issuchan imposition.

After a little smoking and a lot of coughing, she joins me on the bed to watch the video queued up on my screen—Naked Guy Wins Street Race.

It starts like aFast & Furiousmovie—except with motorcycles, no budget, and garbage sound editing. The yellow hue of a streetlight casts over five people dressed head to toe in black, lined up next to their bikes. Small crowds gather on either side of the road, their voices blending into incoherent noise as they wait for the race to begin.

Devon tilts her head toward me. “Don’t you hate motorcycles?”

“Yes,definitely. But this is different. I saw it over someone’s shoulder in class this morning, so I already know what happens—no one crashes.”

On the screen, a siren blares in the distance, adding to the clamor of voices. “Oh shit! Cops!” someone yells across the crowd. Soon, a chorus of “Cops! Cops!” rings out as people scatter, only a handful staying put while racers hurriedly mount their bikes.

Devon interrupts the video again. “What exactly is supposed to be so great about this?”

I shush her, pointing to the screen. “Pay attention, or you’ll miss it.”

A guy wearing a beanie and thick-rimmed glasses steps into the shot, his eyes as bloodshot as mine probably are right now. I start giggling in anticipation as he looks into the camera and—completely out of place against the chaos and sirens around him—deadpans, “Not thefuzz.”

“Oh, my word.” Full-body laughter bubbles up in my chest. “Not thefuzz.”

Devon cracks a smile but fights her own laughter.

In the video, someone yells, “The flag. Theflag!”

The camera zooms in on a girl typing on her phone, chewing gum as aggressively as possible. She pulls a green bandana out of her back pocket without glancing up from her screen, reaching it high in the air. Motorcycle engines roar, momentarily drowning out the approaching sirens as the pack of racers takes off, disappearing from view. For the briefest moment, my stomach twists with anxiety that someone could crash, but it passes as soon as I remind myself I know how this ends.

I squeeze Devon’s arm. “Are you watching?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m watching.”

“This is where it gets good,” I say.

The dispersing spectators slow down, their exclamations rising from the crowd.

“Holy shit!”

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