Titans

  He utters something quietly. So quietly I can’t make out what he’s said.

  I press against him, lower my face to his. “What did you say?”

  “Smile for the cameras, sugarplum,” he says clearly. Then he kisses me hard on the mouth, wrapping his arm around my waist.

  Hart Riley tastes like grape juice. Grape juice and mud and aggravation.

  He falls back on the stretcher and grips my hand.

  He moans loudly.

  The cameramen capture every moment.

  The Wednesday after the River Runner race, Barney calls a team dinner at his house. He makes a roast in his Crock-Pot, the only piece of kitchen equipment the man knows how to use, according to Rags.

  We sit at a rustic wooden table and eat off blue plates and drink from mason jars. Lottie doesn’t correct our table manners, and even Rags wears an unshakable grin.

  “It’s a shame about that boy,” Barney says.

  Lottie shakes her head. “You don’t care about that kid and you know it.”

  Barney waggles his eyebrows and raises his wineglass. “Nope. I suppose I don’t.”

  “He broke his arm, you know.” I shove a bite of roast into my mouth and chase it with root beer. I leave the softened carrots and peas on my plate where they belong.

  “You going soft on me, kid?” Rags asks. “Living up to all those romantic rumors the Enquirer spreads?”

  “There’s only one person in this house involved in romantic scandals.” Magnolia grins at Rags and Lottie, who sit close to each other. “Or, make that two people.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rags barks. “Why are you even here?”

  Magnolia laughs, accustomed to Rags’s standby put-down for her. She’s right, though. Ever since the Circuit Gala, Rags and Lottie have done more gentle whispering than arguing. Even now, I notice Lottie’s hand sits remarkably close to Rags’s. Barney grins knowingly and reaches for more wine. His glassy eyes shine, and his cheeks are rosy. He looks like a man who won’t make it another hour before seeking his bed.

  “Whatever,” Magnolia continues. “We all know Astrid isn’t really involved with Hart.”

  “How can we be sure?” Lottie says, prodding me for a response.

  “She’s not,” Magnolia says. This time, we stop and stare at her. Her tone has given her away. Or maybe it’s the smile she’s fighting to hide. The one that says she has a secret she’s dying to reveal.

  I lean back in my chair. “Oh, gross, Magnolia. Tell me you’re not talking to him.”

  “He called my house. What should I have done? Hung up on him?”

  “Oh, man.” I groan like my life is ending. But my best friend just slides back and forth in her seat, working her shoulders in a funny dance.

  “Don’t be jelly,” she says. “You’ll find love in your own time.”

  “Don’t you dare use that word at my table,” Barney says, slurring. “Not you. Not with that boy.”

  Lottie throws a dinner roll at Barney, breaking every etiquette rule she’s ever taught us. “You know as well as I do that no boy would be good enough for your little Magnolia.”

  Barney grunts. “She gets tied up with some boy, who’s gonna make me pastries?”

  My trainer places his napkin in his lap and grows serious, even for Rags. “You’ve got one race left before the Titan Derby, Astrid. Think you’re ready?”

  My skin tingles. There are only seven Titans left going into the final circuit race—me being number seven—and only four will move on to the derby. Hart was disqualified for finishing in the bottom three, and though Rags didn’t say anything about it, I know he’s disappointed that I dismounted to help him. I was racing well before that happened, and he and I both wish we knew how I would have placed if I’d stayed in the saddle.

  I don’t regret the decision, though. I want to help my family, yes, but I won’t become less of a human to do it.

  “I’ll do my best,” I respond.

  After Magnolia and I help clean up, Lottie shuffles the two of us upstairs for our last lesson.

  “You’ve done well putting my teaching into action, Astrid,” Lottie begins. “In fact, both of you had impeccable manners at the Circuit Gala.”

  Magnolia beams.

  “And you’ve certainly learned grace. Don’t think I didn’t notice when that Penelope woman approached your table. I’ll admit I was waiting to break up a fight when I saw the smug look on her face. Whatever she had to say to the two of you wasn’t polite, and yet you responded with patience and kept your temper in check.”

  I notice when Lottie says the word temper, she looks only at me. If she knew my spitfire best friend better, she’d reserve one of those sharp, judgmental eyes for her.

  “Astrid, you also displayed wonderful grace during your interview, casting off your performance in the races as a product of good management, support from your friend, and the community inside Warren County. The people of Warren County have done little for you besides place an occasional bet on your horse, yet you credited them anyway because you knew they’d be reading your interview. That was graceful.”

  “It was also calculative,” Magnolia interrupts. “Cause my girl’s smart like whoa.”

  Lottie digs her hands into the pockets of her lilac-print dress. “Maybe a little. But it made Astrid come across as classy and humble.” Lottie points to the third word on the board. “Aspirations. Astrid, you told the interviewer that you might consider college after you finish high school. Is that the truth?”

  My face flushes, and I can’t look Lottie in the eye. No one in my family has ever attended college. But Lottie said we should set big goals. That to do so makes a person respected. So I thought about what I would like to do with my life, outside of marrying a factory worker and raising two-point-five kids in a home I’m terrified I’ll lose. I thought and I thought. And in the end, I decided I’m not sure what I want to do with my life yet. But I figure the answer might be found in classrooms much like the one Lottie made for Magnolia and me.

  “Yeah, I want to go to college,” I say to Lottie. “And I want Magnolia to come too.”

  Magnolia sits up straighter. “I would if I could afford it, but I don’t know that I need to go. I was born a stone-cold businesswoman. Once I finish high school and have more free time, I’m going to really ramp up my hair accessories line.”

  “College could teach you ways to do that well.” Lottie taps Magnolia’s makeshift desk. “They even have classes tailored to starting your own business in the fashion industry.”

  “Say it’s true,” Magnolia breathes.

  “It’s true.”

  Magnolia glances in my direction. “If you win this race and go to college, you could sneak me into these classes.”

  “I’ll do you one better,” Lottie says. “I’ll bring you information on how to apply for financial aid and scholarships. You do the research on what school you’d like to attend, and I’ll help you as best I can.”

  Magnolia gazes out the window and squints as if trying to spot something in the distance. But I know my friend, and what she’s really doing is hiding how much this means to her. I do my own version of this by staring at the ground.

  “I don’t think I need to reiterate the importance of loyalty again,” Lottie says softly. “You two have learned it through each other. Just remember what I said; there will always be opportunities to get ahead in life by stepping over someone who’s helped you. You may get ahead by leaving people you care about behind, but your heart will always be heavy. That’s no way to live. And there’s no faster way to lose respect than by being disloyal.

  “The last thing I’d like to touch on is strength.” Lottie returns to the board, taps her fingers on the word, smudging the letters. “I want the two of you to understand proper etiquette, and to behave gracefully in the presence of others. I want you to have aspirations you can be proud of, and be loyal to those who are loyal to you in return.” Lottie pauses, smiles slyly with
that wide mouth. “But I also want you to be strong.”

  Before now, Lottie has rarely touched on strength. It didn’t seem like a word that belonged with the others. It’s the outlier, and the one that captured my interest the most. I fold my hands on the desk and lean forward.

  Lottie walks over to my table, raps her knuckles against the surface, looks in my eyes with steel-gray irises. “Just because you are loyal to those who deserve it doesn’t mean you can’t put shameful people in their place. You can be a lady people admire, one with dreams worth having, and then slip on your silks, wear a warrior mask, and be ruthless in your pursuit of victory.”

  My blood catches fire, pours magma through my body.

  “Strength is forgetting everything I’ve taught you and becoming a machine. It’s reaching inside yourself and finding you are not someone to be toyed with. It’s taking every doubt you have and crushing it beneath your heel.

  “You, Astrid Sullivan, are an oleander—beautiful, graceful, intoxicating.

  “May God have mercy on the person who touches you, and brings their fingers to their lips.”

  The night before the final circuit race, I stand in Barney’s stable, running a brush through Padlock’s threaded mane. Every few minutes, he nips my back and I playfully push him.

  He doesn’t move an inch.

  If Padlock is afraid of the upcoming race, or even understands what’s coming, you can’t tell from his body language. He stomps the ground and nibbles my hair, then takes the brush between his teeth and tosses his head. The brush flies across the stable and hits the wall.

  I put my hands on my hips. “What am I going to do with such a poorly behaved horse?”

  Padlock neighs and sticks his head out the stable door, searching for his gray mare. When I put my own head out, my Titan takes a clump of my hair and begins chewing.

  “Dude, that’s disgusting.” I rip my hair out of his mouth, thankful it’s only a touch of oil that dampens my locks, and not real horse drool.

  Padlock’s eyes sparkle with amusement, and I spot the hint of crimson lying dormant behind his dark irises. Just twice. That’s how many times his eyes will glow inside Cyclone Track before he retires.

  My horse lowers his head so that his heavy muzzle lies on my shoulder. I close my eyes and run my fingers through his mane. The steady, false breaths leaving his nostrils warm my back, and the smell of diesel fuel touches my nose.

  Padlock is a happier horse when he’s allowed to stay on at all hours, and it was me who made that call. But I’m the one who’s benefited the most from our relationship. I reach up and run my fingers over his control panel, pretend I’m dusting it off when really I’m fingering a single button.

  Autopilot.

  Rags says we’d run better with the two of us performing at our full potential, but what does that mean? If I were to use this feature in the final two races, when would I do it?

  And what if it backfired?

  I have too much riding on this to gamble.

  “You ready to go, kid?”

  I startle at the sound of Rags’s voice. After giving Padlock one last hug, and purposely leaving his door open so he can visit his friend three stalls down, I trudge toward Rags’s truck. My trainer locks the barn doors and hops in the driver’s seat.

  “Why so serious?” Rags asks as we drive toward my house.

  I give him a look like, Is he really asking me that?

  Rags chuckles. “You’ll do fine. You just have to get out of your head and do what you’ve trained to do. You did well at the end of the River Runner race. After you got back in your saddle, that is.”

  He grimaces, and now I’m the one smiling.

  “You and Lottie seem to be getting along better,” I venture.

  Rags sighs. “Why do women always have to talk about relationships? Why can’t they just happen?”

  “So now you’re in a relationship?”

  Rags chuckles. He’s being coy about Lottie, but I didn’t miss the lift in his spirits, the way his eyes spark to life when she enters the room. It’s a far cry from the hurt-fueled remarks they once slung back and forth. I despise it when my own mom and dad argue, but when two people fight, it’s often because they still care. Because they’re fighting to find a path back to how things once were.

  I toy with my seat belt as Rags drives. “You never did tell me what happened between you two. You only said not to be angry with her.”

  I expect Rags to give me another half answer, or to ignore the question entirely. Instead, he does something out of character. He responds in full. “We dated for a couple of years. Too long, I suppose, at our age. I guess I took her for granted. Thought she’d always be there even if I never took the next step.” Rags rubs his balding head.

  I don’t look at Rags as he speaks. Instead, I watch the road fly beneath our wheels and stay quiet, encouraging him to continue.

  “She mentioned moving in, and I asked why women always had to mess up a perfectly good thing. It wasn’t a week later that she brought up parting ways. I guess I was supposed to get mad, or cave on living together, or fight to make her stay. Whatever it is women want men to do. But I didn’t. So she stopped coming around. Not two weeks later, I heard she started seeing Arvin Gambini, the same man who cost me my job. I was so mad at her for that. I couldn’t even stand the thought of her anymore,” Rags grumbles. “I may have called her up and said a few things one night when I wasn’t thinking clearly. After that, I knew we wouldn’t speak again.”

  My manager wipes his hand absently over the steering wheel. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want her to move in. I just didn’t want anything different than what I had. We were good together the way we were. Lottie was … she was perfect. I was a happy man when we were together, and I didn’t want that to change.”

  This time, I can’t stay quiet. “What would have changed?”

  Rags laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. “You kidding? Can you imagine living with someone like me?” He shakes his head. “She would have spent one month living in my house before realizing she could do better. It’s best we parted ways before that happened.”

  “Don’t say that,” I interject. “You’re a good man.”

  “I’m a grouchy SOB, and you know it.”

  “You’re eccentric.”

  “I’m a stubborn old bag.”

  “You’re a man who knows what he wants.”

  Rags pauses. “I wanted Lottie.”

  “You could fix things. It’s not too late. I see the way she looks at you.”

  Rags chances glancing at me. His tired eyes flicker with hope. “You think so?”

  I nod.

  He grins. “What do you know? You couldn’t race a Titan to save your life.”

  Our laughter fills the entirety of the cabin. Only after I’ve gotten myself under control does Rags stop grinning. He grips the steering wheel and coughs. “You’re a good kid, Astrid,” he says. “A better person than I’ll ever be. You deserve to win the Titan Derby. And you know what? I bet you will too.”

  My throat tightens. “I want to win for all of us.”

  “No, no.” He shakes his head. “You win for you. Forget about anyone else. You think about the future you could have with that money. You think about college and a big house and a boy that’ll realize what a nice young lady you are. You think about always making ends meet and sleeping soundly at night.” He scratches his white whiskers, grown during the week’s long practice sessions. “You could open a business or something with all that money. Be a real success story in Warren County. You think about that, kid.”

  I don’t tell him that my dreams aren’t quite that big, or what I’d really do with the money. I simply say okay, and we drive the rest of the way in silence.

  When we arrive at my house, my dad is sitting on the front porch. He has a drink in his hand, and he looks as if he’s been waiting on me to get home for a long time.

  Rags steps out of the truck, and my dad charges towar
d him.

  I’m out of the truck in a flash, attempting to cut my dad off before he reaches Rags. My father doesn’t drink often, and a nervous energy buzzes through me, anticipating what he might do.

  “You the guy putting my daughter on that horse?” Dad yells at Rags.

  Rags holds his hands up, trying to calm my father. Too late.

  Dad hits him with a closed fist.

  I yell for Dad to stop—say that it was my decision to race—but it’s no use. The two men wrestle in the grass, Dad trying to get in another lick, Rags trying to pin Dad’s arms behind his back. My father’s reaction time is slowed, so Rags is able to get the upper hand.

  “Stop trying to hit me!” Rags yells, pushing a knee into Dad’s chest. “You really want your daughter to see this? Let’s talk inside.” My manager grabs Dad by the shirt and hauls him to his feet. But as soon as Dad is upright, he shoves Rags.

  “You’re the worst kind of person, you know that?” Dad slurs. “Using my daughter because you’re too afraid to do the racing yourself. I know she got that blasted horse from you. I know you’ll keep all that money yourself even if she does win.”

  “Dad, that’s not—”

  Rags holds up his hand, shushing me. “You’re right,” he says to Dad. “I did give Astrid the Titan. And I am too afraid to race, because I’m an old man. So I found someone young and healthy to do it for me. But I won’t be keeping the money for myself. If she wins, a portion will go to her sponsor. The rest will go to Astrid. All the rest.”

  Dad rocks back on his feet. He opens and closes his mouth like he can’t make out what to fire back with. Eventually he decides on, “My daughter can’t win this thing and you know it. All she’s going to do is get herself hurt out there.” He shoves Rags again, and this time Rags stumbles. “I saw that boy fall. They took him away on a stretcher!”