A new story I'm trying, something I can go to when I lack inspiration, since I always seem to be thinking of this. If you don't know what snocross is, I suggest you look it up. It is amazing. My boyfriend races it, and it's, like, the coolest thing ever. (typical teenage girl voice) But seriously...go look up some ISOC races or X-Game races. I just can't get enough. If you don't understand the lingo, I can help you with that, too. Okay...so anyways...enjoy this first chapter! :)
The snowy air was filled with the sound of a thousand purring engines, creating an atmosphere that belong more to a cage full of feral lions than a winter wonderland. Above the roaring, words could be heard, shouts between riders and mechanics, cheers of delight and cries of horror, children giggling from their little 120 snowmobiles, their helmets making their heads look entirely too big for their little bodies, their tiny legs bent at strange angles to accommodate for the sled beneath them. Fathers chased after them, holding pieces of gear they've forgotten or screaming at them to slow down. Not that those sleds actually went quickly enough to hurt someone, but still.
The sun blazed down proudly from between several gray clouds in the December sky, not quite hot enough to melt the snowflakes as they drifted lazily to the ground, but still warm enough to drive out most of the chill. The fields stretched endlessly around the track, filled to the max with race trailers and RVs and cars. Several trees rose proudly from the ground, a strange sight among these flatlands. Their barren branches twisted toward the sky, knotting and entangling with each other, eagerly trying to reach the only heat source they'd find in the dead of winter as they desperately clung to the leafy thoughts of summer. The temperatures were zero degrees at most, the roads iced over, ponds thick enough to walk on. Winter had sunken its claws into Wisconsin and was not planning on releasing its hold until late April.
Jace laughed as a small racer stumbled by, bundled up in way too much orange to even walk a straight line as his desperate mother chased him with a scarf, muttering something about frostbite that was lost in the noise of the machines. MILF, he mouthed at Alec who shook his head, somehow telling Jace that he was an idiot with motion. Jace's laugh was breathy, the white smoke of his breath curled into the air, rising higher and higher until dispersing into oblivion, becoming another part of the watery blue sky. He flexed his fingers as he shoved them into his gloves, wearing nothing but his black Under Armour at the moment. He waggled golden his eyebrows at a couple of girls that walked by, who immediately giggled and buried their faces in humiliation. Jace turned his back to them and shook his hips a bit as he strapped into his TekVest, earning another round of appreciative giggles. He smirked. God, he loved this.
He loved winter. Everything about it was absolutely amazing. The freedom from the hayfields, the ease of drifting his prized white Duramax on snowy corners, the way undressing the layers of a girl felt like unwrapping a present—it all added up to nothing less than the best time of the year. Jace couldn't lie though, even if he drove a Buick beater and girls became extinct, he would still be completely enthralled with these snow-covered fields and the biting wind. It only takes one word to make him completely fall in love, one word to drive him entirely insane—snocross. Snocross was the exact reason he was able to stand the heatless days, the windburn on his cheeks, and the numbness of his toes. It was the answer to everything. You're angry? Race snocross. You're forever alone? Chicks dig snocross. You're crying because someone called you a pansy? Pick your bitch ass up and race snocross. Snocross was the perfect mixture of clunky machinery and grace, the harmonic motion of skis traveling nearly untraceably across the snow, the ideal blend of danger and excitement. He would put up with frostbite for that reason alone.
And being there now, right in the moment of preparing for a race, was the ultimately the best feeling ever. The thoughts of the screams of thousands of cheering fans standing to watch, hoping that everyone was safe but secretly wishing to feel the thrill of a hard crash overtook his brain, morphing until they were screaming for him as his sled glided elegantly across the built up mounds of snow, soaring over the tabletop for the win. He couldn't help the smirked that appeared on his lips as he thought of his beloved Polaris, the machine he'd spent so many grueling hours perfecting, enhancing, molding it to be his perfect match, more like an extension of himself rather than an object he'd hopped onto.
He inhaled heavily, pressing his earphones tightly into his ears, nodding his head to the heavy rhythms of Godsmack, the adrenalin already beginning to pump through his veins. The sweet scent of race fuel was overwhelming, but amazing. It was comforting, intoxicating, making his stomach jump in anticipation. He lived for this. The risk, the exhilaration, the glory—he loved every part of it.
His golden gaze scanned the expanse once more, the rows of trailers, doors dropped as people unloaded a slew of green Arctic Cats, tons of Polarises, and only a few Skidoos, a small child with a Mohawk on his helmet bobbled up to him, extending his hand for a high five which he gladly gave. "Momma! Jace Herondale gave me a high five!" he squealed as if Jace was the biggest celebrity in the world. Well, in means of Sno-X, he probably was. His eyes trailed the snow bunnies as they sashayed from one man to another, wearing too few of clothes for how cold it was. He might have to sink his teeth into one now, so he could get a victory lap dance later. He saw racers brushing snow off their foot holds while others guided their sleds onto the track for a practice run, curses ringing out when something went wrong. Jace chuckled as an IQ tumbled off the side of the whoops, the kid, probably only twelve or thirteen banged his fist against the powdery snow as his father all but dragged him back onto the seat.
Jace's eyes finally landed on his brother, who jumped up and down on Jace's sled to check the shocks. When Alec caught his gaze, Jace jerked his chin. I'm ready, it said. And he was. After yanking on a pair of snow pants, he slid his arms into the sleeves of his race coat, an orange FXR number with his last name stitched across the shoulders, his race number written proudly beneath it in a bold black font. Maybe it was a shame that he wore his race number more proudly than his last name, but to him, it would never be the other way around. Herondale wasn't exactly a name to be proud of. 464, now that was something he'd earned, popularized and glorified through broken bones and close victories. That was something that was entirely his and couldn't be ruined by someone like his father. He pulled the zipper up to his neck brace and rolled his shoulders, popping his joints into place.
Snow crunched beneath his feet as he moved toward Alec, his gaze tracing the track, memorizing the whoops and turns, mentally calculating the speed he'd need to go to clear the tabletop. He licked his wind-chapped lips. This was going to be a piece of cake. A punch of the throttle here, a yank of the handlebars there, and he'd be soaring through the finish, no one in his wake. Alec pressed an orange helmet into Jace's hands, a solemn look on his face. "Sebastian showed up today," he stated simply, though Jace could hear the strain in his voice. Verlac, Jace should have known he couldn't race some of this small town shit without that bucktoothed bastard trying to connive his way into the spotlight. "He might try to pull some cheap shots." Alec worried about Jace, maybe too much, and Jace couldn't understand why. Jace wasn't concerned about anything. It would just be a couple broken bones, maybe a severed finger or two, but for that moment of fame when he crossed the finish line before anyone else, it was worth it. They could always reset his bones and stitch the finger back into place. It's not like there was a shortage of ice to put it on.
Jace clapped his brother on his shoulder as if to comfort him, to tell him that even if he was run over by the spiked track of his mortal enemy's sled it would all be okay. He slid into his helmet, his gloved hands fumbling with the strap for a moment before finally getting it hooked. Jace slipped his goggles into place, the blinding snow finally at a tolerable brightness. He threw one leg over his machine and started it up, smirking at the way it purred beneath him, the smooth way it accelerated with the slightest pressure of his thumb, his handiwork finally paying off. Alec tapped him on the helmet and pointed him into the direction of the pits, not that Jace needed that. He could follow Sebastian's hideously green Arctic Cat all the way there. No, Jace did not thing Arctic Cats were hideous, he actually really liked the green color they came in. But that wrap that Sebastian had damned his sled with…it was something else entirely. The puke green color with his meager amount of sponsors barely covering half of it made Jace want to vomit simply to make it a better hue. He pulled his sled to a stop in the pits next to Sebastian, waiting for the ill-prepared insults to start flying.
"Hey, Herondamsel." And there it was, the first cannonball. Good thing it was a dud. Jace didn't even think that comment deserved a response, so instead, he revved his sled, as he pulled forward a bit, nearly coming undone at the sexy purring noises it made. He fucking loved his sled. He would make love to his sled if he could. But that might damage some parts of him that he's become rather fond of, so he would just settle for fucking someone on his sled. He felt Sebastian's presence return to his side before the damn kid even spoke. "Still racing that old Polaris, eh? Daddy's dirty money can't buy you better?" Jace's fists clenched and unclenched around his grips, the motion only slightly restrained by the gloves he was wearing. His father's occupation was well known among the racing community, but Jace had scared most of them out of bringing it up. His father's choices didn't define him, and he wasn't going to let Sebastian think so.
"Guess I'm not daddy's little princess the way you are," he retorted, his words muffled a little by his helmet. His eyes were slits behind his goggles, but Sebastian was lucky that they were tinted, and Jace's harsh stare had no effect on the boy.
"Maybe you're just jealous that my dad buys me nice things and doesn't kick me out into the street." Jace let that one roll right off him. Yeah, that was also a known fact. He'd been an orphan at the age of ten, kicked out by his own father reasons that no one would ever know. Those kind of insults didn't get to him. Because of that, he'd ended up with the Lightwoods, who provided him with more than his asshole father ever had.
"The only thing worse than these insults is your race game." Jace chuckled deeply at the way Sebastian's body tensed, every muscle looking as if he were about to spring at Jace, to try to knock him off his sled and pummel him. Verlac had tried that several times before, only succeeding in broken bones of his own.
"Why don't you just sit your pretty ass on that seat, Rapunzel, and let the finish line do the talking."
Jace's smirk was hidden behind his helmet as he brought his hand to his chest, pretending to be flattered. "Why, Sebastian, did you just call me pretty?" His prize was a grunt of frustration as they were waved to line up at the start line. Jace's finger hovered over the throttle, his thumb itching to press down and give it hell, but he had to wait. The worker adjusted a few of the sleds that had slid up too far, and Jace looked out into the crowd. The small stands were packed, as was the area surrounding it. Standing room only. He wouldn't expect anything less. They were the pros after all. And not often did enough of them show up at a small gig to race.
Jace's eyes became trained on the light as the worker ran off to the side, collecting his flags.
The red light illuminated on the top. Jace's breathing sped up, his heart began to race. God, if he could find a girl to do things to him the way Sno-X did, he'd be a goner.
The yellow ticked on. Jace's finger ghosted over his throttle, ready to pounce as soon as the light turned—
Green. There was a deafening amount of sound as Jace's sled lurched forward, barely even touching the snow as he successfully obtained the holeshot. It was smooth sailing from here. He maneuvered his sled expertly around an s-corner, made slightly treacherous by the races before. There was a roar from the crowd as he expertly tripled the whoops. Yanking his sled to the side in a whip earned him another cheer. The turn was executed perfectly, leaving him with a big enough lead that he didn't even have to jump the tabletop. But he did. And, boy, were the cheers like music to his ears. "Jace, Jace, Jace!" they chanted as he finished the rest of his laps. A few other cheers were shouted, along with screams and claps, before banding together once more. "Flip, flip, flip!" The screamed, and Jace, ever the crowd pleaser, felt his skis become airborne as he pulled his sled into a back flip, landing on the other side of the finish line. He stood up as he steered to get his trophy, lifting it triumphantly into the air without a nary look at Sebastian kicking his shiny new Arctic Cat. His rivalry didn't matter. His father situation didn't matter. All that didn't matter because right now, he was so much more. He stood up on his seat and thrust his fist into the air, his punch met with a thousand cheers. Right now, he was a god.
"I'm just saying, you guys, that we get too much instant gratification these days. We don't have to work for anything so we never feel accomplished. Like, when we microwave frozen dinners, we didn't have to prepare that meal, or when we make a sandwich, we didn't bake the bread or even slice it, or when—"
"For God's sake, Simon, next you're going to say we shouldn't drink milk because we didn't birth the damn cow," Isabelle cut him off as she brushed her hair out for the tenth time. She'd been doing this all morning. Brush hair, put on hat, frown at reflection, throw hat across room, repeat. Simon dropped his shoulders, looking to Clary for back up.
Clary shrugged. "I'd have to agree, Si."
He opened his mouth, looking offended, but Isabelle wouldn't let him get a word in. "Yeah, ever since you failed your philosophy exam, you've been spouting this stuff like some damn philosophical fountain." Clary nodded, returning to the magazine Isabelle had given her to read, well, not so much read as appreciate the artistic symmetry most models seemed to possess. "Does this hat make my head look fat?" Isabelle's face turned toward Clary with a pout.
Simon scrubbed his hands down his face, leaning back on Izzy's bed in the girls' apartment. "I need more guy friends." This earned a laugh from the girls as Clary said that no, the hat did not, in fact, make Isabelle's head look fat. Nothing could make that girl look fat. She was long and lean, perfectly proportioned, like one of these models in this magazine.
"Oh, Simon," Isabelle was saying as she patted the knitted cap on her head, "there will be plenty of dudes around today." She looked to Clary for confirmation.
"Of course, Simon. They'll all be eagerly awaiting to spark a friendship with you. With all that friendly energy that just seems to radiates off you," she added at his scowl. Goodness, if he hadn't been her best friend since grade school, she'd probably have never even talked to him. He just looked so…so…bitter.
Simon exasperatedly pushed his glasses back up as they slipped down his nose for the third time since this conversation started. "Can't I just stay here and play World of Warcraft?" he whined, his chocolate brown eyes pleaded from behind his magnifying lenses, making his eyes seem bigger that they were. His brown hair fell onto his forehead, unkempt and messy. His t-shirt was too big for his scrawny frame and read I found Jesus. He was behind the couch. Which was funnier to Clary because Simon was Jewish. He continued to look at Clary, his lower lip puckering out a bit. He looked like a lost puppy—
"No," Isabelle barked, threading the long black tendrils she called hair into a messy side braid. "Clary asked us to come with her." She looked to Clary and nodded, letting the rope of hair land with a thunk against her shoulder as she began to smudge some eyeliner. Goodness, this girl would stop to fix her appearance if the boat she was on was sinking. Granted, she would probably be on a private yacht, and hundreds of people would be vying to help her.
Simon crossed his arms in frustration, his nose wrinkling in defeat as he leaned back against the blue walls. Isabelle's room reminded Clary of an ocean, adorned with jars of sand and scented candles and hundreds of seashells. Except Clary seriously hoped that beaches didn't have half of Isabelle's wardrobe scattered across the floor, hanging on the backs of chairs, balled up on the bed—
"Let's go!" Isabelle chirped, pulling Clary from her examination of Isabelle's messy room. She was sliding her long arms into a black parka and wrapping a colorful scarf around her neck. She looked like she was going to a magazine shoot for winter fashion. She reached beneath Clary's chair to grab her furry boots and shoved her dark skinnies into them. "Are you even ready?" she accused, as Clary pulled on a hoodie and stuck her arms through her beat-up Carhart.
"Yeah, we were ready eight years ago," Simon grumbled, pulling on his own jacket and bomber cap. Clary laughed lightly as she smoothed her wild curls and yanked her flower hat over them. It was green, like her eyes, knitted with love by her mother. She smiled lightly at the thought of her mother, wondering if she was going to be there today with Jonathon.
"Come on, Pippi," Isabelle chided as Clary stuffed her phone and keys into her pockets. "We are going to be late."
They piled into Isabelle's Tahoe, which Simon had so endearingly named "Death Trap." Don't take too much offense," he'd said as he patted the car's dashboard adoringly. It's only because your owner is a scary driver. Isabelle had nearly thrown them into the ditch when she'd reached over to punch Simon.
Clary rested her head against the window as Simon thumbed through his phone, looking for the right kind of music to play. "You better not be playing The Lord of the Rings soundtrack again," Isabelle grumbled as the car lurched forward, merging jerkily onto the highway. Isabelle was the kind of driver that could be heard about on the news, driving the wrong way on the Interstate, causing pile-ups in perfect driving conditions, rear-ending semis. Thankfully, they lived in a small area which posed fewer threats to their lives when Izzy decided she would drive.
"Fuck you, Bambi!" she was currently shouting as the slammed on the brakes. Clary's body was thrown forward, caught by the locks of the seatbelt as the deer's life was narrowly spared. "I should run you over just because you were an idiot," she yelled out her opened window as the deer darted between the trees. A few afternoon walkers, bundled up in hats and parkas, stared at Isabelle with frightful and wary expressions. Simon reached over and rolled up Isabelle's window, looking at the pedestrians with a small smile and a wave before glowering at Izzy.
"I'm beginning to think that you're the reason I have no friends." Isabelle rolled her eyes.
"Simon, I'm the reason you have a social life at all." Simon slouched back in his seat, resuming his previous occupation of DJ-ing the Death Trap. Isabelle's phone dinged, and Simon lunged for it before Isabelle could even lift a finger. Isabelle could barely drive with hands a ten and two and both eyes on the road. There was no way she could do it with a cell phone in her hand.
"Max wants to come," Simon said as he began to type a response, his thumbs moving with the quick grace only gamers must possess.
"Tell him to wait at the end of the driveway, and we'll pick him up." Clary groaned inwardly. Max was Isabelle's younger brother. I'm not young, she could almost hear his voice complaining in her head. I'm old enough to treat you right. She imagined his dark eye dropping in a wink. He had the biggest crush on her, and sometimes, things turned creepy. She zipped her coat up a little higher and tugged at her jeans to make them looser around her thighs. "Oh my gosh, Clary, calm down. It's not like he's going to rape you in the backseat or something," Isabelle laughed, knowing Clary's exact thoughts.
"No, but he might try." Isabelle and Simon laughed as Clary continued to futz with her appearance, hoping to look as terrible as possible. Isabelle flicked her blinker on to park on the side of the road by her driveway.
"Drive, bitch," Max cried as he hopped into the backseat. He winked at Clary as he clicked on his seatbelt.
"That is no way to talk to your sister," Isabelle reprimanded, earning a signature Lightwood eye roll in response. "Max!" Isabelle cried, her eyes watching her brother's hands in the rearview mirror as they reached for Clary's leg. Clary looked at him harshly as he retracted his hand, only an impish smirk on his face. That kid…
Clary returned to looking out the window as Simon read monotonously read directions to Izzy. "Clary, you're looking fiiiiine," she heard Max whisper only loud enough for them to hear. It was followed by a low whistle, the sound sending chills up her spine.
"I'm a little old for you," she replied without looking at him. He used to be so cute. Back when his dark eyes had glasses in front of them and his hair fell in front of them and his nose was buried in a book. Back when he seemed to be a little Simon. Clary had only known Isabelle after both of them had graduated from high school. They'd roomed together all through college, and now, recently graduated, they shared a small apartment downtown. Apparently, Isabelle had three brothers, but Clary had only ever met Max. Clary had been to the Lightwood house plenty of times, but never had she met this illusive Alec, who apparently was three years older than them and barely ever came home because he was too busy babysitting Isabelle's other brother. What was his name? Jack? Jason? She couldn't even remember.
Clary didn't even feel the car transition into park until Max's door slammed, and he ran off into the distance. Clary unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out, surprised by the masses of people that had left their cozy homes on this chilly winter day to watch a couple of egotistical professionals race their extremely expensive snowmobiles across a bunch of snow that was hauled in by dump trucks specifically for that reason. Clary handed some money to the ticket booth and stuck her ticket onto the special hook they gave her for her zipper. Yep, she knew the drill. Isabelle and Simon had stopped to chat with some people she'd never met, so she just decided to continue on. They'd know where to find her anyway.
Finding Sebastian's trailer wasn't hard at all. It was the biggest, most expensive one there, with loud music blaring through the outdoor speakers. A huge black F-250 parked was parked in front of it, with plates that read SPEED. She was more of a Chevy girl, but she'd never tell Seb that. Her boots crunched in the snow as she walked to the trailer's door. She yanked it open with her gloved fingers and waltzed in without knocking.
"—fucking Herondale!" she heard as she stepped through, wincing as Sebastian's helmet clattered against the floor with a loud bang. "Oh, hey, babe," he greeted as his dark, angry eyes landed on her figure. He looked her up and down rather uncomfortably before shrugging returning to his rampage. Clary, slightly offended by Sebastian's lack of attention, looked at the other man in there; the one Sebastian was aiming most of his rant at. He was some faceless person that Sebastian's dad had hired to help him during races. Sebastian's dad bought him everything. She was fairly certain Sebastian's father had purchased the diamond pendant that hung in the valley of her breasts. It was pretty, sure, but it would have meant more had Sebastian worked for it and earned it for her. "I can't believe he thinks he can butt into my local tour. DAMMIT!" He hollered as he sent a wrench across the room. It would have skimmed Clary's cheek had she not moved her head. Sebastian apologize or even say anything to comfort her as she shook with a little bit of fright. He just stared at her blankly until she shifted awkwardly.
"Johnny's here," she said finally as she opened the door. Sebastian gave her a look that said why the fuck do I care. Clary refrained from rolling her eyes. It would only make things worse. "I'm going to go see him."
She wasn't at all surprised that Sebastian didn't follow her out of the trailer. He never did. He could be a sweet guy sometimes, but race days were not included in those times. He was bitter and rude and angry. He would barely even talk to her, and if he lost, hell was sure to be paid, usually in the price of Clary's body, banged up against the trailer wall as his mouth was savage against hers. Not that she was really complaining, but she kind of was. Sometimes he left bruises on her skin, but it was just because he'd been holding her too tightly in his frustration. They'd been together for almost four years and she loved him, every part of him, and if she wanted the good she had to accept the bad…right?
She found the trailer that had Morgenstern sharpie-ed across the back door in the inelegant scrawl of a five-year-old boy. "Clary!" Jonathon yelled as he ran to her, his snowpants making it hard for him to move. Clary giggled, ruffling his white-blonde hair a little as he wrapped his tiny arms around her legs. Clary was almost nineteen years older than him, but she still loved him unconditionally. People always commented how strange it was that Clary had a brother that she could have practically birthed herself, but she usually shrugged it off. Johnny was the miracle her parents thought would never arrive. He looked up at her with the dark eyes of their father, though his had a glint of mischief whereas Valentine's held the stern look of a father.
"Where's dad?" she asked as Jocelyn approached, her hair parted into two braids, a small headband protecting her ears from the cold. She leaned down as she tugged a neck warmer over a protesting Jonathon's head.
"He went to check this kid in." Jonathon stuck his tongue out playfully, and his mom pulled his helmet down over it. "I wasn't sure you'd come to one of these." Jocelyn tried to play it off by busying herself with zipping up her coat, but it was obvious that she really meant it. Clary hadn't been visiting home a lot. She'd just been so preoccupied with selling her art and entering it for a chance to get into shows, she barely had any time.
"Well, Sebastian is here…" she saw her mother's eyes flash. It wasn't a secret that Sebastian was not liked by the Morgenstern family. Her father had all but kicked him out when she'd brought him home for Thanksgiving. "And I couldn't miss Johnny tearing up the track out there, now could I?" Clary tucked a rogue curl into her cap to keep it out of her eyes. Jocelyn nodded, but didn't say another word until Jonathon took off running.
"Jon?" she called after him worriedly, though he stopped only a few meters away so she quieted and looked to see what he was doing. He climbed the ramp to get inside a trailer across from them, his little hand reaching up toward a figure dressed entirely in black.
Clary's breath hitched in her throat, her fingers tingling as they reached for a sketchpad that wasn't there. Her enthrallment with the models in the magazine seemed silly now as she stared at the man in front of Johnny. His hair was golden, the color of the sun as he shook it out, unruly curls only adding to the effect. His muscles flexed beneath his tight shirt as he reached a large hand out to slap Jonathon's. His eyes were the color of molten gold as they scanned the crowd around him, skipping easily over her, since she was nothing spectacular. He jaw was square, features like those of a statue, hard and perfect. She could tell he was sculpted, even across the distance between them. God, he was perfect.
"Momma, Jace Herondale gave me a high five!" Clary snapped out of her reverie as Jonathon returned, jumping up and down with glee. Jocelyn smiled and patted his helmet. Whatever he said next was too muffled for her to hear. That perfectly created man was the conceited asshole that always beat Sebastian out on the track. She felt like she should have known, but with their gear and helmets on, she could barely tell who Sebastian was.
She felt a hand tugging at her jeans and she looked down. "I have to race now," Jonathon told her, shouting a little too loudly to make sure she could hear.
"Okay, I'll watch you," she said, zipping up his coat and patting his head as he zoomed by on his tiny snowmobile. She nodded at her mom and walked to the stands, where she found a spot next to Izzy and Simon. They were the only ones cheering as the 120s went around the track, slow enough that Clary could actually keep track of where her brother was, his orange Mohawk flapping in the breeze. She gasped when his little body tumbled off the sled, but giggled at the sight of him running after it, several men with flags eager to help him. In the end, Jonathon came in fifth, but Clary and her friends cheered loudly anyway. She saw her brother pump his little fist as he rode back to their father, who engulfed him in a big hug. Clary sighed contentedly, remembering her childhood, when that was her barreling through the snow into her father's arms, her pink sled completely abandoned in the pits.
Yes, Clarissa Adele Morgenstern raced snocross. Not extremely well, but she'd taken home a few firsts before ending her career after high school. Of course, she only raced local circuits, so not much could be said for her actual skill. Valentine always wanted his daughter to break the stereotypes set by society, and what better way to do that then to get his daughter involved in a motorsport. Originally he'd tried her in motocross, but she could barely stand on her two feet, let alone balance a powerful engine on two wheels. "Here, I got you some cocoa," Simon said as he placed a steaming cup into her hands. She hadn't even realized he'd left.
"Thanks." She lifted it to her lips, the first sip burning her tongue a little, but after that she welcomed the heat. She hadn't realized she was shivering until the warm liquid began to thaw her insides. She leaned back against Isabelle's knees, watching several other races happen, the sun slowly sinking below the horizon, taking with it the last shred of warmth offered in the winter. She was shivering again by the time the track's lights were turned on. She felt a tap on her shoulder as Isabelle pointed to the large sleds lining up.
"The pros are about to start," Isabelle said, her eyes oddly focused on one racer in particular. Clary stared at him, trying to place who exactly it was. It obviously wasn't Sebastian, who rode the only green Arctic Cat on the track. This guy seemed tall, taller than the guys around him at least. His body was positioned over a sled plastered with decals and sponsors. The slivers of red poking out between the stickers indicated to Clary that it was a Polaris. She shrugged, giving up trying to figure out who it was. Must just be some hot guy she'd met or something. For all the complaining she did about coming here, she seemed to be enjoying herself. There was a thunderous roar as the sleds took off, more noise coming from the crowd than from the actual snowmobiles. Clary could almost hear Sebastian's voice cursing in her head as the one of Isabelle's interest earned the holeshot and easily overtook Sebastian. This wasn't going to be a pretty night. She watched the leader, finding it hard to focus on her boyfriend who was so far behind. The mystery racer's sled soared through the air at every jump, his body in one with the machine. It seemed like the sled moved with him rather than the other way around. It was so synchronized, so automatic the way he moved, more like a graceful dance than blood, flesh, and gears. Hey, that was a good one. She'd have to tell Sebastian. Her eyes found her boyfriend, still in second place but a far cry from the leader. She could almost feel her lips swelling at the mere thought of the night.
Then, as the leader neared the finish line, the crowd was chanting for a flip, and Clary gasped as the boy spun upside down, somehow landing perfectly balanced on his sled. Isabelle stood up and screamed as the trophy was claimed. A helmet was torn off and blond locks shaken out. Clary silenced immediately. Jace Herondale had won. And she had cheered for him. Tonight was definitely not going to be pretty.
Did you watch any sno-x races? *stern look of disapproval* Go watch them...now! Haha but not before reviewing! Tell me what you think ;)
All My Love
~BallinBlonde21