Motorcycle Babe

Beneath the Surface

Finally, practice was over.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead with a small towel and made my way into the locker room to grab my shower stuff. I’ve always hated the feeling of sweat sticking to my skin; it feels like a layer of the day I can't wait to shed. Driving home like that wasn't an option. I preferred feeling clean—like maybe if I scrubbed hard enough, I could wash off more than just the grime.

Inside, the air was thick with the usual chirping. My teammates were already stirring up whatever drama they could find. I didn’t care. I never really tried to bond with them, and honestly, they never tried with me. Most of them spent the last year radiating jealousy because I was dating Tyler—the star quarterback, the golden boy, the town’s collective crush. At the time, I’d brushed it off. Now, I just felt a dull sort of sadness knowing that their envy was the only reason they ever really noticed me.

Typical high school girls.

I rolled my eyes and headed for the showers, letting their voices fade into a low, meaningless hum. I was sure the latest gossip was about the "incident" in the hallway earlier. And I was just as sure they were all buzzing to know Tyler was back on the market. Good for them. They could have him.

Did I want him back? Hell no. Would my parents push for it? Hell yes.

Sometimes I still wondered how we even ended up together. Then I remembered—our families became "inseparable" after my sophomore year accident. I still don't know what happened that night. My parents never told me, and I’m 90% sure they paid the hospital staff to stay quiet, too. All I know is the aftermath: a void where two years of my life used to be. Amnesia. A blank slate I didn't ask for.

I missed almost an entire year of school. This year—senior year—is technically my first time back around people I "supposedly" knew. Familiar faces that feel like total strangers. Through all that fog, only one person made it easier.

Kyle.

He never pressured me to remember. He never looked at me with that suffocating pity. Just honesty and really bad jokes.

And then... there was Raven.

God, even just thinking her name made my skin turn warm. I hated how much I wanted her. Craved her. Everything about her drew me in—her voice, her hands, the reckless way she carried herself. I hated myself for it because I knew, deep down, she was dangerous for me.

But I’ve never liked anything "good" for me anyway.

My father, the ever-devoted Christian, would probably disown me on the spot if he knew. To him, being gay was a sin punishable by eternal damnation. I didn't care about the religion part—I never really did. All I wanted was to live without this constant, low-level fear. To be free to love, to exist without a layer of shame. Was that really too much to ask?

...Wait. Did that make me gay?

I paused mid-scrub, staring at the tiled shower wall. That question had been crawling through my head all day, and I still didn't have an answer. Maybe I didn't need one yet. Maybe I just needed to breathe.

I finished getting dressed and stepped outside the gym, taking a deep breath of the cooling evening air. The sun was dipping low, streaking the sky with soft oranges and pinks.

“Finally,” I muttered.

“That’s what I said ten minutes ago,” Kyle said, appearing at my side like a ghost with a flair for the dramatic. “Thought you’d drowned in there.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled. “You wish.”

We started walking down the path toward the parking lot, but the familiar, low rumble of an engine made us both stop in our tracks. The sound was unmistakable—deep, smooth, and slightly reckless.

We turned just in time to see Raven pulling into the lot on her motorcycle. She looked like a shadow in the twilight, her black helmet tucked low, that leather jacket clinging to her like a second skin.

Kyle tilted his head, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “Well, well. If it isn’t your unresolved feelings wrapped in black leather and poor decisions.”

I nudged him, trying not to let my eyes linger, trying to be the "Good Girl" I’m supposed to be.

But I couldn't look away. Something about her made my heart ache in a way I couldn't explain—a sharp, pulling sensation in my chest. It felt like a memory I was reaching for, but my fingers were just barely missing the edge.