17 #6
Riding so close to Pikki, Asta was running the risk of their dragons getting tangled in midflight, sending both teams toppling from the sky.
But Asta crouched in her saddle and moved Carmine even closer.
She could hear the tips of the dragons’ wings striking each other.
Carmine roared spitefully, happy to pick whatever fight Asta set him to.
They were banking hard for the turn now, and Asta gripped the handles on Carmine’s harness, holding tight with her legs. With a cry of frustration, Pikki chickened out and ceded the spot to Asta.
Now it was Asta and Felix. He was a full body length ahead of her, with Essie’s bright-feathered tail lashing in Carmine’s face.
Asta had been pushing Carmine hard the whole race; she should save something for the finish.
Climbing over Essie and Felix or going around would take too much energy.
But they could go underneath. Asta knew right when to do it, too.
The last buoy, before the final sprint, when Essie would already be slowing for the landing.
Essie hit the tower a second before Carmine did. Two feet for the landing, two planted for the takeoff. And they were in the air again, heading down to the final, half-mast buoy.
The terrain below was stippled with fences and hedges and ladders.
But there was room for them. Just enough.
They could sneak underneath, get far enough ahead so that Carmine was fully clear of Essie, and then pull up fast to avoid hitting any groundwork obstacles.
It would only be illegal if she cut up into their path while the dragons’ bodies overlapped. Carmine could do it. She knew he could.
He had to.
Because Asta had to win this race. She had to show Felix that she didn’t need the scraps he threw at her to keep her happy. She was a good racer. Better than him. After today, everyone would know that.
It was now or never. Asta directed Carmine to dive. He surged forward under his sister and Felix.
Dark above Asta’s head, Essie’s belly rose and fell with each beat of her wings. Felix wouldn’t even know they were there yet. Asta flinched as Carmine passed so low over a fire hedge that she felt the heat of it through her canvas riding suit.
‘Fast, Carmy, fast!’ she screamed. She rubbed at his neck to encourage him, and his wings tore through the air in frantic motion. He tossed his head and surged forward. They were almost out from under Essie’s shadow, and Felix would spot them any moment.
She felt Carmine’s skin go cold. He was feeling crabby today.
Well, why not? Asta thought. Let’s put on a show.
With one last burst of speed, they would pass fully under Felix and Essie and could rise one last time to clear the scramble that stood between them and the finish line. Asta kept her eyes on the buoy ahead.
They would be clear in: One. Two. Three. Four.
‘Fire!’ Asta shouted.
Carmine let loose a billow of flame, and Asta ducked to avoid getting it full in the face.
‘Up!’
Carmine rose to clear the top of a false ladder and banked around the buoy. She kept him in flying position until his feet touched the ground, all the way across the finish line. She did not turn to look for Felix. She had told him she wouldn’t.
It wasn’t until she jogged Carmine to a stop that she realized something was wrong. The medics were running, and the spectators – students who hadn’t qualified for the final race of the semester – stood in the bleachers, expressions of horror plastered on their faces.
Asta raised her visor and directed Carmine back to see what had happened.
She saw the medics bent over someone on the ground while Mr. Carle tried to calm Essie, who was rearing, her eyes wide and panicked.
The other racers had stopped and were scattered around the course, all of them looking down at the spot where Felix lay.
Felix.
It took Asta a long time to understand. It was as if she was watching the scene unfold on a television set with bad reception. Frantic activity whirled around her, but Asta stayed frozen on the track, hollow with terror. Was he alive?
Then, suddenly, he was on the stretcher and being loaded into the ambulance. His screams tore through the still air, even as they shut the doors on him.
That was Felix. Her Felix. Her best friend. Hers.
A moment later, Landry was helping her down from the saddle, talking to her, telling her something about Felix. His words made no sense.
And then the ambulances were screaming away, sirens blaring.
There was Pikki coming at her, whipping her helmet to one side, her mouth filled with accusations.
‘You did it on purpose! You ghoulish bitch! How could you keep racing? As if your fucking ranking matters right now?’
Asta said nothing. What could she say? Look at what she had done.
‘You think you’re hot shit, Asta? You’re nothing! You’re a coward!’ And she went on like that, telling Asta about herself in ragged screams. Asta deserved shit because she was shit. Asta was pathetic. She was so desperate to protect her fucking pride that she would do anything. Even this.
Asta did not punch Pikki because she was a liar. She punched her because she was saying things aloud that Asta could not bear to hear. And she just kept saying them and saying them. Asta had to make her stop somehow.