One Step to You (The Rome Novels #1)(15)

The motorcycle screeched to a halt. The inertia knocked Babi back, slamming her against Step’s shoulders. It was impossible to hold on tight with her legs facing the wrong way.

“It’s going to be a walk in the park.” His deep, warm voice was supposed to reassure her, or at least that’s how he thought it should work.

In fact, it had entirely the opposite effect. Omigod, Babi thought to herself, those are the famous last words where practically anything can happen. This must be a nightmare. I’ve never worn a Camomilla belt in my life, not even when it was in fashion.

She looked at the people around her. Everyone was shouting. There was a maddening swirl of confusion. What on earth am I doing in a place like this? She felt like crying.

Then Step accelerated out to the middle of the road, ready for the race. He raised his right arm.

Suddenly, four other motorcycles appeared out of nowhere and merged toward the center of the road. All of them had a young woman sitting on back, facing backward.

The chamomiles were looking around them. A crowd of young men and women were watching them in amusement. Some of the girls who recognized them pointed at them and shouted their names. Others waved at them, trying to attract their attention.

But the chamomiles made no response. They all were holding their arms back behind them, clutching the drivers for fear of being shaken loose when the bikes started. Two chamomiles who knew each other nodded smiles and greetings, giddy and excited.

Siga collected the bets. The older gentlemen standing around the Jaguar bet more than everyone else. One of them bet on Step. The other one bet on the rider closer to him, on the colorful motorcycle. Siga wrapped up all the cash and stuck it into the front pocket of his jacket. Then he raised his right arm and put his whistle in his mouth. There was a moment of silence.

The young men on the motorcycles were all leaning forward, ready for the start. Their motorcycles roared. Four left feet pushed the gearshifts down. With a single noise, four bikes shifted into first. They were ready.

Siga dropped his arm and blew the whistle. The audience screamed. It was basically the roar of one single voice.

The motorcycles all shot ahead, almost immediately rearing up in wheelies, fast and loud. Babi immediately tightened her grip on Step in sheer terror as all the chamomiles held on to their men. Their faces turned down toward the asphalt, they watched as the road streamed past beneath them, hard and terrifying. Holding their breath, their hearts pounding at two thousand rpms, their stomachs in their mouths. Yanked backward at sixty, seventy-five, eighty-five miles an hour.

The first bike on the left broke its wheelie. The front wheel slammed down onto the surface, hitting loudly, crushing its shock absorbers toward the ground. The fork trembled, but nothing happened.

The bike closest to Step accelerated too hard. The motorcycle reared up, and the young woman, sensing it was practically vertical, screamed. The young man, frightened now, maybe because he was dating her, let up on the gas and hit the brakes. That huge beast of a Bol d’Or motorcycle, all seven hundred pounds of it, glided smoothly as if on command. It lowered its nose, touching down, like a small wingless airplane.

Step continued the race, leading the last competitor, playing expertly with brake and gas. His motorcycle, lunging forward, seemed motionless, as if held up by a transparent thread in the dark of night. It just flew along like that path, hanging from the stars.

As Babi watched, the white stripes of the road were almost invisible as they blurred together. She tried to shout as the motorcycle roared and the wind tossed her hair, but nothing came out of her mouth. She looked around. By now, the people were just a distant knot of figures, colorful, faintly blurry. All around, there was only the wind rushing and the noise of the other motorcycles.

Step was winning. So she was winning. Babi was stunned.

Step passed the finish line to the shouts and screams of joy from his friends looking on and the happiness of the man who had bet on him.

Pollo embraced Pallina, lifting her off the ground and swinging her through the air. Then, still holding her up, he kissed her. He held her up like that for a few seconds while her feet dangled, just brushing the ground, and her jacket, creasing here and there, climbed up.

When Pallina got back to solid ground, she tugged and patted herself all over and adjusted her hat. After that, she turned, slightly embarrassed, toward Babi. “It was an amazing race, wasn’t it?”

Babi said nothing. Step, still bursting with excitement at his victory, had screeched to a halt in front of the group. Dario, Schello, and a few other friends rushed down to wish him well and congratulate him.

A brotherly hand, mingled indistinctly in the midst of the group, reached out to offer him a still-cold beer. Step grabbed at it and took a long drag. “You were great. You never moved once. You were a perfect chamomile.”

Babi freed herself from the grip of the Camomilla belt but Step tried to stop her. “Hold on, where are you going? Stay here with me…”

“I need air,” Babi said as she got off the motorcycle. Her first few steps were hesitant. She was shaking so much in fear that she could hardly stand up. She melted into the crowd. She didn’t know anyone.

At a certain point, she heard another whistle. Longer, this time. What was that? Was another race starting? Everyone started running in all directions. People were banging against her. Motorcycles and scooters went hurtling past.

She heard the wail of sirens. Not far away, a line of cars appeared. Blue emergency lights were flashing on their roofs. The police. That’s the one thing that was missing.