1
December 25th, 15 years earlier…
The summer sun burns my back through my pink cotton tee as I speed towards the dirt park on my new bike. I’ve only just managed to convince my father to let me out for an hour, and I think that’s because he’d had too much of my aunt’s mulled wine. I’ve never been more grateful for her tradition of making that stuff. Every night for the past six months, I’ve gone to sleep thinking about and wishing for the Pink Nitro BMX I laid eyes on at Whitby’s Bike Store back in June. Today is Christmas Day, and it’s finally mine.
The scents of roast turkey and meat on the barbecue and the sound of people shouting and laughing fill the air. Everyone in our neighbourhood has their Christmas lights on. I wave to some of the families I know. The Allens are playing street cricket. The Bourke kids are skateboarding. Jilly Bourke looks to have a new board and her brother Jamie is putting a ramp together out the front of their place. They have my favourite decorations up: a giant inflatable Santa surrounded by snow and reindeer. Normally, I would stop to admire it and talk to Jilly and Jamie, but not today.
After months of imagining myself racing up the dirt hills at the bottom of my street, I’m going to experience the rush and the thrill for myself. I’ve walked past the bike park so many times on my way home from school, and every day I watch the same boy performing the most awe-inspiring jumps. Today, I get to watch him up close. If he’s not away for Christmas, that is.
I spot him as soon as I walk through the gates. He thrusts his bike up the hill right in front of me, somersaulting in the air before he hits the ground. After landing gracefully, his gaze flicks to me briefly before he rides off.
“Whoa,” I whisper.
He could be a movie star—or, even better, a stuntman. I want to do jumps like that. Will he teach me if I ask him nicely?
I’m so busy being impressed by his speed and agility that I don’t even register there’s someone standing beside me until they tap me on the shoulder. Momentarily, I forget my idol as I turn around.
I find myself staring into the face of the most gorgeous boy I’ve ever seen. His shaggy long brown hair is bleached by the sun, one lock nearly covering his eye. He’s tanned with green eyes the colour of moss.
“Hi, I’m Jax. Don’t see a lot of girls here at the bike park.”
I check out his wheels. His bike is a really good one. “I’ve been begging my dad to buy me this bike for months so I could ride it here.”
I don’t want to tell him I even wrote a letter to Father Christmas even though no one in class thinks he’s real.
Jax looks down at my pride and joy. “Your dad caved.”
I shrug, as if talking to a cute boy isn’t anything particularly out of the ordinary. “Yeah.”
“Cool,” he says. “So, what’s your name? You know, so I don’t have to call you Nitro.”
The idea of being named after my bike makes me grin, and I tuck a lock of my light brown hair behind my ear. “Breanna. Bree for short.”
“Nice to meet you, Bree. Where do you go to school?”
“Rosebud East Primary.”
“Saint and I go to Rosebud Heights Primary, so I guess that explains why I haven’t seen you before.”
“Saint?” I ask.
Jax motions to the superstar currently performing another somersault in the air. ‘Saint’ lands on the ground fifty meters from where I’m talking to Jax, pausing to watch the two of us.
“That’s Lawson, my brother,” Jax says. “People call him Saint.”
That’s his brother? Wow, I’m in the midst of bike royalty. “Why do they call him Saint?”
“Our last name is St. James.”
I don’t ask why Lawson is known as Saint while Jax is known as Jax. What I really want to know is whether Lawson is as nice as Jax, and whether he’ll teach me to ride the way he does.
“Saint’s really good,” I tell Jax as I watch his brother pedal towards where we sit astride our bikes.
Jax chuckles. “Don’t tell him that. He already thinks he’s the best.”
Saint might be right about being the best, but I keep my mouth closed and my opinion to myself as he brakes hard in front of me, causing dirt to fly out from underneath his wheels. When he takes his helmet off, I stare into a face identical to Jax’s. Saint and Jax aren’t just brothers, they’re twins.
Fortunately, there are a couple of notable differences. Jax has a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose while Lawson’s skin is freckle-free. And while Jax’s eyes are a bright, untainted green, Saint’s have flecks of brown in them.
“Hi,” I say while Saint stands there quietly taking me in.
Jax jerks his thumb in my direction and says to his brother, “This is Breanna. She got a new bike today and she wants to ride.”
Saint’s eyes flick between me and Jax before falling on my bike. “The girly tracks are on the other side of the park.”
It isn’t the first time a boy has implied I can’t do something he can, and I know it won’t be the last, but there’s something about this boy implying it that makes me so steamed I want to punch him in his gorgeous face—right after I prove him wrong.
I narrow my eyes at him. “I want to do this track.”
Saint sits back on his bike, arms crossed. “Bet you ten bucks you fall on your arse coming over the first hill.”
“When I nail it, I don’t want your money; I want you to teach me how to do some of your tricks.”
Nerves make my stomach feel as if it’s trying to take flight as his hazel eyes hold mine. Then he smirks, as if the idea of me winning this bet is ridiculous. His attitude makes me even more determined to prove him wrong.
“Deal,” he says.
Jax grins. “Shake on it.”
I don’t give a second thought to shuffling forward on my bike and extending my hand. Saint reaches out, taking my hand and shaking it. My hand and my entire right arm tingle as if I’ve just touched the electric fence on Nan’s farm. My heart beats extra hard, and my stomach does a somersault as I put my bike into gear and ride towards the first hill.
It isn’t the biggest hill in the park, but it’s still pretty steep. I race up it easily enough, then quickly lose control coming down the other side.
When my front tyre hits a rock, I don’t even have time to think. One moment I’m on my bike, the next I’m kissing the dirt.
Tears prick at my eyes as my knees and hands sting, but I blink rapidly to make them go away. I refuse to cry in front of Saint and Jax.
Jax races over to me. “Are you okay, Breanna?”
I sit up and nod, looking over at Saint once I know I’m not in any danger of letting my tears spill. Anger boils up inside me as I take in his smug expression.
“Told you so,” he declares easily.
“That was my first time. I just need some practice.”
He shrugs. “You owe me ten bucks. Come on, Jax. Let’s get out of here.”
Jax doesn’t seem to be in the same rush as his brother, and he offers me his hand, helping me up. “Where do you live, Breanna?”
“Banksia Street.” I rub the dirt off my knees. They sting and my entire body aches from the fall. Thank God my bike is okay. I can only imagine the look on my dad’s face if I went home with my bike mangled.
“We live on Gumnut Drive. We’ll walk with you.”
“I’m not walking with that loser,” Saint spits.
“Fine,” Jax says. “I’ll meet you at home.”
The look Saint shoots me is filled with resentment, like he hates me, even though I don’t know how he could when we just met.
Well, when he rides off without looking back, I decide I hate him just as much.
How can anyone call him Saint? There’s absolutely nothing saintly about Lawson St. James.
