HADÉI paced back and forth, anxiously waiting for the Neon Girl to appear. It had been a week since my defeat at her hands, and every night since, I've made my way to the checkpoint, hoping and praying that she would show up so I could challenge her and win back my money.It was a fluke, I knew it. I had been off my game that day, thanks to Hartley. I hadn't seen her since our fateful encounter at the diner, and honestly, I was glad. She was like a thorn in my side—constantly taunting and challenging me—as if my reputation as the fastest racer in town was nothing but a punchline."I don't think she's coming," Josh said, leaning against his bike and sipping on a soda. "You went all out trying to contact her."All out. That was one way to put it. I had plastered posters of her bike all over town, practically begging for someone to spill her identity. I was met with a warning from the board to lay off or risk losing my advertising privileges—what a joke! In a small town like this, how could no one have seen her without her helmet? It was impossible. How was it even real?But did Neon Girl really take my word for it? To stay off the track? I didn't think so. She put up a fight just to race me. A real rider was never one to back down. My gut told me she'd be back. I just needed her to be back.I was pacing again when, just when I thought it was all doom and gloom for another night, I saw her—Neon Girl—riding in on her bike, that electric hue shining in the dark like a beacon. My heart raced, and Josh nudged me. "Well damn... time to get your head in the game."Thanks, Josh, as if I needed reminding. This was all Hartley's fault. Her taunts and looks; I wasn't sure if I was angry or just frustrated. She was my arch-nemesis."You called. I answered," Neon Girl said, her voice sharp and confident as she pulled up to the starting line.There was something about her tone that sounded familiar. I shook the thought aside; it didn't matter as long as she was here and willing to race. My pride had been eclipsed by the desperation of the moment, and I blurted out, "$4000?"She nodded, and I couldn't have run any faster to get on my bike. The rush of adrenaline pumped through my blood—the thrill of the race ignited a fire in me that I thought had been extinguished. As the woman in the centre of us lifted a green silk fabric above her head, I felt alive. The stakes were high, but the thrill was higher."Prepare to be crushed, sweetheart," I smirked at her, somehow feeling invulnerable in my bravado. Nothing could stop me now.But then I heard her voice, and it sent a jolt straight through me, like a splash of ice-cold water."I heard you hooked up with Hartley, and now you're all bitter because she doesn't like your 3-inch eggplant."I froze. Did she really just say that? All bravado vanished in an instant, and I stood there, bewildered. I could hear Josh shouting beside me, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING MAN?! FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS!"The sound pulled me out of my state, and I took off, fueled by irritation and disbelief. That bloody chick did that on purpose just to get in my head. What a... a .... a slimedog! Am I seriously using that insult now? What have you done to me, Hartley?I roared past the first turn, ready to toss her taunt aside. The wind whipped around me, clearing my mind of distractions, but then—out of nowhere—there she was, completely stopped, legs crossed over her bike, tapping away on her phone.What the hell? Who checks their phone in the middle of a race?I pulled alongside her, my bike revving angrily beneath me. "Oh hey," she greeted me as though we were sharing a coffee break instead of gearing up to race. I was taken aback by her nonchalance, not to mention the absurdity of it all. Here we were, on the cusp of a fierce race, and she was taking time to thumb through... Instagram? My jaw dropped slightly; I didn't know whether to be mad or somehow impressed.I scoffed. "Are you serious? We're racing, not live-streaming your selfie session."She couldn't help but laugh, and the sound surprised me—it was infectious. It slipped through my annoyance, pulling at something I didn't want to feel. I gritted my teeth, refusing to let her see the effect she had on me."Yeah, you see," she said, putting her phone away with a casual flip of her wrist, "I just didn't think it was fair to bring up Hartley. Mind games, you know."I blinked, caught off guard by her words. The mention of Hartley stirred something dark within—an old rivalry that I could hardly shake. "Well, it's too late now. She's on my mind, and just for the record, I don't have 3 inches! It's above average!" I blurted, frustration spilling over like a shaken soda can.She leaned into her bike alluringly. "If you say so. Shall we race, baby?" The way she said it twisted my insides, and my breath hitched. God, why did she have to do this to me?We turned back toward the starting line, and I could sense the confused stares of our fellow racers hitting us like tiny daggers. They flocked over, concern etched on their faces."What happened?" Josh asked."Little Miss Slimedog decided she didn't want to play mind games and wanted to restart the race. She was on her phone in the middle of the track!" I fired off, still simmering with irritation. It felt good to vent, even if they didn't truly understand.The collective "Huh..." from the group only added to my frustration."Baby, I'm bored. Are we racing or not? I have places to be, people to race, and gossip to listen to," she chimed in."See right there, you're doing it again," I pointed out, exasperated."Doing what, baby?" she asked, her innocent act stretching my patience thin.Each time she used that 'baby' term, it felt like a warm wave rolling over me, melting my irritation and blurring my thoughts. It was infuriating, and I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks as my heart raced—not from the adrenaline of the race, but from her playful teasing.The tension in the air was palpable, and I wanted nothing more than to stomp it out with the accelerator. "Start the race again," I groaned, gesturing to the woman holding the green flag.******The race began and I was left behind like a spec of dust. No matter how fast I went, she was a whispering breeze, always just beyond reach. I watched her silhouette grow smaller as she zoomed past the finish. When I had caught up to her, she was leaning against her bike, pretending to look at her watch. You cocky woman. I got off my bike and stormed over to her, the rage swirling inside me."You only won because you have the faster bike," I yelled, my voice filled with frustration.Coolly, she raised her hand, and I knew the gesture was meant to signal the inevitable—my loss. I pulled out the cash from my pocket and handed it over, feeling the weight of it slip from my fingers. The loss stung more than just the money.But then she leaned in closer, her dark eyes cutting directly through my frustration. "I am more than happy to race you again with two motorcycles with the same specs, no mods." Her voice was calm, almost teasing."Done." I snapped back, my anger still spiralling like a tornado — wild and relentless. Something within me ignited a fierce determination to reclaim my pride.I turned to face the crowd, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I declared, "I'm willing to pay $100 to anyone who loans me their bike for the race. Same specs, no mods. You have until Saturday night to bring them!"But as I turned back toward her, ready to confront her again, all I saw was the dust cloud she left behind. The motorcycle roared to life beneath her, and in an instant, she was speeding away, her laughter echoing in my ears like a taunt."Next time," I promised myself, feeling the burning determination flare anew. I was left not just with the remnants of defeat, but with something else too—an unyielding desire to challenge her, to prove I could match her speed, her skill, and more importantly, my resolve against her arrogance.