Chapter One

James Peterson clutched the handlebar grips tightly as he sped down the dirt road. The wind whipped at his face as objects around him rushed past in a blur, adrenaline running through his veins.

He came to a hill in the road, which meant he was nearly home. Changing gears, he began to pedal with more effort. The bike climbed the hill at a steady pace, anticipation building inside him.

He reached the top of the hill. James looked down to find a steep drop awaiting him. He smiled and narrowed his eyes in pure epic determination. He immediately shot down the hill at full velocity, like a bullet. The thrill of speed sent a chill through him. There was nothing quite like it: the deafening wind, the strange difference in gravity, the speechless expressions of others as he rode past.

He thought back to an hour ago, when he was putting on a stunt show in Portland. He remembered the astonished faces of the audience as he raced and jumped and soared across that big, hilly dirt track as cheers and applause filled the stadium. James remembered their rhythmic chanting. "Dash! Dash! Dash!"

"Good show, kid," his manager had told him after the performance in the manager's office. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone with the talent you have on a bicycle. It's pretty remarkable. You're a prodigy, son."

Son.

James mentally shook off that last word, like it was a pesky insect. "Thanks, Mister Vance," he had replied.

"I mean it, kid. Not many people can ride a BMX like it's a darn motorcycle." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, bound by a rubber band. "Here's your pay. See ya next week, Dash." Vance handed the cash to James. James exited the man's office, pulled out his wallet and stored the money inside, and returned the wallet to his back pocket. He proceeded towards the private stadium garage, where he stored his real treasure: his bike.

"It sure pays to be this awesome, "James thought with a grin.

James halted as he reached the doors ending the hallway. Beyond was the public area of the stadium, where he knew the audience would be waiting for him eagerly with autograph books and t-shirts at the ready. The crowd was loud but muffled behind the metal double-doors. The public area connected where he was to the garage.

Aw, shoot. It looks like I'm trapped by an army of adoring fans, James monologued in his head with sarcasm. Whatever will I do now?

He put on his most charming smile and pushed open the doors.

The sudden cheering engulfed him.

There were so many voices going on at once that the crowd sounded artificial, like in a movie. Still, James had trained his ears to pick out different sounds for situations like these. Meanwhile, members of the crowd ambushed him with scraps of paper and pens, desperate for a signature.

"Dash! Over here!"

"Hey Dash!"

"Look, mom! There he is!"

James "The Dash" Peterson was as much a whirlwind of activity in a crowd of fans as he was on a bike. His personal record was fifty-five signatures in one minute. Today he beat that record in an average of one signature per second.

He glanced back at his bodyguard, Daniel, who stood guard near the door. Always nearby, never interfering, as per James' personal request. He hadn't even wanted a bodyguard in the first place, telling his manager he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Still, Mr. Vance insisted that he wouldn't risk the safety of his client (which seemed ironic due to James' line of work), and James agreed, with the condition that Daniel wouldn't interfere with his fans unless it was an emergency. In exchange, Daniel was to stay close to James at all times (with the obvious exceptions).

James had managed to sign his way through the crowd, eventually reaching the garage within ten minutes, with Daniel close behind as always. With a few concluding waves and handshakes, he retreated into the garage and shut the door as Daniel guarded outside.

"Jeez, it's dark. Where are the lights?"

He found the light switch and flipped it on. The lights above flickered on. The room was fairly big, about the size of a typical garage. The final bulb to flicker awake was the spotlight, which revealed his bike, bathing it in glorious illumination.

"There you are, gorgeous."

James' bike was a beautiful cyan blue BMX bike, with streaks of a rainbow of colors on a couple areas of the frame. It was custom-made just for him, with a seat, shifting and design that best suited his needs. Then there was his signature emblem pasted onto the down tube, near the gears: a storm cloud with a lightning bolt striking downward.

He had named the bike Dash, after his own alias.

Dash was remarkably clean - spotless, even - considering the amount of dirt he had caked it with during his performance. "That cleaning crew sure can clean up a mess," James mumbled in slight surprise. James had had this bike for as long as he could remember, only becoming large enough to ride it just five years ago. He had improved it at any chance he got. The frame was probably the only part he hadn't replaced at some point.

James walked to the opposite end of the garage and pressed a small button on the wall. The large garage door began to open noisily. As it finally screeched open he seated himself atop his bike and prepared for departure.

Just before setting off, Daniel poked his head in the door behind him. "You takin' off, Dash?"

James turned his head. "Yeah. Thanks for your help, Daniel."

"Hey, no problem. Just doin' my job."

James nodded and sailed off. Daniel did the favor of shutting the garage door behind him as James mentally mapped out a way home.

Luckily, he knew a back road that not many people knew about that would take him straight home without being spotted. It would take him about an hour, but James didn't mind. He rejoiced any moment he got to ride Dash without a bunch of people to impress, just alone with his thoughts.

The trip ended up taking an hour and a half. "Still nothing to complain about," he thought now, as he raced down the hill that guided him home.

Finally James reached the little abandoned house in the middle of nowhere that he called home since he was thirteen. He stored Dash in the little shed next to the homestead and went inside as the setting sun cast an orange glow on the landscape around him.