My lime green Specialized is my baby, custom fit to my body after I pulled out a little bit of my built up pay after finishing training at Jackson. My roommate is pretty cool with my hobby too, not minding that I have a big part of my personal space in the barracks taken up with a fifteen-hundred-dollar bicycle. This might be a military Academy, but there's no way I'm trusting my baby to just being locked up outside on the bike rack.
I head outside and stretch lightly before hopping on my bike, rolling down and around the cadet area. I don't usually go near Central Post on my rides. To be honest, I've got personal beef with the Corps of Cadets. It's not that I resent them for being able to go to college for free. I mean, they're going to be commissioned and they have to serve five years after they graduate, and I've heard a little bit of what they go through. It's tough. Four years of being simultaneously called a future leader but also given a lot less freedom than even I have must wear on them.
But with that great stress comes a lot of compensation, too. Like I said, the cadets are treated differently than any other group in the Army. Even their seniors, or firsties, as they call themselves, have this strange blend in which they're called the best and brightest of the Army's future, and they’re given a lot of stress and privileges in addition to the stress of classwork . . . but on the other hand, I'm able to leave after work whenever I want, and they can't. I don't have to sign out to go to New York City on the occasions that I can afford it, and there's none of the stupid parking issues that they have. My car's parked right outside my barracks for when I want to use it. They have to walk three-quarters of a mile to get to theirs. It's like the cadets are pressured and treated like babies at the same time.
To make up for it, a lot of the 'pampered pets' are assholes. Especially the First Captain, or highest ranking cadet. I get it, and I feel bad for her. There haven't been a lot of female First Captains. And she's the poster child for her class. Seriously, she's on the fucking website. And even though she's twenty-two, she's reporting to Colonels and Generals on a pretty routine basis, and every VIP that comes through post is a chance for the Army to trot her out to do a dog and pony show. She's shaken hands with half of Congress, I think, and for certain, she's met the President. It doesn't excuse her being a certifiable bitch.
I avoid the cadet area when I can, and circling around, the hill from the docks up to Buffalo Soldier gate warms my legs up. The weather's perfect, a crisp sixty-five or so, and the afternoon sun is nice as I crank out toward the bridge.
I'm about a quarter of the way there, six miles to go to the bridge still, when I feel someone coming up behind me. I glance over my left shoulder and see a guy on a bike approaching, catching up to me. “Hi!”
He's cute, from what little I can see, and as we ride out toward the bridge, I enjoy the company. He's a good rider, perhaps not the most efficient, but as we head toward the bridge, he leans into his pedals more, catching up and passing me just before we hit the turnaround.
I slow my bike to a stop. My rear wheel's feeling a bit wobbly the past two miles, and the guy comes to a stop, circling back. He gets off his bike, a look of concern on his face. “Everything okay?”
Before I know it, we’re flirting, and when he makes a comment about enjoying big challenges, I can’t help it. I challenge him to a race around the ski hill.
We take off, pushing the bikes hard. I cheated a little and took off before he was ready, but it's not that big of a cheat. He’s a big boy with lots of muscle, so I’ll take all the edge I can get. As we go around the curve heading toward the ski hill and next to the mint, he's caught up with me. Still, I put a surge on, getting up off my saddle and pushing hard, and I just barely stay ahead of him as we pass the sign for the ski hill and I start to brake.
“You little cheater!” Aaron says, coming to a stop in mock outrage. “Good riding though.”
I smile at the praise in his voice. “Helps that you're riding a damn brick with wheels.”
Aaron laughs and nods, patting his handlebars. “Actually, I think Captain White said this is aluminum.”
I think he realizes he basically just said he’s a cadet, as if I didn’t already know all the way back at the bridge. “Guess you know I'm a cadet then?”
“The haircut was a sign. The big 'USMA triathlon' on your back helps, too,” I tease, smiling. “What year are you?”
“I'm a yuk . . . sorry, sophomore,” Aaron says, and I realize something. He doesn't recognize that I'm also in the Army. I guess in my civilian clothes, I still look like a normal girl. “I'm a Devil,” he adds.