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sidewayz glory
Todd Strasser
CRAIG PHILLIPS
Sammy Yuen Jr.
SIMON PULSE
New York London Toronto Sydney
Over the loudspeaker they were announcing the final heat.
“Guess I better get going,” Kennin said, and got into the Corolla.
Angelita reached into the car and patted him on the helmet. “Have fun.”
He lined up next to Chris in Slide or Die. The two drivers nodded at each other.
Derek stepped between the cars and bent down so he could speak to both drivers at the same time. “Glad you two could make it,” he said, obviously pleased that Kennin and Chris were running against each other in the final heat. “Now remember. It’s not just about winning. It’s about the show.”
Check out all the books in the DriftX series:
Slide or Die
Battle Drift
Sidewayz Glory
Available from Simon Pulse
And get hooked on some of Todd Strasser’s other Simon & Schuster books….
Can’t Get There from Here
Give a Boy a Gun
Impact Zone series
How I Changed My Life
How I Created My Perfect Prom Date
Here Comes Heavenly
Buzzard’s Feast: Against the Odds
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Text copyright © 2006 by Todd Strasser
Illustrations copyright © 2006 by Craig Phillips
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Designed by Sammy Yuen Jr.
The text of this book was set in Trade Gothic.
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Simon Pulse edition July 2006
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Control Number 2005930632
ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-0583-7
ISBN-10: 1-4169-0583-9
eISBN-13: 978-1-439-12101-6
This book is dedicated to Lia “Check Out That Jag” Strasser
I would like to thank the following organization and people for their mostly helpful (and sometimes humorously wiseass) comments and assistance:
Amanda Sohr, Dan Carluch, DGTrials.com, Troy “Driftmonkey” Holloway, Chachi, Alex, Thoraxe, LookOutMatt, Gram, I Love Sweatpants, d4vech3n, EunosGangstarr, Darkbane, 1.8turbo510, Shiftnslide, Die Screaming, Airjockie, Dr. Baby, Drift Machine, Thon, Dragracingunderground, VQ Driver, ECDA, Knives, Kata, Toycoma, Mikespeed95, fraggleSTICKcar, Ichi-Go, Dominican Drift, Drew, Davis, Mistatwo, Thrwnsprkz, Moorefire, Saru of the West, Forsaken TH, Trunk, Dave Chen, Dori FC, Vosko, Mranlet.
1
a blur of broken images and sensations going back to the start of the battle drift. The moment the 240 SX broke traction, he’d felt a shimmy in the steering. He should have quit the tsuiso then, but he didn’t. Going into the first turn, he’d felt a heavy vibration. Then something let go. The right front dropped and the car slid sideways and began to spin. Yellow and orange sparks flying everywhere, the car swinging wildly around, he’d veered off the road. Rocks, brush, and dust flew in the air and pelted the windshield.
And then … Crash!
He’d been pinned inside the 240 SX. He remembered the hiss of escaping coolant and the smell of leaking gasoline. But most of the other memories and sensations from that night had been muted, if not entirely washed away, under a wave of searing, throbbing agony from his leg. There’d been the high-pitched whine of the fire department’s saw cutting the car open. Red and white lights flashing chaotically in the dark. Hands reaching in, grabbing his clothes, and tugging him out of the wrecked vehicle; every movement a blast of unbearable red-hot pain. More hands lifting and laying him on a gurney. Faces staring down at him, lips moving, jumbled words and questions. The scream that tore through his throat, born of intolerable pain, when they’d placed the temporary inflatable cast around his left leg and then strapped him down. He hadn’t even felt the injection, just the welcome relief as the painkiller went to work.
Then the bright lights inside the ambulance. A female EMS tech with brown hair squeezing his hand and saying he was going to be okay. Next they pulled the gurney out of the ambulance and rolled him through the cool air into the hospital. Long fluorescent lights in the ceiling of the hospital emergency room. More faces hovering over him, lips moving, hazy jumbles of words. The antiseptic smell of alcohol. Big gray sheets of X-ray film being passed around. Rolling down a corridor and into a cold room with lots of polished stainless steel. A clear plastic mask over his nose and mouth. Someone told him to count to ten.
He opened his eyes. He was in a hospital bed with metal rails, his left leg suspended in the air by a pulley hanging from a rack overhead. Tubes ended in needles stuck into the crook of his arm and the back of his hand. Dull throbbing pain rose from his left leg. His sister, Shinchou, was sitting in a chair against the wall reading Peoplemagazine. He closed his eyes.
When he next opened them, the room was dark. A machine close by was beeping, and he could hear the sound of steady breathing. Someone was asleep in the bed next to him. His leg hurt, his throat was dry, and he was incredibly thirsty. A plastic cup with a straw sat on the night table beside his bed and he tried to reach for it, but the tubes attached to his arm stopped him.
A male nurse named Leon helped him sip orange juice through a straw. Leon wore a blue hospital shirt and pants. He had dark skin, mischievous eyes, and huge hands. He gave Kennin a button to push whenever the pain got too great. Leon said, “This is your joystick, baby.”
Kennin used the joystick sparingly. He’d feel the pain from his leg creeping up, but he’d wait, daring the agony to make him give in. At first it was no contest. The pain roared down on him like an avalanche and there was no fighting back. He’d pump the joystick and grimace until the drugs brought relief.
Leon came back. “How’s it hangin’, dawg?”
“Okay, I guess,” Kennin answered, lifting the joystick slightly. “As long as I have this.”
“Oh, yeah, push that button and life is easy.” Leon grinned.
“What’s the story with my leg?” Kennin asked.
Leon’s eyebrows went up. “They didn’t tell you? Lemme see.” He picked up a chart hanging at the base of the hospital bed and thumbed through the pages. “Busted up pretty good, my friend. Broke in two places. You got a few screws here and there, but not enough to open a hardware store.
”
“How much longer am I in here for?” Kennin asked.
“Short as possible,” Leon said, flipping to another page on the chart. “You’re our least favorite kind of patient.”
“What kind’s that?” Kennin asked.
“The nonpaying kind. No money, no health insurance, no nothin’.” Leon closed the chart. “What’d you do, crawl out of a hole somewhere? Who takes care of you, dawg? I mean, when you’re not in here.”
“I take care of myself,” Kennin said.
“Oh yeah?” Leon looked at Kennin’s leg, suspended in the air. “Don’t look like you’re doing a real good job, bro.”
Kennin shrugged. “So, I didn’t get an answer to my question. How long am I here?”
“Hey, I ain’t no doctor, but based on what I’ve seen, they gotta wait for the surgical wounds to start to heal. Soon as the wounds look like they’re healing okay, they’ll probably wrap that leg in plaster and kick your sorry butt into the street. Free up this bed for some paying customer.”
“But that’ll be what? A few days? A week?” Kennin asked.
“I’d guess a week or less,” said Leon. “Why? What’s the rush?”
Kennin wanted to know what had happened to the car. Why it had gone out of control right at the start of the tsuiso. It wasn’t like he’d done anything to cause the crash. He’d hardly gotten going. And why, just before the start, had he heard that impact wrench?
The answer he gave Leon was, “Who wants to be in a hospital?”
“That’s the spirit, dawg.” Leon grinned. “Get out of this bed and let us make some money off someone who can pay.”
Leon left. Kennin settled back in the bed and clicked through the TV channels. Here in the hospital he had close to twenty. Sure beat the five they had in the trailer.
Shinchou came back. She had dark rings under her eyes, and her long black hair, usually so well kept, looked stringy and unwashed. She was thinner, too. Her clothes—stained and dirty—hung off her as if she were a human clothes hanger. Her skin was so pale it almost appeared translucent.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Okay,” Kennin said. “How about you?”
She shrugged and pulled her yellowed, nicotine-stained fingers through her dark hair.
“What’s going on?” Kennin asked.
Shinchou shrugged.
“You don’t look well,” Kennin said.
His sister shook her head as if to indicate that she didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe it wasn’t necessary. It was pretty easy to guess what was going on.
“Still dancing?” Kennin asked.
Shinchou nodded. She crossed one leg over the other and swung it rapidly. At the same time her hands kept moving, tugging at her hair and scratching her arms. It seemed as if she couldn’t keep still.
“How much do you still owe Jack?” Kennin asked.
She rolled her eyes as if to say it was none of his business. He knew that asking more questions would just make her mad, so instead they watched an episode of The Simpsons on the hospital room TV. When it was over, Shinchou stood up.
“I’m gonna go have a smoke,” she said, and went out.
She didn’t come back.
2
Kennin thought he was dreaming, but when he opened his eyes, Mariel Lewis was standing beside his bed, looking down at him. She was wearing a tight pink sweater that spoke volumes about what was underneath. Her blond hair was hooked behind her ears and her lips glistened with lip gloss.
“I tried not to wake you,” she said.
“You didn’t.” Kennin yawned and started to stretch his arms, but the tubes stopped him. “I think your perfume did.”
“How are you feeling?” Her gold earrings glimmered.
“Okay, I guess,” Kennin answered.
“Everyone thought you were dead,” she said.
“Huh?”
“I mean, that night. The way the side of the car was crushed in.”
Kennin blinked. It was strange, but until now, no one had spoken of what actually happened. “How long ago was it?”
“The crash?” Mariel gazed up at the ceiling and counted on her fingers. “Five days?”
It felt like a month to Kennin. “Looked pretty bad, huh?”
“You can’t imagine,” Mariel said. She had a way of licking her lips when she spoke. And her blue eyes never left his. “They say you were lucky. I’m glad you’re still alive.”
“That makes two of us,” said Kennin.
“When do you think you’ll get out of here?”
“They tell me another week maybe.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you.” She reached over and stroked his cheek with her fingers. “I mean, once you get out of this place.”
Tito and Angelita walked in. They were both wearing hoodies. Tito’s was gray and the hood covered his head. Angelita’s was navy blue with the hood down, her black hair pulled back into a ponytail. When she saw Mariel leaning over Kennin in the bed, she froze.
“Oops. Sorry, dude, didn’t mean to butt in,” Tito said. He and Angelita started to back out of the room.
Mariel straightened up. Her eyes met Angelita’s and a smile appeared on her lips. “It’s okay, I was just leaving.”
Tito hesitated. “You sure?”
“Yes,” Mariel said, then leaned over to kiss Kennin. He turned his head slightly so it was only half on the lips.
“Can’t wait to see you again,” she whispered, just loudly enough for Tito and Angelita to hear. “In private.”
Mariel picked up a white jacket from the chair beside the bed and then started out of the room. But as she passed Angelita, she paused. “Sorry about your car.”
Angelita started to nod, mistakenly assuming the words were sincere.
But Mariel wasn’t finished. “Guess you’ll have to find some other way to keep the boys interested.”
Angelita flushed. Mariel stopped in the doorway, turned to Kennin, and fluttered her fingers. “Bye.”
The blonde left. Angelita had to restrain herself from whaling on her. She took a deep breath and stared at the TV, unable to look Kennin in the eye.
“What was that about?” Tito asked.
“Not what it looked like,” Kennin said, his eyes on Angelita.
“If that wasn’t what it looked like, then what was it?” Tito asked. Now Angelita gazed at Kennin. Her brother had asked exactly what she was wondering.
“I don’t know,” Kennin said. “I’m stuck in this bed and can’t move. Anyone who comes in here can do pretty much what they want to me.”
“Chris Craven sees her doing that with you and he’ll be the next one in here … with a baseball bat,” Tito said. “You’ll wind up in a full-body cast with less teeth than my grandmother.”
“Thanks, ’d0Ékeep it in mind,” Kennin said, and turned to Angelita. “How’s the car?”
Angelita looked down at the floor. “Totaled.”
Kennin winced. That was terrible news. He felt both awful and responsible. “Insurance?”
Tito’s sister shook her head. “Denied. The accident report has the driver wearing a racing helmet, and the police say it had all the markings of a street race. I didn’t even bother with a claim. They’d disallow it in a second.”
“I’m really sorry,” Kennin said miserably. “You were counting on selling that car to make money for college.”
“I salvaged the engine and some of the mods,” Angelita said. “That’s where most of the money was. There are still plenty of 240 SXs around. I’ll find one.”
Kennin turned to Tito. “So what happened with the tsuiso?”
“We lost big-time,” Tito answered. “You almost lost your leg. My sister lost her car. And I lost all my cash.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Kennin said, although he’d never wanted Tito to bet on him in the first place.
“Not as sorry as I am, dude,” Tito said. “But what can you do? Accidents happen, you know?”
&
nbsp; Accidents? Kennin thought uncertainly, recalling the sound of the impact wrench and the way the car had started to vibrate the moment the tsuiso began. “Did anyone ever figure out what happened?”
Tito glanced at his sister and then said, “The wheel broke off. Right where the spokes meet the center cap. Crappy aftermarket knockoffs.”
“They weren’t knockoffs,” Angelita shot back in a way that made Kennin suspect they’d had this argument before.
“Someone could have pawned them off on you without you knowing it,” Tito said.
“I’d know,” Angelita retorted.
An awkward silence followed.
“If it wasn’t the wheels, then what else could it have been?” Kennin finally asked.
“I don’t know,” Angelita said. “Nothing makes sense. The car ran perfectly the heat before. If there’d been anything wrong, you would have felt it during the drive back up the mountain.”
“Unless it was a cheap wheel and it just broke,” Tito said.
Angelita’s face hardened with anger and she glared at her brother. “For the last time: It was not a cheap wheel.”
They’d reached a stalemate. Angelita’s tone implied that there’d be no more discussion on the topic. Tito looked at Kennin. “You made the newspapers again. There’s been this big public outcry. Street racing is dangerous to lawabiding citizens. It has to be stopped. Innocent people are going to be injured. Blah, blah, blah …”
“They didn’t mention me by name, did they?” Kennin asked.
Tito shook his head. “No, ‘cause you’re still a minor.”
“So when do you get out?” Angelita asked.
“About a week, I think,” said Kennin. “But it’ll be a while before the cast comes off.”
An awkward silence followed. Finally Tito said, “Hey, Angie, think I could have a private moment with mi amigo?”
Angelita frowned, but then nodded and stepped out into the hall. Tito moved closer to Kennin and said in a low voice, “Two months from now, she’s out of here.”
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