Racehead

by Daya Daniels

  The usual drivers are here, most are present for their revenge against me, others for pride. But the rest are in this line for the same reason I am…

  To-get-that-money.

  My boot presses on the gas harder.

  The Mustang hops around, desperate to go.

  My fingers tighten around the steering wheel as I face ahead.

  Jeremy Betch is to my left along with his gunmetal gray 1996 Lexus SC300.

  I heard he was just picked up by a sponsor and signed a five million dollar deal.

  He’s semi-pro now.

  So beats me completely as to why he’s here.

  Asshole.

  Some other rando is to my right—a girl, young, have no clue who she is.

  I don’t make a fuss of it.

  Rissa, Rogan and all the rest of the usual drivers are here in the line.

  The highway is ahead. Wide, dark and long. Only lit by the headlights from the cars in this line. No tunnel is straight ahead this time but they’re there, just after the first two turns after we pass over lots and lots of gravel.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket again. Quickly I pull it out.

  Vashti: I’ve been trying to call you all day, Nevada. Need to talk.

  Me: I will see you after the race.

  Vashti: I’m a few minutes away!

  Me: No, don’t come here tonight. Just wish me luck.

  A few more messages come in, but I don’t have the time to check them.

  The flag girl stands between a souped-up white 1996 Toyota Corolla and a green 1998 Nissan 240SX.

  A little laugh leaves me before I face ahead.

  “I’ve decided, Racehead, that I’m going to ruin you not just on the pro track but on this one too.” Jeremy laughs, offering me up his shiny teeth.

  I face head ahead, hating that his words affect me.

  They shake me.

  They make me wonder if he’s right.

  Reaching out, I turn up the volume. Lorn’s “Sega Sunset” rips from the speakers.

  “On your mark!” With a face covered in sweat, the flag girl holds her arms up high.

  The engines roar.

  A cloud of smoke engulfs this line.

  The Mustang jumps, eager to go.

  A whistle leaves me at how sweet she feels, how anxious.

  The horsepower in this thing is incredible.

  All thanks to Vashti’s work.

  “Get set!” The flag girl eyes every car in this line.

  POW.

  An engine explodes.

  The Nissan is out before the race even starts.

  Too bad.

  POP. POP. POP.

  Excess gasoline filters into the air from exhaust pipes.

  The Mustang holds steady.

  POP. POP. POP

  My fingers twist tighter and soon I slip into a zone, tracing the lines of the road ahead with my eyes. Left, right, tunnel, tunnel, sharp bend, fault in the road, crumbling mountainside, caution side, another tunnel, tight corner, wide bend, straight away.

  My fingers grip tighter, tighter, tighter.

  Looking around, I ignore the gnawing feel that something doesn’t feel right.

  That gray fucking car…

  A breath fills my chest and hurts like indigestion.

  “Fuck.” My eyes scan the crowd ahead and then I don’t focus on them anymore.

  I rev the engine, feeling its power and the torque this red baby can push out.

  She’s ready to rock and fuckin’ roll.

  “GO!” The flag girl lowers the flag and waves it around like crazy.

  I release the brake.

  ~

  The ticker on the speedometer shakes.

  One hundred, one fifty, one seventy-five…

  My heart rate syncs with the speed.

  I change gears when we hit the turn.

  The Mustang screams!

  It holds steady.

  A car behind me slides out in the gravel on this tricky corner.

  BAM.

  It collides with the wall, causing the rest of the mountainside above to collapse. Rocks and more gravel cover the road.

  I hit the gas.

  POW.

  The car behind me comes to a complete stop.

  Engine blown…Soon the hood catches fire. Quickly, the driver hops out and with balled fists curses to the sky and his own mother.

  I gear down.

  The Mustang roars!

  The breeze slips in through the windows.

  Right turn, left then wide bend.

  Rogan sideswipes me on the turn, taking the lead.

  “Sonofabitch.” I grit my teeth and hit the gas, pushing all my weight down on it.

  Flames shoot out from the exhaust, leaving sparks behind the car on the asphalt. I barrel through a cloud of smoke before I disappear into a tunnel. The car blasts through the other side and soon the moon is in view again.

  Clear sky. Twinkling stars. It’s beautiful.

  As it always is.

  I wipe the sweat from my forehead with a shaky hand.

  Another cloud of smoke.

  The smell of gasoline.

  A smile races across my lips and stays there.

  The ride smooths out. There’s nothing in my way. There’s still a long way to go before we can get to the finish line. The question at this point isn’t speed, it’s skill. It’s the car. Can it hold out for the long haul without seizing up like an old lady’s joints? Can the driver make it to the end without sliding out on Killer Korner and going right over the edge?

  My fingers twist tighter, tighter, tighter.

  One eighty, one ninety, two hundred miles per hour.

  Goddamn!

  At these speeds if I were to hit a wall, I’d die right on impact. This vehicle would implode like a tin can under the pressure of four thousand pounds. I wouldn’t catapult from the seat though. My neck could snap. Or my spine would likely crumble from the impact. Either way, I’d go easy, no pain, no win either.

  I push the thoughts out of my mind as Lorn’s “Anvil” fills the car.

  The ticker on the speedometer shakes and then it breaks.

  It drops back down to zero.

  An odd contrast for the speed I’m doing.

  I hit the nitrous.

  ZOOM. ZOOM. ZOOM. ZOOM. ZOOM.

  The impact of the air against the mountainside is deafening.

  Fifty grand. Fifty grand. Fifty fucking grand.

  This baby moves faster.

  ZOOM. ZOOM. ZOOM. ZOOM. ZOOM.

  “Whoooo!” I laugh out loud and keep my foot on the gas.

  The nitrous is gone in that short trip.

  It’s only a little ways left to go.

  The car moves around a wide bend and along another straight away.

  BLAM.

  My head jerks forward hard and I’m disoriented for a moment before I realize I’ve been rammed from behind.

  “Jeremy.” I scope my mirrors.

  He hits me again.

  BLAM.

  “Fuck.” I punch the gas and cruise down the straight stretch of road.

  Jeremy eases up next to me. With his window lowered, he smirks. He fucking smirks!

  I hit the gas, taking off, moving full speed ahead.

  The engine screams!

  The Mustang barrels down the road, taking a left turn and then a right. I leave Jeremy in the dust, just like intended. I don’t ease off the gas, just keep moving, holding on to the steering wheel tightly.

  The car skeets.

  Smoke floats up from the tires.

  The afterburn of gasoline fills my nostrils.

  I wipe the sweat away from my forehead and round Killer Korner, only thinking of fifty fucking grand! I’m close. So close.

  All visions of Vashti and Banks fill my head.

  I told Banks I’d be there for him. I told Vashti I love her. It’s just the three of us.

  I’m going too fast. Way too fast. Fuck. Instantly, I slow down.

&
nbsp; BLAM.

  It’s too late…

  I stop breathing, just for a few seconds.

  Then, I gasp when I realize I’m no longer in charge of the direction of this car.

  The world spins. My head slams into the driver’s side door. With the impact, I let go of the steering wheel and spin, spin, spin out of control.

  I brace myself for the worse.

  But it doesn’t happen.

  The Mustang comes to a complete stop on the shoulder in a cloud of dust.

  Coughing, I sit up straight, and breathe, and wait for the dizziness to leave me.

  The roar of Jeremy’s car is far away, far behind where the Mustang is now resting. And by the sound floating on the breeze, he’s headed this way doing some sort of speed.

  The particles clear.

  My dizziness dissipates.

  With a groan, I check my seatbelt and wipe the blood away from my temple.

  When the dust clears, my soul takes a nosedive straight down to Hell.

  Jesus Christ on a dirt bike.

  “Fuckkkkk.” The words leave me on the back end of another moan.

  Sheriff Abs sits in her police cruiser.

  The headlights shine on me, so fucking bright.

  Time stops.

  My heart pounds.

  Her brown eyes are nailed on mine as she blows a big bubble and pops her gum.

  I wait for the sirens.

  Her eyes linger on me as if she’s waiting for something…

  Only I have no idea what to fucking do.

  She sits patiently, doesn’t-make-one-move.

  Jeremy’s car is getting closer and can’t be more than a half a mile away.

  I wake the fuck up!

  Quickly, I start the engine and hit the fucking gas, peeling away like my life depends on it. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I beat the steering wheel and head toward the highway.

  In the rear-view mirror, I spot the police cars winding through The Badlands likely heading to the finish line to arrest everyone here tonight and to impound cars. The whole lot!

  Fifty fucking grand!

  A tear slips down my cheek hot and disappointed, just like me.

  “Way Down We Go” by Kaleo croaks from the radio.

  I weep like never before and take the long way home.

  Vashti

  I’M ABOUT TO UPCHUCK.

  Word had spread through The Valley faster than a cold sore through a kissing booth that the cops were already on to the final street race out in The Badlands.

  They were arresting people, rounding up vehicles, laying the law down and taking all sorts of prisoners.

  I tap out another text to Nevada.

  No reply.

  I pick up the phone and dial.

  She doesn’t answer.

  Shit.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this!” Syd shakes the cordless phone around in her hand and paces the dusty junkyard.

  I guess she’s been trying to call Nevada too.

  “I told Nevada to stop this street racing bullshit because it would be the end of any career she has ever dreamed of before it even starts.” Syd wipes her tears then violently presses more numbers into the phone. “Oh my god, if Nevada was arrested—”

  We stand completely still when the familiar idle of an engine gets closer.

  I know it like my own heartbeat since I helped to build it.

  Hope swells in my chest along with disbelief.

  Syd’s eyes go wide. “Jesus Christ, is that her?” She rushes toward the gate, but the Mustang is already pulling into the junkyard.

  Only it doesn’t look like the beauty it once had.

  It’s destroyed.

  Dented. Dirty. Dusty. The back window is shattered and the mirrors on both sides are gone. But the engine has held tight by the sounds of it. Not one hiccup in its pretty idle even if it had cut out at one point or another.

  The car comes to a stop.

  I suck in a breath when I peer into Nevada’s face and spot the tears that streak from her eyes. She’s still beautiful, and now, so fucking sad.

  Trembling, I stroll over to the car and place my hand on the door. I cup Nevada’s cheek. “You’re here.”

  “Yeah, I’m here.” She sniffles right before her face twists into the saddest expression.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” I look around and then at the car which serves as clear evidence that Nevada did in fact drive in that race tonight. Only I have no clue what happened. Because she’s here.

  I’m so fucking grateful she’s here.

  And not in shiny handcuffs.

  Which is exactly where I’d heard Jeremy Betch is right now.

  So long to his legit career in racing…

  He’ll likely be doing time soon.

  “I lost, V. I’ve lost everything.” Her tears wet my hand.

  “You haven’t lost everything, Nevada. I have some good—”

  Nevada wrenches open the door, steps out of the car and strolls over to the middle of the lot.

  The breeze washes us.

  The silver 1964 Pontiac GTO sits in the lot, all shiny and clean.

  Madre’s car.

  Nevada’s priceless possession.

  The very thing she’s wanted more than anything else in the world.

  “What in the f—” Syd sidles up next to me, as fixated on the car parked in the lot as Nevada is.

  Nevada glances over her shoulder at me. “Howwwww—” She sniffles. “How did you do this, V? How—” She covers her face with her hands for a split second, then chuckles.

  I smile, feeling like I’ve given the girl I love the best gift ever even though I know I can’t give her what she really wants—what she truly needs. “I know I can’t fix everything that went wrong tonight, Nevada. But now you have your car back. I even have—” I spin around to the sight of a gray car pulling into the junkyard.

  Nevada strolls my way and with fiery eyes she marches right past me.

  “Nevada!” Syd reaches out to slow her walk.

  Nevada doesn’t listen, only pushes past her and bangs on the hood of the car that’s now in our space. “Hey!” She bangs on the roof two times then kicks the passenger door, almost right in. “Hey! Get out of this car!”

  “Nevada.” I cover my mouth with my hands.

  “Get out of the car!” Nevada pounds on the tinted windows.

  Syd rushes over to the vehicle. Pete goes crazy with his barking and growling.

  The car door opens and out pops a woman with her hands held high. “I’m sorry.” She keeps her back against the car as she slides along the side of it, eyeballing Nevada and Syd warily. “I’m really sorry.” She adjusts the baseball cap on her head. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Syd gets in her face. “Oh, yeah. Well, you’ve been skulking around here for quite a while now.” Syd pats the woman down and searches her pockets. “Have you seen this woman before?”

  I stroll closer to the scene.

  “No.” Nevada tips her chin high. “Who are you?”

  With a startled look etched across her face, the woman shoves a shaky hand toward Nevada slipping her a card. Then, she smiles. “I’m really sorry…”

  Nevada examines the card then peers at the woman’s face. “I don’t understand.” She glances at Syd. “I don’t understand—”

  The woman pushes off the car and lets out a breath before she speaks. “I’m really sorry it’s all seemed this way.” She places a hand to the middle of her chest. “But my name is Betty Rankin, and I’m from Joe Gibbs Racing.”

  Say whaaaaa?

  Joe Gibbs Racing…

  The pro stock car racing team who’ve won more than seventy NASCAR races and three Cup championships. A team who are sponsored by Monster Energy and FedEx.

  Just wow.

  Betty smiles, then removes her baseball cap revealing a head of curly sandy brown hair. “And we, Joe Gibbs Racing, would like you, Nevada Cassia Cruz, to come and work for us.”

&nb
sp; Nevada sucks in the loudest breath of the century.

  I expect her to jump for joy, to scream and shout and utter words of disbelief.

  But, instead she’s quiet.

  So quiet.

  The crickets sing, and the breeze blows over us.

  Syd is already weeping.

  I place a hand on Nevada’s shoulder and pull her close to me in a tight hug then let her go.

  Nevada stands dizzily. Then with a huge burst of energy, she yanks Betty into a violent hug, squeezing her tight.

  Syd’s eyeballs almost fall out of her head. “I can’t believe this.”

  Nevada lets Betty go.

  Betty laughs softly. “We’ve been watching you for a while, Racehead, and we like your style. We want you to come and work for us if you think it’s something you’d be interested in.”

  Nevada nods nonstop.

  “We would need you to move to North Carolina for a little while, of course, but we offer an attractive bonus plan and yearly salary that will cover all your costs to move and to live comfortably—” Betty smiles.

  Syd screams!

  Nevada weeps as she reaches out to shake Betty’s hand. “Thank you. And yes, I accept. I would never refuse anything like this. I would be honored to drive for Joe Gibbs Racing.”

  “Good. Good.” Betty puts her cap back on. “I’ll be back in the morning with the paper work. For now, I wish you all a good night.” She shakes Syd hand too.

  Syd yanks Betty in for a hug.

  Betty jumps into the gray 1996 Toyota Camry that’s been stalking Nevada for the last few months, reverses, then drives away.

  “You deserve this, Nevada.” I kiss her lips and cup her face in my hands. “You’ve earned it. It’s time for you to make the world talk.”

  “And how will I do that?” She pitches me a sly smile.

  I arch a brow. “Just keep doing what you’re doing...”

  EPILOGUE

  Two Years Later

  Charlotte Motor Speedway

  Concord, North Carolina

  Vashti

  THE WARM SUMMER AIR floats around us.

  I stretch out on the asphalt and look to my left finding one of my favorite souls right next to me.

  “This is stupid.” Banks giggles.

  I laugh too. “It isn’t. Trust me. It’s fun.” I encourage Banks to raise his arms over his head. “You can see the stars.”