Page 1 of Drifting

CHAPTER ONE

Drinking my first cup of coffee as the sun crests the horizon, I watch the white, puffy clouds pass by it and marvel at how something so simple can be so perfect. Every day, we’re surrounded by ugliness, so I focus on this as often as possible to remind myself that beautiful things still exist in the world.

Swiveling around, I peer at the clock hanging on our off-white wall. Shit, it’s time to wake up Grumpy.

Every morning, it’s the same thing. My cousin Cynthia, or Cin as she likes to be called, sleeps in as late as possible, then fights me for five more minutes. She hates going to school. Cin’s a grease monkey, just like her father, and thinks she doesn’t need a degree to work in a garage since she grew up in one. She’d be happy living in a garage, too. I’ve tried to explain that most places still want at least a high school diploma before they’ll hire her, but she’s stubborn.

As for me, I love to race, mostly street racing, which makes us the perfect team.

I blame my Uncle Brett for my love of racing.

Every Saturday during racing season, we would sit with my uncle and watch NASCAR. Uncle Brett was fascinated with the racer, George Wright, and he would do a jig every time George won a race.

Cin and I used to laugh until we peed ourselves.

After Cin’s mom, Aunt Maria, along with the baby, died in childbirth, Uncle Brett tried to find a babysitter to watch us after school. The first two ran out of the house, pulling their hair and saying we were devil children.

After that, no one wanted to watch us.

He gave up on babysitters, took us to the shop, and let us tinker. He did his best to raise us on his own. But, unlike Cin, I didn’t care about tools and what they did. While Cin was under the cars, I’d climb inside of them, stand on the seats, and wrap my hands around the wheel to pretend I was racing.

Uncle Brett came up with the idea that he’d give us a run down, 1998 Chevy Camaro to fix up on our own as a way to distract us while he worked.

We glanced at each other, then jumped up and down. We inspected that car from head to toe before discussing, for hours, what we wanted to do with her.

As with everything that involved the garage, we had simple rules to follow. If they allowed us to do it in the garage, then we were allowed to do it to our car.

We were eight, almost nine, but we already had years of experience.

Close to my eleventh birthday, Uncle Brett told me he planned to give me the car when we finished it. He promised, when I turned sixteen and got my license, he would drop the car off for me. Cin wrapped her arms around me and told me she would be my head mechanic when I started racing.

Then, Uncle Brett asked us what we would name her. He told us that all street racers named their car. For an hour, we shot out different names until Uncle Brett said Little Devil, because he gave us the car to work on since no one would babysit us little devils.

Thus, Little Devil was born.

One of the guys, who did the detailing at the shop, came up with a drawing for us, showing us what he wanted to paint on the car. It would be all black with a red stripe down the middle and a red devil face on the hood.

It looked bad ass.

But, I never got to finish Little Devil. My mother came to get me and moved us far away. Everything went to shit after that, but Cin and I are back together again, us against the world.

Now, if only I can convince her she needs to go to school.

Maybe it’s because racing is dangerous, and I know I can’t do it forever that I think getting my diploma is so important. I need something to fall back on in case life takes another turn for the worse. Thankfully, school comes easy to me. It always has. I even want to go off to college, which means getting a scholarship to someplace.

I stroll into the bedroom I share with Cin, shuffling my feet on the taupe carpet. The room isn’t much to look at, but it’s ours. We furnished it by buying stuff being sold by a guy out of the back of a box truck. We were able to afford two twin beds—frames and mattresses—and a dresser to share. It ended up being cheaper than what we would have spent at a store.

“Cin, it’s time to get up.” As I touch the arm that hangs out of the covers, a shock jumps from me to her.

She startles, mumbling into her pillow, “Go away, Shelby.”

I sit on the edge of my bed, taking a sip of my coffee. “Cin, get your grumpy ass up. I let you sleep as late as possible.”

“But, mommmy, I have cramps today. Can’t I stay home?” Cin whines from the depths of her pillow.

“Har, har. I know you’re bullshitting about the cramps. Our periods are in sync. You thought you were sneaky last night, but you weren’t. It’s no one’s fault other than your own that you stayed up too late last night watching Fast N’ Loud. We have two weeks of school left, and we have reviews for finals all this week. Plus, you can’t miss anymore classes. Get dressed. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

She throws off her covers and glares at me. “Bitch.”

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