Page 11 of Drifting

“You know damn well I need to race tonight. We need rent.” Another sneeze catches me off guard, and I sniffle. “I’m not missing the final race. I worked too hard to get here.”

I sniffle again, my head thumping in sync with my heart. All I have to do is drive from point A to B; it’s as simple as that.

Billy leans against my car. “Sweetheart, we told you we’d chip in for Cin and your rent.”

I throw my hands in the air. “Dammit, guys, I said no about taking money off of you. You know how I feel about that. Plus, it’s more than the money. We worked our asses off this year to get here. I can do this. Have some damn faith in me.” I point to the front of the car. “Now, get the damn car ready and shut up.”

The guys shake their heads and return to work.

Cin whispers in my ear, “We could pay them back. It wouldn’t be charity.”

In my head, it’s all the same, and I give her the stink eye as I sniffle.

“Shelby, I’m worried.” Her forehead creases. “Is your pride so damn important that you’re willing to wreck? If something goes bad, and the cops are called, or god forbid you end up in the hospital, they’ll call social services. We’ve been looking over our shoulder for them for over two years. We’re almost free. But, if we get caught, you’ll end up in a group home again, or juvy, and I’ll end up back home. My gut…” She exhales. “Just, please, don’t do this,” she begs.

I stare into her stormy-blue eyes, so she can see how confident I feel. I know I can handle this. “Trust me, I’ll be fine. I got this. You know how I hate taking money off people. I don’t like owing anyone, friends or not. It just makes life simpler. Besides all that, I wouldn’t risk what we have here unless I knew for sure I could do this.”

A deep voice yells, “Little Devil, you got twenty minutes to get to the starting line.”

Cin takes a deep breath, nods, then leaves to check-in with Ricky.

I pull on my suit and go through my final checks. It takes me longer than usual, though, my body weak from being laid up in bed all week.

When we’re ready, I climb into Little Devil, and my crew pulls me up to the starting line. Spectators and drivers line both sides of the road, yelling my name and, damn, what a rush that is.

Little Devil slides into The Box, and Billy taps the back of the car, telling me I’m clear for my burnout.

I alternate stepping on the break and gas, spinning my tires. I look in the mirror, watching for Mark’s hand gester to tell me to back up. Usually, I enjoy the smell of burning tires, but I can’t smell shit today.

A to B. I got this, I keep telling myself.

The only thing I’m worried about is the flag. I’m afraid I’ll sneeze and miss the runner dropping the flag.

No sneezing until the end. Do you hear that body? You can’t sneeze.

When the flagger motions me to pull up, I inch forward until he waves for me to stop.

My heart beats erratically, and it pulses in my temples. The next few seconds, I don’t breathe. I’m laser focused on the flagger and wait for him to run ahead. The most critical part of racing is when that flag drops. If you go too early, you lose. If you leave too late, your opponent’s halfway down the road, and you lose.

My eyes burn as I watch the flagger.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Come on…

Adrenaline courses through my body. God do I love this.

Come on, drop the flag.

The flagger runs forward, turns, and drops the flag.

I slam on the gas and shoot ahead.

Yes!

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