Page 98 of Wrecking Boundaries

We’re halfway through the race, and Joey Fisher’s car isn’t on fire yet.

I’m not going to share; it’s not my secret. “He owes me,” I say instead. It’s not accurate and implies Sarah is an object, but it might put them off.

It doesn’t put them off. “How much?” Derek asks.

“More than he knows,” I say and switch topics. Our comm system isn’t private. Officials and fans can listen to every word, a fact easily forgotten during races, but one it’s best not to ignore now. “Who’s ahead?”

The advice given to him yesterday was sound and would serve him well in other circumstances. Luckily for me, he’s still following it, serving up a strategy that keeps him back in tenth place. Those vying for a top five aren’t making him a target, and the competition is easier for him to manage.

I won’t win the race, but there’s still time for a decent finish.

“The 22 on the inside around this curve and running even with the 41 down the long straight.”

I don’t care. “That’s great. I wish them luck.” Both come with a modicum of talent, but I’m better. “Who’s in the green up ahead?”

“Fisher,” Derek says.

“Jake, what’s the plan?” Mike chimes in. “There are enough laps in this race to get you upfront, but wrecking yourself and a teammate isn’t the way to do it.”

“Advice received,” I say, getting busy ignoring them both.

Yesterday’s suggestion to Joey Fisher was sincerely offered. It gives him some wiggle room to perform while not competing against more experienced drivers.

Like me, NASCAR drivers like to bump and rub in their racing. There’s a bit of wrestling involved with stock cars. It works, and I love it, but you can accomplish the same with air and knowing how to maneuver. Boone Rivers would know how to counteract, while Joey Fisher does not.

I smile and move into his back right. Joey feels the pressure and moves down the straightaway. I keep it even, maintaining the distance between us, and move towards his middle.

“Turn two coming,” Derek says. “Go down for the pass.”

Not interested.

“Looking for my moment,” I say instead and get on Joey’s back left side.

He slows, keeping it to the middle while the 22 and 41 get in tight behind me.

Almost there.

I move, taking advantage of the long stretch to pass onthe inner groove, but stay close rather than pushing on the throttle.

“Enjoy the air,” I silently tell him.

The 22 and 41 are behind him, one on each side, as they try for their opening. There’s nowhere for Joey to go.

I stay close, knowing my air is throwing him off. Joey is probably complaining to his pit crew about getting loose. I lay off the throttle, and he climbs towards me.

His car wavers and I know the back wheels are slipping.

I press on the throttle. In the rearview mirror, Joey spins out and touches the wall.

Our cars never even touched.

“What’s my position?”

Neither of them responds until Derek says, “You took tenth. Rivers is in first, and Julian Murphy is back in sixth. The 19, 5, and 38 come after.”

“Well then, boys, let’s get to work,” I say. “Eight laps to go. How far can we go?”

After accomplishing today’s goal, the rest of it doesn’t matter. The 5 and 38 drive slower cars and are quickly passed.

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