Page 50 of Hellcat Barbies: Imani
Imani:I do but how’s DJ? Are you two good together?
Me: We are really good. He’s gotten used to being here with me. He starts school tomorrow.
Imani:Oh good! Send pictures. ??
Me: I got you but when can I see you?
Imani:Daymir!
Me: I didn’t ask you for my name. I know it When can I see you?
Imani:Let’s see how he adjusts to school.
Me: He’ll adjust quick
She basically disregards my text then ends our conversation.Imani:Good night.
Imani
Motorsport Park is a little piece of heaven on earth here in Cresent Falls. When Hazel first mentioned a track for racing, I did not expect this or the turnout. The park has two main track lengths, a 1/8-mile dragstrip and a 3/8-mile asphalt oval track with concrete turns. There are also spectator bleaches on both sides of the oval track. This is my second time here with her. I only watched and observed the first time but today, I’m racing. I need to; I need the rush. I need something to keep my mind off Daymir.
He texted me on Wednesday night and I’ve been rereading our conversation too many times to admit. I miss the hell out of him but I know that his son really needs him right now. He’s in a new city, a new school, and with his father who he just met a few weeks ago. That’s too much for an adult to digest; I can’t even imagine for a child.
“My girl Evette can smoke that,” Hazel says.
A pretty ass baby blue Corvette just pulled up to the line to race a smokey grey charger. Both ladies actually raced lastSaturday but on the oval track. This is a rematch on the drag strip. Miss Charger doesn’t like her loss.
Every other Saturday, Motorsport allows open racing. It hosts scheduled races and events throughout the year but leaves these Saturdays open for all races from noon till night and it’s a time. Big burnouts, huge wheel-stands, supercharged engines, nitrous breathing, and bad ass rides with mega horsepower is always a good time in my book and today is no different.
I’ve quickly learned that Crescent Falls has a ton of ladies that love to drive and drive fast. On my first Saturday, I only spotted two other ladies driving Hellcats, a powder blue one and a metallic yellow one. Today, it’s just me but there are plenty other rides with fast speeds, including Chargers, Corvettes, Mustangs, a supped up Civic, a gutted-out Miata, and a few Cameros. Each car is unique and tailored to their female owners but they are all fast.
I’ve found my community.
“You should race her next,” I suggest.
“I might but I’m dying to shut Moon’s shit-talking ass up. She’s been talking mad shit about her new Miata,” she says, referring to one of her friends.
Hazel playfully shoots her middle finger to Moon then they both laugh. Then, we turn our attention to the drag-strip. The tall, shirtless, muscular flag boy walks to the line then pulls the red bandana from his pocket. He raises it in the air and both ladies rev their engines. The minute he drops it, they are off and seconds later, Miss Charger loses again.
While these Saturdays are open to everyone, the ladies have no doubt taken over. There are only a handful of male drivers out and they are not pleased by the substitution of themales for their normal flag girls. The guys are all Hazel’s idea and I love it.
When the drag-strip is clear, I leave them and walk to my baby. We’re up next and I need to pull up. As soon as I get in, I grip Imari’s chain and say my prayer. Then, I drive onto the track and cross over to the drag-strip. My opponent who I met my first time here, Tiece in a midnight black Camaro, is already at the line.
I shift into park, steady my hands on my steering wheel, then rest my feet above the gas petal. I glance over at Tiece, she nods with a smirk and I do the same. This win is mine. I watched her in her first race today. Although her Camaro ZL1 is lighter than my baby and has better handling capabilities, a win comes from the driver and Tiece can’t handle her ride. She jerked on takeoff during her race and her back tires slid. With my baby’s horsepower and my ability to command her with ease, I’ll be bragging in less than eight seconds when I cross the line before her.
The fine flag man steps to the middle of the line, he raises his bandana then drops it. I shift into drive at the same time as my foot mashes the gas. I’m off before Tiece and when her car jerks, I leave her in my smoke. According to the computerized timing system at the track, she crosses 2.1 seconds after me. I smoked her.
After u-turning, I slowly creep back to the start. She pulls up after me. the cocktail of driving fast, pushing my baby to her limit, and winning is the best feeling in the world. My heart is beating fast. Every nerve under my skin is firing and I feel like I’m floating. I’m on a high that no drug can match. Even if I wanted to, and I don’t, I can’t contain the big ass smile on my face when I get out.
The somber look on Tiece’s face doesn’t diminish mine either but like a true competitor, she shakes my hand and congratulates me. Out here, on the track, the vibe is different. Not one of the races I’ve witnessed ended like my street one that night. I chalk it up to the lack of testosterone. Ladies just know how to act.
“She’s so powerful; I can’t handle her,” Tiece admits.
“How long have you been racing her?” I ask.
“I got her for my thirtieth, a much-needed gift to myself. Brand new off the lot. She’s only nine months old and I’ve been coming here for about two months.”
“Oh, that’s why. You’re still learning how to handle her. I’ve had my baby for five years. You need to race with less experience drivers like Hazel,” I add.
