by Chris Fabry
Good, but I can do that better next time, she thought.
The backstretch ride made her whoop for joy. The car felt solid and fast, and she could sense the speed. In turn three she kept the accelerator as far down as she could, but the rear end got loose again and she fought it into turn four.
Okay, that didn’t work as well as I’d hoped. I’ll make that up in the next lap.
Jamie flew past the flag stand knowing she had to make this lap a good one. Her fastest time would be used, and her first lap was less than her best. The first turn was perfect—the right speed, a good line, and no movement from behind. Unfortunately when she accelerated out of turn two, she heard an explosion that sounded like her entire car was falling apart. On instinct she gripped the steering wheel, took her foot off the accelerator and jammed it on the brake, and struggled to keep the car off the wall.
“Hold it. Hold it. Hold it,” the track manager said.
A plume of white rolled over the car, and Jamie smelled acrid smoke. She came to a stop, then rolled toward the infield.
“Get out of there,” the man said in her headset.
Her heart pounding, she popped the steering wheel off, released the harness and HANS device, and scooted out onto the track. She moved away from the smoke before she took off her helmet. There was debris behind the car and a huge hunk of rubber along the wall.
Two safety vehicles rolled up along with a track ambulance that looked older than she was. She waved it away.
The track manager was saying something in her headset, but she just kept walking around and around, trying to make sense of what happened.
“What was my time on the first lap?” she said to no one in particular.
“We need you to come to the ambulance, miss,” the emergency medical tech said.
“No, I’m not hurt,” Jamie said. “Did you see what happened?”
“Blew a tire just out of the turn,” he said, his white-gloved hands taking her arm and leading her to the ambulance. “Everybody thought you were going into the wall, but you held on to it.”
“The car was pulling to the right something awful,” she said.
Bud jumped off another pickup and ran to her. “She okay?” he said to the tech.
“You can talk to me, you know,” Jamie said.
Bud gave her a look.
“I’m fine. But what happens now? Do I keep my first lap time?”
“Just get in the ambulance,” Bud said.
“You’re not taking that first lap away from me,” Jamie said.
Chapter 17
Good Sleep
THE PHONE RANG and Tim grabbed it on the first ring. He tried to give his deepest voice for the bank guy, but it was Jamie calling for her mom or dad.
“They aren’t here, Jamie.”
“I’ll try their cell phones,” Jamie said.
“How did qualifying go?” Tim said before she could hang up.
She sighed. “Remember what happened to Devalon in Chicago last weekend?”
“Yeah.”
“Ditto for me. On the back straightaway, second lap of qualifying.”
“You hit the wall?”
“No. But I left a lot of rubber out there.”
“That’s good. Saved the car for the competition tomorrow.”
“Yeah, they’re all excited I was able to save it, but my first lap wasn’t as good because I got loose a couple of times. I swear I could have gotten the pole on that second one.”
“Where did you finish?”
“I’m in the seventh spot of the second heat,” Jamie said. “I have to finish in the top four of the heat to make it in the finals.”
“Piece of cake,” Tim said. “You can do that in your sleep.”
“There are some pretty good drivers here. I hope I can bounce back and don’t get either of the two slower cars. Both the 2 and the 8 were sucking wind.”
“Well, your dad said I’m on your team tomorrow,” Tim said. “We’ll be there to help out.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing everybody.” She paused, obviously distracted by something.
“I’ll let you get back to whatever you gotta get back to,” Tim said.
“No, hang on,” Jamie said. “What about you? Anything going on?”
“Got the go-ahead from that guy in Florida to look in my dad’s safe-deposit box. Now I just need to get ahold of the bank guy.”
“That’s great,” she said, and it sounded like she really meant it. “Wonder what’s in there.”
“I’ve been wondering that for a long time.” He wanted to keep the conversation going, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Well, I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Jamie said.
“Yeah, get some good sleep.” Tim hung up and kicked himself. “Get some good sleep,” he said, mimicking himself. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” How dumb can I get?
Chapter 18
Phone Call
JAMIE REACHED HER MOM’S cell and told her and her dad the news about qualifying. They tried to encourage her, her dad ending with “Hang in there and we’ll see you tomorrow.” It wasn’t what she was looking for. She thought she’d get some sage advice about racing, something that had happened to him when he was young, something his father had said. Maybe something she could write down on a napkin and put on her desk so she could look at it when things got tough.
Her stomach growled as she ordered her food and found an empty table. Chad sat down by her with a smirk. He had qualified second just behind a guy named Thor, but everybody called him Thunder (as if Thor wasn’t unique enough). Jamie called him Lead Foot because his shoes looked like Frankenstein’s, and he always smoked his tires on the pits. Thor was another guy with a racing pedigree. His dad had driven Formula One, and his uncle had raced for the cup.
“Good job hanging on to the #1 out there,” Chad said.
“Go ahead and crow about your qualifying time,” Jamie said.
“Didn’t hurt that you and the others warmed up the track for me. Going last helps.”
Thor passed the table carrying his tray and raised a finger to say hello. She guessed he was conserving his energy for the final race on Sunday.
Jamie bit into a piece of corn on the cob, but the kernels got caught between her teeth. She worked on it as she and Chad talked, putting a hand over her mouth.
“Your dad coming up tomorrow?” Chad said. “Giving you help in the pits?”
She nodded. “What about yours?”
“He said he’d be here to watch me win on Sunday.”
“Do you do that on purpose, or does it just come naturally?”
“Do what?” Chad said.
“Puff up like a big fish in a little pond, making people think you’re important?” Jamie wished she hadn’t said it when she saw the look on his face, so she tried to recover. “I mean, just a little humility would be so much more becoming.”
Chad grabbed his tray and lifted it with one hand.
Jamie called after him as he walked away, but he was gone. Long gone.
Her cell phone buzzed, and since she suddenly didn’t feel much like eating, she dumped the rest in the trash and walked back to her room talking to Cassie Strower. She had a laugh that made Jamie smile every time she heard it, even if things weren’t going very well. They’d grown up together—Cassie’s dad was an engineer with a popular race team in town. They were both pepperoni pizza people. They liked some of the same music (though Cassie listened only to Christian bands), and they’d spent loads of time together having sleepovers and campouts.
However, there was one thing Cassie and Jamie didn’t have in common. Cassie was a thoroughly devoted follower of Jesus. She had told Jamie recently that she wanted to be a medical missionary to some foreign land where little kids were starving and needed help. Her ideas of what to do changed every few weeks, but there was no doubt Cassie wanted to follow God. She knew just about every verse in the Bible backward. Jamie joked that you couldn’t see her
halo because she wouldn’t stand still long enough—she was always volunteering at the church or the food pantry for the homeless.
Jamie had made a deal with God: You don’t bother me and I won’t bother you. That was how she lived mostly, though there were times when God seemed real and almost broke through the clouds. But her mind was usually on racing, not church stuff and reading her Bible.
Jamie was back in her room and sitting on the bed, flipping through the channels on TV, telling Cassie what had happened at the track. Cassie said she wanted to come watch the heats tomorrow, but she was tied up Sunday afternoon.
“Don’t tell me,” Jamie said. “You’re going to be over at the church making meals for a bunch of refugees.”
“I didn’t hear about any refugees,” Cassie said, deadpan. “Did they come from the other side of Lake Norman?”
Jamie chuckled. “Seriously, what are you doing Sunday afternoon?”
“Oh, it’s the greatest thing ever. You know about Camp Left Turn, right?”
“Who doesn’t?” Jamie said. It was a camp put together by churches and Christian drivers that gave sick kids a chance to go to camp for a week.
“Well, I’m going to be a camp counselor, and the orientation meeting is Sunday.”
“What do you have to know?” Jamie said.
“With these kids, you have to have some medical knowledge about their disease or be able to give them support. I fit both. I’ve been giving myself insulin shots for years.”
“Is diabetes what the kids have during your week?”
“It’s why I signed up. My mom heard about a couple of people who had to back out and told me about it. I’m really excited. You should come! It would be so much fun.”
“I’ve seen the videos of those kids going down water slides and climbing rope ladders. It does look like fun.”
“I’ve heard their faces just light up when a real driver comes and talks to them. I can get you a form to fill out—and since your dad’s a driver, I’ll bet they’d let you help.”
“Let me consider it,” Jamie said. “I can hardly think past this weekend with the end of the school.”
“With that license in your pocket, you’ll be able to think a lot better,” Cassie said. “You’ve always dreamed of this.”
“It’s going to be tougher than I thought. Plus, the license doesn’t really let me do anything. I still have to go through the process—”
“That’s my Jamie,” Cassie said. “Always seeing the glass half empty. Listen, girl, do you know how many drivers would love to have that license? Some big team sees your potential, you sign a contract, get a bunch of seat time in a car, and you’re off to your dreams.”
Jamie smiled. It was Cassie who always saw the glass as half full. When they were little, she’d pray for dead animals on the side of the road even though they’d been there for days. The eternal optimist. “I’ll think about the camp,” she said, changing the subject.
“Good. I’ll talk with the people Sunday and tell them about you.”
Jamie talked until her cell phone ran out of battery. Then she called Cassie with the room phone, and they talked some more. It was like old times. Except Jamie had a feeling that her life was about to change. Whether it was for good or bad, she didn’t know.
Chapter 19
Better than Tim
TIM HAD KEPT THE DVD of the Talladega accident to himself but he still couldn’t get it out of his mind. Who had given it to him? And for what purpose? Was it someone on the Maxwell race team? Could it have been Dale?
Dale drove up to the racetrack, and the family got out of the Suburban.
Kellen was his usual chipper self, trying to get Tim to laugh. “I’ll bet those guys have no idea what they’re up against with Jamie. She can be all pretty with perfect nails and silky hair, and the next thing they’ll know, they’ll be staring at the decals on her bumper as she pulls away.”
“That’s enough, Kellen,” Mrs. Maxwell said. “We don’t want to give the other racers a reason to beat her. Like her bragging little brother.”
The family checked in at the entrance to the track, which was no Lowe’s Motor Speedway, but it wasn’t bad. The stands held several thousand fans, and the garage area was big compared with other tracks. They received their garage and pit passes that hung on lanyards around their necks and found Jamie. Tim had a hard time not staring at her because she was so pretty. Her hair was soft and silky, like Kellen had said, but her fingernails were short and her hands greasy, as if she’d been working on an engine. He couldn’t believe a girl who looked like this wanted to race, but here she was in her fire suit and sunglasses, smiling at her family and hugging her mom. She punched Kellen on the shoulder when he made a comment about her muscles and called them guns. She nodded at Tim and he nodded back.
“Which heat is yours?” Dale said.
“Second,” Jamie said. “And I’ll be in the #7 car. There were a couple of complaints about it yesterday, but the mechanics looked it over and gave it a pass for races today.”
Tim and Dale wouldn’t be able to inspect it until after the first heat, so Tim and Kellen took a walk around the garage area while Dale and Mrs. Maxwell talked with Jamie.
“Should have brought a football or a Frisbee to toss,” Kellen said.
Tim studied the line of cars. The school had control of all the cars, so they didn’t have to worry about people making illegal modifications, but they still watched the drivers and their crews checking out the engines. The tires were new—looked like they’d just been put on. The cars in the first heat would use two sets, if Tim gauged it correctly, and the second would use the same. The race on Sunday was a little longer.
When they came out on the other side of the garage, someone said Kellen’s name. It was a dark-haired guy with expensive sunglasses. Everything about him said money. This is the type of guy Jamie would go for, Tim thought.
Kellen said hello and introduced Tim. “This is Chad Devalon. You should see his family’s motor home. It’s bigger than this whole garage.”
The name cut Tim’s heart like a knife. He saw the resemblance of junior to senior, though he could only see his own reflection in the sunglasses. By the way Chad kept his arms folded and didn’t extend his hand to shake, Tim figured he wasn’t a Christian. Every other person in the Maxwells’ church insisted on shaking hands like they were about to subdue an alligator—a nice, firm grip that squeezed the blood out of him.
“I didn’t know you had a big brother,” Chad said.
“No, Tim’s not my brother. I wish he was, but he’s not. He’s kind of adopted—but not really . . .”
“It’s okay,” Tim said to Kellen. “I’m just staying with the family for a while.”
“Really? What for? You related?”
“No. My dad died, and they’re letting me stay with them.”
“How are you doing over there at the Maxwells’?” Chad said, lifting his head.
“Good.” Tim looked around the garage. “You’re not racing today?”
“Got a bye for the finals. You here to watch Jamie?”
“Actually working on her pit crew.”
“I thought you were the spotter,” Kellen said.
“No, your dad decided it would be better for him to do that.”
“How much experience have you had in the pits?” Chad said with a smirk.
Tim was tight-lipped. “I’ve been around racing all my life. I know a thing or two.”
Someone called Tim’s name outside the garage.
Chad smiled and patted Kellen’s head. “Make sure he gets those lug nuts on tight. See you kids around.”
Tim sneered as Chad walked away. He couldn’t stand people who thought they were better than others. Tim didn’t care how many RVs the guy had or how much money or how big of a house—he wasn’t better than Tim.
“Phone call for you,” Mrs. Maxwell said as she ran toward them. She handed the cell phone to Tim. “It’s the bank.”
&nb
sp; Tim took the phone. Weird that the guy from the bank was calling on Saturday. Maybe this one thing would go right for him.
“Tim, I received your message, and since I respect the Maxwells and we’ve agreed to give you another chance, I contacted Mr. Slade in Florida. I actually didn’t reach him until this afternoon, and his version of the story about the safe-deposit box is different from yours.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Tyson told me he didn’t give you permission. He denied that he even talked with you.”
“What?” Tim shouted. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Look, I talked with him yesterday, and he said it would be fine. Maybe he’s been drinking, though, because his wife left. That’s probably why he doesn’t rem—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I can’t let you lie to us and get away with it. Now if you want to go through legal channels to remedy this, that’s fine, but we won’t be taking any more requests from you at this office.”
Tim tried to compute what the man had just said. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good. “So you’re saying that even though Tyson told me—?”
“I’m saying don’t call here again. Period. Unless you have some legal document that allows you to see the contents, you’re not welcome here.”
“Okay,” Tim said. He hung up the phone.
Mrs. Maxwell pursed her lips. “Bad news?”
Tim nodded. “I guess Tyson has a shorter memory than I thought. Either that or he’s just plain mean. Or maybe both.”
Chapter 20
The Race
JAMIE GAVE HER MOM a high five, punched Kellen on the shoulder (which was her only prerace ritual), nodded at Tim, then looked at Rosa ahead of her and gave her a thumbs-up.
