In seconds, we’re on Batter’s tail. A moment later, we’re catching up. When Batter hears the sound of our approach, he looks over his shoulder. The shock on his face is worth all the prize money in the world.
He grabs the gas bar and shoves it halfway to the top.
No matter.
Padlock is on him.
Trees whip by and soon a crowd of race-goers appear on either side of us. Padlock blasts by all of it, eating up the ground, blazing past turns. He puts himself beside Batter’s horse, and I see fear in Batter’s eyes.
I see it.
No matter how far Batter pushes his horse, Padlock matches his speed. He’s never been good at straight dashes, but tonight he’s untouchable.
I used to race Padlock like I wanted to place well.
But Padlock races like he’s already won.
In the distance, my eyes make out something that causes my entire body to turn inside out—the finish line. Padlock and I see it at the same time, and energy fires across both our backs.
I dare to hope we still have a chance, until I notice that the smoke pouring from Padlock’s nose is now billowing—great, heaping clouds of the stuff shooting out his nose and eyes and ears. I cry out and start to reach for the autopilot button.
But Padlock won’t be stopped.
Not tonight.
The button is jammed. I pull on the brake bar, turn the key in the ignition, but nothing moves. I try everything to stop him, to keep him from blowing his engine. But nothing works. As my mind buzzes, I recall the way my Titan looked at me in the stable an hour earlier. As if he wouldn’t allow me to lose. And that if it came down to it, he’d sacrifice himself to protect my future.
Padlock’s one good eye flickers, and now smoke whiffs out of that too.
“I don’t want this!” I scream. “Stop, Padlock. Stop!”
Tears streak my face as his insides begin to rattle and crash. A bolt tears apart from his body and nearly hits me as it flies into the forest. My Titan is a machine, born to compete and that’s all. But he’s become so much more than that. He’s made me stronger, braver. He’s given me confidence I never could have found elsewhere. He’s given me a friend.
And he’s made me trust again.
Remembering this last part, I tighten my hold on the saddle horn and lean over.
Okay, Padlock, I think. Let’s do this, then.
“Go, Padlock!” I scream, barely able to hear my own voice. “Go, go, go!”
Batter’s horse stays with us around every turn, up every straightaway, past every flash of the cameras. Our horses are nostril-to-nostril, body-to-body, tail-to-tail. My competitor doesn’t chance slamming into me. It’s too risky. Not at this speed. Not this close to the end.
The finish line closes in so quickly it’s as if it’s racing toward us instead of the other way around. I cry out from pride and joy and madness. My blood pumps and my heart pounds and my pulse screams.
The finish line is upon us.
It’s right there.
And so is Batter.
And so is a crevice.
An enormous break in the ground like the one I stopped at during our race against Hart. But this time, there’s no stopping.
Batter stops short.
Padlock does not.
He soars over the crevice, and for an instant we are suspended, looking down at the crowd of screaming faces. Looking down at the world from our place in the sky. There is no sound here in the stars. There is only peace and happiness and a sublime moment I’ll hold inside me until the day I die.
Then we are crashing down. We are rolling over the finish line. Noise slams into me like a tidal wave. Cheering and booing and my last name shouted over and over.
Sull-i-van!
Sull-i-van!
Sull-i-van!
But what about my horse’s name? What about my Titan? Theo races out onto the track wearing a smile much warmer than his brother’s, holding a trophy, golden and glistening. But I don’t care about that. I care about my Padlock.
I was thrown from his back when we came down, and now I hobble toward him. I’m bruised and in pain, but I’m okay. Padlock, however, is barely moving. He lies on his side and kicks at the ground with his front hooves. I throw myself over his body as more smoke blasts out. Someone is there, trying to pull me off my Titan, but I won’t let go of my horse. Padlock turns his head back to look at me, and I move my mouth to his ear.
“You are a good horse,” I whisper to him, emotion making my words thick. “You are the very best horse. I love you, Padlock.”
His eye flickers and I swear it, I’ll forever swear it, I see amusement in that eye. And triumph. And love.
I embrace him tightly, crying into his steel-threaded mane, my tears sizzling against his neck. The camera flashes snap, and tickets fly, and a tall man with a notepad in his hand looks down upon it all, a grimace on his face.
When I’m lifted into the air, I fight against the person who holds me. I don’t want to leave my Titan. But when I look down at my horse’s face, I see it’s him who has left me. I moan with sorrow and cling to Rags’s chest, cry into his warmth for what feels like an eternity. Finally, finally, I am able to lift my head, and when I do, I find it’s not Rags who carries me far from the crowd and the cameras.
It is my father.
Three weeks later, Magnolia and I lie on my bed, kicking our feet behind us as we pore through my glossy fashion magazines, Magnolia looking at a model’s hair, me admiring a lifestyle I could now have, but don’t need.
Two million dollars. Enough to do anything, really.
Except bring Padlock back to me.
I repaid Lottie’s investment money and provided her the agreed-upon portion of the winnings—a total deduction of two hundred and seventy thousand dollars. I could tell Lottie didn’t want it, but I insisted. I couldn’t have done any of this without her, after all. Rags and Barney were just as stubborn, saying they got what they wanted. They saw their Titan race, and they saw their Titan win.
Last weekend, because he wouldn’t accept his “blood money” winnings, I snuck behind Rags’s back and had his work shed and garage remodeled. Magnolia and I oversaw the project, and even asked the contractors to make some updates to the front of his home while he was out. Rags acted offended when he returned. I had perfectly good tools to begin with, he growled.
But he stopped once he saw the new truck and trailer parked in his driveway. He stopped when he weighed the new tools in his hand, and I could see the desire to build things taking hold.
Things between Magnolia and me didn’t change after I anonymously paid off the mortgage on her family’s home. I’m not sure I got away with the anonymous part. The day after I did it, Magnolia showed up at my house grinning. That was pretty cool of you, my friend, she said. Pret-ty cool. Then, in true Magnolia fashion, she made me pastries every day for a week as a thank-you.
“You realize you’re going to have to beat the boys back with a stick when we get to UM, right?” Magnolia asks.
“Doubt it,” I say. But then I point to a hot guy on horseback in a cologne ad. “I wouldn’t mind someone who looks like this, though.” Even though I’m showing Magnolia the shirtless dude, my eyes still catch on the horse. My heart lurches thinking, once again, of the steel horse I will only ever see in my dreams. Lottie tells me the best way to give glory to Padlock now is to live life with intention and gratefulness. And joy. So I attempt to follow her advice and return my attention to this sunny, lazy afternoon.
Magnolia and I are officially seniors now, which means we’ll be college bound next year. We have to start applying soon, but the University of Michigan has reached out to us, as fascinated with our involvement in the races as the media has been. And not just local media. The Titan Derby has received national attention since Bruce Edwards, the journalist from Chicago, broke the news about a man named Arvin Gambini putting people’s lives in peril in order to franchise the track. The public didn’t like this one b
it, and Arvin’s grandmother didn’t either. She pulled the money she’d invested straight out of Arvin’s pocket and gave it to Theo instead.
With a spotlight on the track, the local authorities have been forced to put their gambling tickets away and open an investigation into Arvin’s actions at Cyclone Track and whether the stock he bought in Hanover Steel five years ago is considered insider trading.
The papers say Theo Gambini kept his hands clean, and has plans to continue the races. He’ll discontinue the jams to make the races safer, and require all riders be over the age of twenty-one. The races will now take place during the day, with one family-friendly race at the start of the season.
Other than that, bets will still be placed.
Jockeys will still compete for glory.
Titans will still run.
Magnolia sees the look on my face and jumps off the bed, a copy of the UM brochure in her hand. “I almost can’t wait to get our lives started, you know.” She glances back at me. “You still going to major in engineering?”
I nod. “Barney says math nerds will be welcome there.”
Zara comes in—intruding on my sisterly space—and flops down onto the floor dramatically. “I’m so boooooored,” she moans.
“Hang out with Mom and Dad,” I suggest.
“Um, no,” she says, turning up her nose. “They’re outside working in the garden.”
“Dad too?” I ask. Though I’m not sure I’m surprised. A few nights ago, Dad followed Mom outside when she went to work on our neighbors’ yards. And a couple of nights after that, she followed after him when he left with a deck of cards in his pocket. The twosome came back shortly after, Mom giggling and Dad whispering Things I Do Not Want to Hear into her ear. She stopped him from gambling. I don’t know if that’ll hold, but it’s a step in the right direction. Finding out Dani was involved in an unhealthy relationship really did a number on Dad and his involvement in our family. It also helped that an aftermarket Titan parts company in Dearborn got wind of Dad rigging Padlock for the derby, and said they wanted that man on their team.
“Think we can be roommates at college?” Magnolia asks.
“If I get put with anyone but you, I’ll act loony until they move me.” I make crazy eyes at Magnolia to show her I’m serious.
Magnolia stretches her arms above her head. “It’s wild, isn’t it? Soon we’ll be, like, adults. Going to class and parties and meeting boys.”
“Boys?” Zara’s eyebrows rise.
“What about Hart?” I ask.
She grins. “Yeah, yeah. He’ll be visiting too. The jerk.”
I purse my lips. “Ugh. I can’t believe you two are serious.”
“I’m serious that he’s hot.” She wags her eyebrows. “You know he’s going to sign a deal with Hanes? The first campaign will be him in his skivvies on a billboard with the tagline He falls hard. It’s a double entendre, but he only has eyes for me. I made him pinkie it.”
“Well, a pinkie swear is binding.”
Magnolia hits me with my own pillow. “Zara’s right. This is boring.” She puffs out her lips, then holds up her finger like she has an idea. “Hey, let’s go find cloud animals like we used to!”
“Only kids do that,” Zara says.
“No, let’s do it,” I say, smiling. “I can totally find the best one.”
“Yeah, right,” Zara responds, already on her feet.
The three of us pull on our shoes, breezing past Mom and Dad, and race into the sunshine. I drop down onto the grass, scouring the puffy clouds for manes and equine noses, until a man’s face appears over my head.
“What the heck are you doing, kid?” Rags asks.
I hop to my feet and give Rags a half hug. He brushes me off and tells me to stop acting like a girl.
“Nice vest,” Magnolia tells Rags from the ground. “And I’m here because I’m her BFF, so bite me.”
“You know, I was about to say you look nice today,” Rags tells Magnolia.
Magnolia sits up. “You were?”
“No.”
Magnolia sticks her tongue out at him. Then she returns to her hunt.
“Aren’t you guys a little old to be lying on the ground like this?” Rags asks, but it seems to me he’s stalling on asking me, or telling me, something more important.
“Aren’t you always calling me kid?” I reply.
Rags smiles and digs his hands into his pockets. “Can we take a quick walk?”
“Sure.” I dust myself off and tell Magnolia and Zara, “Hey, I’ll be back in a sec.”
“Take your time,” Magnolia says.
“Take forever,” Zara replies, giggling.
Rags and I walk across the street to Candlewick Park, so close to where I met my future trainer—him red and sweating, me insisting he sit down and remove that ridiculous vest. What a bitter old man I thought he was then.
Rags scratches his head like he’s nervous to speak, so I elbow him and say, “Man up already, will ya? What is it?”
“All right,” he says brutishly, but I know he’s glad I prompted him. “I’ve been thinking about something.”
“That’s scary.”
“What if I had an idea?”
“Even scarier.”
Rags frowns, and I laugh.
“Tell me this idea,” I say, because I want to know.
“What if I proposed to Lottie?”
I squeal with happiness.
Rags grabs his head like I’m killing him. “So you’ll help me plan the darn thing? I’m sure she’ll want it to be romantic and crap.”
I throw my arms around Rags and hug him, hardly able to contain my excitement for the soon-to-be fiancé.
“One more thing,” Rags says, pulling a small black box from his pocket. “An early Christmas present.”
“Oh, wow, really?” I say.
“Stop staring at it, already,” Rags replies. “Just open it.”
When I do, I see a square-shaped necklace charm with a latch. Inside the latch is an intricate patchwork of parts and gears. “It’s beautiful,” I say. “But what is it?”
“It’s Padlock’s EvoBox,” Rags answers. “It’s what made him, him.”
My breath catches in my lungs and I swallow down the lump in my throat. Since the derby, I’ve thought of little else besides the friend I lost. So having this … it means everything. I lean into Rags and hug him again. This time, though, Rags doesn’t just give me an awkward pat. He hugs me back, and lets me hang on for as long as I need. Then he watches as I fumble with my newfound treasure. I slip the chain around my neck, and the last piece of Padlock I’ll ever have falls into place next to my heart.
The following people deserve steel, robotic horses for their help in turning this story into a book. I’ll pop one in the post for each of you!
First, to my editor, Erin Black, for taking a chance on this idea after I sent her a link to a commercial and three sample pages. Where would my books be without your love and care for the story and characters? Nowhere good, that’s for sure. Padlock goes to you!
To my agent, Sara Crowe, thank you for making this deal happen, and for not freaking out when I said, “Pull the other proposal. Let’s do this one instead!” Here’s your Titan.
Mad respect for the marketing team behind the Acura horse commercial. Your brilliance sparked the idea behind this book. Because I come from the world of advertising, I know how hard it is to create a memorable spot. And you nailed it. Bravo! I’d give you a Titan, but you already have your own.
Big, gushy hugs for my family. And this time, a special shout-out to my aunts and uncles—Peggy, Hassan, Nancy, and Tommy—for their support, and because they demanded a mention in the next book. I’ve got your Titans en route.
Love for my assistant, Regina, who helped me immensely as I worked on this book. And for all my readers and mega-fans—you guys are why I wake up and do this day after day. *Fires Titan cannon*
Ten Titans for everyone who worked on my book at Scho
lastic. For my publicist, Saraciea Fennell, my production editor, Beka Wallin, my designer, Nina Goffi, and for Lizette Serrano, Emily Heddleson, and the entire sales and marketing team who ensure my books make it into readers’ hands.
To author pals who keep things fun, and tell me when my title ideas are horrendous, thank you. For Julie Kagawa (magic tricks), April Genevieve Tucholke (pretty please), Lindsay Cummings (FUBS tour), Wendy Higgins (drive-by emails), Adi Alsaid (1PB), Sophie Jordan (triangle signing chairs), Kendare Blake (inspiration), Michelle Krys (witchery), and Paula Stokes (because obviously)—you guys win. How about instead of Titans, I send you galleys?
And finally, always, to my husband, Ryan. We made a pretty cute baby, huh? How about another one? Just kidding! You are intelligent, and funny, and handsome—and you have the darkest mind of anyone I know. I love that wicked little brain of yours to the stars and back. You are my person, and I am yours. Always and forever. Amen.
Victoria Scott is the author of Fire & Flood, Salt & Stone, and the Dante Walker series. She lives in Dallas with her family and is currently working on her next novel. Victoria adores getting to know her readers. Visit her online at VictoriaScottYA.com.
ALSO BY VICTORIA SCOTT
Fire & Flood
Salt & Stone
Copyright © 2016 by Victoria Scott
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Scott, Victoria (Young adult author), author.
Titans / Victoria Scott. — First edition.
Titans Page 25
