One For The Road

19: Sprinkles, Part 1

The All-Star Race was a much shorter and less crowded race than I was used to, which only made passing cars before I ran out of time more difficult. There were fewer cars in my way, but they were all really good cars. That sucked.

By the end of the first and longest stage, I wasn't in last place anymore, and when I accidentally commented out loud that Elizabeth could suck it, Brad, my temporary crew chief, told me to focus on driving. Once again, he had no idea how I worked. My mouth, hands, feet, and mind all functioned independently, especially my mind and mouth.

Since it was the end of the stage, we were under caution, and that gave us time to make pit stops and calm down for just a moment. Even though Charlotte wasn't as brake-heavy as a short track like Martinsville, my feet burned and chafed.

Well, I sure as hell didn't miss those damn blisters.

"The ten car is running a higher line than everyone else, and he's the fastest car on the track by two tenths of a second," Marty Whateverhisnamewas, my temporary spotter, said.

"Fuck that dude," I muttered. I also didn't miss Tyler Bailey. I hadn't even dared to stray up the race track, but if my car could handle it, it would have been stupid not to give it a try.

Unfortunately, my car was kind of a piece of shit.

In order to get it fixed up to my liking, I described how the car felt everywhere on the track: okay on entry, tight during the turn, and loose as hell on exit. It was out of my hands, and hopefully Brad would figure out a quick fix.

I also wasn't very familiar with the pit crew, since my old one officially belonged to Elizabeth Tonkin, but there was a common language between the driver and crew, so we'd probably be on the same page. As soon as I stopped in my pit box, they'd do their thing, and once they dropped the jack, it was off to the races for me. It sounded easy in theory, but who knew how they'd deviate from what I was used to?

"Remember Moore, you're number fifty-nine now," Brad reminded me.

"Right. Right. Fifty-nine," I mumbled to myself.

The first-place car led us down pit road, and my hands flinched when I saw the number ninety-five sign. It wasn't my number anymore. I continued on and pulled into the right box, and I waited for the pit crew to add fuel, change all four tires, and make the necessary adjustments. As soon as the car dropped back to the ground, I sped out of my box.

Was that fast? It seemed faster than usual. There certainly seemed to be fewer cars in front of me now.

I looked out the rearview mirror, and they sure as hell knew that they just killed the pit stop and took no prisoners. They high-fived each other, and I let out a laugh.

"Oh my god, that was—how fast was that? Who are you people? Aliens?" I stammered.

"That was probably a fluke, but dammit, we'll take it," Brad said. "Just over twelve seconds."

I came into the pits in sixteenth place. I came out tenth.

"As soon as I make it back here full time, I need this pit crew. Somebody get it in writing that these misfits are mine now." I laughed again. "I'm fucking serious. Holy shit."

Maybe I could pull this off. I knew damn well I couldn't win alone, and with that kind of support, it was crystal clear that I wasn't alone at all.

As we drove around the track at what seemed like a turtle's pace, I realized what I had said: as soon as I make it back here full time. Of course, I was at the race to win a million bucks for Drake and Annie (but not Josiah, due to the fact that he managed to piss me all the way off every single time he opened his mouth), but this was my chance to open my options right back up.