"A final check of his tires as Storm settles into the pole position."
Bob Cutlass and Darrell Cartrip were the sports commentators for the race; as they gave their input, Mom and Laina (and I'm sure the rest of the Rust-eze crew as well) kept their eyes locked on Dad.
"Boogity boogity boogity!" Darrell remarked. "Let's end this season with a great race!"
The roaring of engines picked up as the vehicles curved around the track at over two hundred miles an hour.
"THAT'S IT, BUDDY!!" Mater hollered in encouragement.
For an hour and a half, we watched twenty-four race cars chasing each other in a circle.
Cue Lap 46.
"Forty laps to go," a familiar voice announced. "and race leader Jackson Storm is making his way onto pit road with McQueen on his tail! A good stop here could mean the difference between victory and defeat!"
Natalie Certain.
I had no clue that she was even supposed to be commentating, tonight.
Then again, I knew just as little about her as I did about Storm.
Storm's rushing by gave me a good chance to get a closer glimpse at his car; Laina and I couldn't help but grin giddily between each other as we rushed in front of the crew.
Unfortunately, my mother had what is known worldwide as the Sixth Sense, and she saw right through my scheme.
I was yanked back by the collar.
"Ah-ah," she scolded. "Your dad will run you over, back his car up, and then go again for good measure."
"What? It's not like I could chase Storm down even if I wanted to! It'll just be a sneak peek!"
"Alexandria, I said no."
"But--"
"Alex."
With a defeated sigh, I stepped back.
Dammit.
Dad flew into the pit stop, almost brake checking the car as he rushed Guido in changing its tires.
"Faster, Guido! Come on, come on!" he hurried the poor man. "I gotta get back out there before he does!"
The distraction was honestly the perfect chance to observe the back of Jackson's car...from behind my mother.
From just those few feet away, I could make out the orange stamps on the bumper of the black vehicle, along with its thin red headlights lining the corners beneath its spoiler.
"GUIDO! HURRY UP!"
"BATO! BATO!"
Dad's scolding took me right out of my thoughts, and I whipped my head around just in time to see him flash past us, and back onto the main track.
I would've missed it if I so much as blinked.
He left a trail of smoke on the way out, sending me into a coughing fit. I wheezed into the crook of my elbow.
"What a pit stop by McQueen!" Darrell shouted over the speakers, clearly in awe. "Man, he just got the lead!"
"But! Can he hold onto it?" Bob added.
Storm raced back into the chaos on his own, and from the ironically slow pace he was taking, it was almost as if the guy was completely unfazed.
I could feel that nervous, stomach-dropping sensation making its grand return, and I furrowed my brows in response.
Dad had already make it clear back in Arizona: he was willing to push the strength of the car's engine much further than it could physically reach, and from his shift in attitude towards his own pit crew, his own friends, his own family...it was clear that Storm was taking a toll on his focus.
I didn't like the idea of my own father, someone who I'd always known to be almost disgustingly caring and kind to everyone, always willing to put everyone else before himself, suddenly becoming so cold and distant.
And selfish.
It almost scared me.
"Storm takes back the lead!"
"Unbelievable! McQueen is fading! Fading fast!"
...
Suddenly, #95 was growing slower.
Generously slower.
Something was wrong.
It was a gut feeling, as if my body was aware that something was bound to happen. I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my eardrums as I watched him blend into the crowd of racers who kept on without a single care, who zoomed past without the same mercy of the generation before them.
Then, he picked up speed.
Too much speed.
#95 began shaking; Dad's line was no longer straight.
Though at this point, it was safe to say he barely had a line. Not anymore.
Despite how he was trying to catch up, the competition still had much more of a lead than him, and it was clear as day that the old red car could no longer take the amount of pressure Dad was forcing on it.
The car skidded.
My heart dropped.
It felt like everything was happening in slow motion. The vehicle went airborne, and I lost any sense of hearing I once had.
The car let out a steam of black smoke from the undercarriage as sparks trailed the ground, becoming bright embers. It landed hood-first against the tracks before hitting the track wall a second time, and sliding against the pavement.
It somersaulted near the outfield, leaving a trail of red paint and embers in its wake.
When my hearing returned, all I could make out was the sound of my own voice.
It was the loudest I'd ever screamed.
---
"Welcome back to Piston Cup Talk around the clock, where we do nothing but talk racing! Let's get to it, starting of course with Lightning McQueen."
There was a knock at my door.
"...Alex?"
I buried myself further into the sheets of my bed.
Dad was still currently recovering; whether he would be discharged today or in the years to come was a mystery.
Watching his body being pulled out of his own car was now a recurring nightmare. I could still recall the grueling vision of the EMTs prying a limp arm out of the vehicle's busted window. Blood cascaded from the widow's peak where his skin met his hair, staining his pale cheeks.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing back tears as the scene replayed in my head, for what felt like the millionth time.
They were already bloodshot from the all-nighters I had been pulling.
"With the season start just two weeks away, there's still no official announcement, but with #95 coming off its worst year on record, don't shoot the messenger, folks: I think it's safe to assume that Lightning McQueen's racing days are over," the radio host continued. "Meanwhile, Jackson Storm is looking even faster than last year; with--"
I shut off the radio upon hearing footsteps outside my door again.
It creaked open.
"...I always thought 2pm was lunchtime, not bedtime."
Laina.
I exhaled out of my nose, lacking in any response. She sat at the edge of my bed, resting a hand my leg.
"Come on, Alex," she insisted. "Why don't we take a trip to that new dairy joint? I hear they have a new shake every week."
I shifted my head against my pillow, keeping my gaze averted.
"Maybe next time," I dismissed weakly. "I don't...feel like going out, today."
"You can't stay bundled up in this room forever." she countered.
With a shrug, I turned on the opposite side.
Laina sighed.
"You're just as stubborn as your dad," she remarked. "You really think he'd want you sulking over him?"
"..."
I shifted under the covers, gazing wearily up at the blonde with red scleras; the rest of my face stayed buried under the covers.
She blew a streak of hair out of her face, exasperated.
"Look, we won't be out all day, alright?" she suggested. "but your mom is really worried about you -- at least get some fresh air so she can focus on Monty. Kk?"
"..."
I exhaled out of my nose, returning a weak nod.
"...Okay..." I trailed defeatedly, sitting up slowly.
"Good..." she wasted no time in answering, cupping one of my cheeks with her hand.
"...I'll wait outside."
I stared blankly at the covers as she stood and left. The sound of the door shutting behind her was a grim reminder that this was not, in fact, just a bad dream.
The simple act of just turning to stand was hard enough in and of itself, and being timed by my best friend wasn't helping my cause.
I lazily threw on some jeans and my cargo jacket, shoulders sunken in as I shuffled towards the door. I was just about to reach for the knob when I caught something, out of the corner of my eye.
"..."
I could feel a sudden pang jolting across my chest and through my back as I walked towards my dresser, carefully taking my snapback into my hands.
They began to shake as they gripped the hat tautly. With a shivering finger, I traced the threaded number on the front of the cap, embedded just above the line where the fabric met the yellow visor.
My waterline moistened, and I chewed my bottom lip, if only to combat the tears threatening my vision.
It was scary how something to precious to yourself could so quickly become haunting.
It was reasonable that as a little kid, I would be shoved into the faces of cameras. I'd grown used to it by the present day.
That still didn't make it right.
It's especially why I never saw myself as taking my father's place.
The spotlight was full of grime, unmerciful to those it found. Laina would never understand the frustration of simply wanting to enjoy a day with family at a park, only to have it interrupted by nosey reporters with microphones and flashing and questions that were always asked at just the wrong time.
She didn't know the struggle of two parents in the media simply trying to have fun with their toddler at a slide, only to have to scoop her up and carry her away before the blinking shutters of cameras in the distance could catch up, their poor three-year-old crying and confused as to what the hell was going on, why she was being stopped in the middle of her playtime, why Papa was suddenly so loud and angry, why Mama was so frantic and scared.
And she especially would never understand the struggle of classmates who only ever asked about her famous racing dad, or their comments about her being "set for life" thanks to Daddy's Money.
She didn't have to deal with teachers who would just assume her future career for her instead of letting her choose her own path.
Fame was not all that it was cracked up to be. I knew that much from experience alone.
Dad's crash was only made worse by the insensitive remarks of the journalists who had followed us, the paparazzi that wasted no time in taking pictures of his wounded, unconscious fucking body at its worst moment in possibly his entire existence, and it only made me angrier and more upset than I already was with the limelight.
I had just barely caught wind of myself squeezing the life out of my poor hat, and it took more energy than I had to begin with just to force myself into calming down, and letting my thoughts simmer on the back-burner.
Also...I was sure that Laina was still waiting for me.
I hesitantly pulled my ponytail through the hat's closure, before resting the crown snugly over my head.
Giving myself one last look in the mirror, I couldn't help but stare at that same number.
#95.
Piston Cup Champion (for too many races to count).
Veteran racer.
...
Now that I was up and about, on my way to clear my head, ideas were bubbling up in every corner of my mind.
Piston Cup Champion.
Veteran racer.
I remembered something Chick Hicks -- an old rival of my dad -- had said to Natalie Certain, during one of the TV reports that Dad had flicked off in Mom's lobby.
"And for the better if it means my old pal, Lightning, is down for the count."
Down for the count.
Piston Cup Champion.
Veteran Racer.
Veteran.
It clicked.
Much as he would encourage me to get into racing growing up, Dad never wanted someone to take his place.
But now he needed it.
Now out of the season, he needed someone to race for him, to represent Rust-eze.
Someone next in line.
I was his only child.
I was already somewhat experienced with the rules.
More importantly, I had a front seat to each and every one of his races, since I was just a little kid.
That was it.
Two birds with one stone.
I was just getting ready to reach for the door, when it suddenly burst open.
"...You take forever, y'know."
---
"Are you actually insane?" the blonde asked, tailing behind as I rushed over to Luigi and Guido's shop. If anyone knew anything about racers, it had to be the guys who studied them until my dad's arrival in the Springs...right?
...
I know. Huge leap in logic. But they were tire experts, so it was something to go off of.
Plus, I...didn't want to break the news to Mom, just yet.
"Did you smuggle something under the covers in the past few months or what?" Laina continued in her pursuit as I entered the shop, ignoring her.
"Luigi?" I called. "I need to ask you something!"
"Alex, listen!"
My best friend yanked me by the arm, turning me to face her.
"Did you suddenly forget what happened? Your parents are gonna freak if they find out!"
"Well what else am I supposed to do?" I countered. "As long as Dad stays in that hospital bed, Storm and Hicks are gonna keep trashing his rep for as long as they can milk it -- someone has to step in."
"How exactly do you plan to do this? One, they're both older than us, and two, they're champion racers!"
"Excuse you, I just turned eighteen four months ago."
"Yeah, can you guess what else happened?"
...
Laina seemed to realize what she said, most likely courtesy of the crestfallen look on my face.
"...Alex, I'm...I'm sorry," she spoke back up, after a few beats of silence. "I didn't mean that."
...
I swallowed, exhaling through my nose.
"...Can you just trust me on this?" I asked. "I'm the only McQueen kid under the company's name anyways; I'm the only one who can pull this off..."
I trailed off for a moment, averting my gaze after I had noticed the frown that was slowly creeping up the blonde's face.
My eyes found Doc's old garage, sitting a distance away, directly diagonal to the tire shop.
...
I was wondering why I never asked myself what he would've wanted.
"...If I don't do this, then who will?"
"Ah...do what exactly, cara?" a different voice interjected.
We turned our gaze to the lanky noiret in a yellowish-beige vest atop a thin white sweater, standing towards the back of the shop near a darkened corridor that I knew led to some hanging tires on a velvet wall.
Luigi.
Next to him as always was Guido, wearing a vest of the same design in blue.
Seeing the look in my friend's eyes, I already knew what was about to happen.
"Laina wait--"
She broke the news to him before I could shut her down.
"Alex wants to join the racing leagues!"
The shop owner's jaw dropped, and following no sooner after was the stack of tires in Guido's arms.
Dammit, Laina.