I rolled onto my stomach and propped my chin on my arms. It wasn’t Jordan I saw in the shop, but Devin. My disappointment left me feeling somewhat guilty.
I reminded myself of how Jordan had strung me along when I was younger, how he still tried to. I couldn’t do that to Devin. I loved him too much for that.
He worked on the car, disappearing occasionally
beneath the hood. There wasn’t a girl in the state who could say no to Devin’s disarming good looks. Judging from the way he kept checking his phone, they were chasing after him even now.
He never looked up, never noticed me, so I slipped off the trampoline and went inside. I couldn’t fathom what he saw in me. I knew the type of girls that flocked to Devin McAllister. There was no competition, there wasn’t any amount of makeup that would make me that pretty.
****
“I still can’t believe you left the house like that.” Breanna laughed at me as she let down the tailgate of her truck. She’d kept her end of the bargain, we were set back in the field near where Rascal would set up to call the races.
Like that was no makeup, my hair piled on my head, and wearing a pair of cut off sweatpants and a t- shirt.
“I mean, if it was me nobody would be surprised, but Raelynn without her hair done or her face on? That ain’t right.”
“I haven’t worn makeup since I’ve been home.” I hopped up onto the open tailgate.
“I noticed, what’s up with that?”
“I’m not trying to impress anybody.” It was true, I wasn’t. I’d read somewhere, before everything that happened to me, that abuse survivors didn’t like to draw attention to themselves. That wasn’t it, apparently, as I’d drawn plenty of Jordan’s attention without the makeup. Worse, I’d liked it.
“Apparently, you don’t have to try.” It was easier to ignore the implications of what she said than think about anyone’s misplaced interest.
Rascal waved as he made his way across the short distance between us and the concrete road. He wore a two-way radio on his hip and moved as if he had all the time in the world to get where he was going. He was a rascally thing, hence the name. Older than all of us, with gray flecked in his beard, he was street racing old guard and had been part of my life for as far back as I could remember.
“Look at this, I’ve got my own personal cheering section!”
“Woohoo, Rascal!” I shouted and tossed my arms up in the air. Even though my heart wasn’t in it, I earned a little dance from the skinny man.
After a quick hug and a laugh, he made his way back to the road, his radio to his ear. I didn’t need to see the other end of the street, nor hear the voice on the other end of the radio to know it was Vic. The only person Rascal would talk to on that thing was the Race- Master.
From the other end and the makeshift starting line, I could hear engines fire up. If I looked hard enough, I could almost make out Vic pulling two cars up to the line. We were out on a private farm. One of Jordan’s favorite spots to race. Years ago, he’d made a deal with the guy who owned the property. For enough cash, the farmer didn’t call the cops. If anyone wrecked, we wouldn’t tell the cops he knew we were there. Simple as that.
The spot was only used once a month or so. Nobody ever had the money to pay for it more than that.
On race nights, racers came from all over, even
neighboring counties. The ages of the drivers varied from young to old. Out here, street racing was a lifelong obsession for most of us. I’d missed it almost immediately when I’d started college, more than I’d missed anything else. Racing, in general, had made the Casey name, but street racing had made all of us who we were.
The top drivers in the area raced in a list type setting. Word was it came from somewhere in the southern part of Texas. Whoever had come up with the idea had made street racing far more competitive. Tonight, there would be a race for the top spot, what had always been Jordan’s spot, and a handful of grudge races. Street racers would race anytime, anywhere, but doing it in front of an audience meant you gained respect from those watching.
“Who’s running first off the trailer?”
“I’m not sure.” Breanna squinted and focused her attention on the opposite end of the road.
Neither of us recognized the first two cars, which wasn’t unusual when out-of-towners raced. Regardless, there was still a rush. It only grew more intense when I started recognizing the cars that were racing. After each run, the resounding cheers from the other end of the track added excitement.
“Jordan in the top spot?”
Breanna spoke around a piece of hard candy. “Well, yeah. He’s given it up to Hunter a few times the past few years. That’s why he started running turbos.” I was smug over Hunter dethroning Jordan. Even if it had only been temporary. “Hunter was pissed at SKS when he lost to Jordan last year.”
The Street King Showdown was an annual race held for street racers at the drag strip. They ran the back half of the track, where there was less. There was a big pay day as well as a year’s worth of bragging rights.
Rascal’s voice caught my attention. “Matt Foster just called out Devin for five hundred!”
I looked over to Breanna with a raised brow. Her new boyfriend versus our friend.
“Looks like your boyfriend called out my boyfriend.” She hopped off the tailgate.
“He’s not my boyfriend!” I shouted before double timing it to follow her. This wasn’t a race I was going to miss. Devin wouldn’t ever be my boyfriend, but I was enough of my brother’s sister to enjoy watching a ricer get smoked by one of us.