“I’m sure they are.”
“What the hell is going on?” Kell stormed over, saw the cameras, and immediately ratcheted up his anger a few notches. “Do you have any idea of how much time we are losing, Ainslie? Not to mention the fact that you are helping the competition.” He turned to face the camera dead-on. “I’d like to formally complain that my teammate is trying to sabotage our team!”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” Dixon said, grunting when he put his weight on the wrench. One of the bolts was being obstinate, but he got it loosened just as Kell was demanding to see Roger to have Dixon thrown out of the race.
“Look, buster,” I said, getting to my feet. Louise, who realized that a scene was being enacted and wanted to be a part of it, had climbed out of the car and was twirling her veil while standing next to Kell. “I realize this is a race, but it doesn’t mean that people have to act like asshats.”
Tabby snickered. Sam raised an eyebrow.
“Can I say asshat on TV?” I asked them.
Sam shrugged.
“You stay out of this, you... suffragette,” Kell said, hissing the word.
I straightened up. “Dude. This is my tire that Dixon kindly—because he’s a gentleman, not a poseur—is helping me with. So take your drama elsewhere, preferably out of hearing because I have things to do.”
Kell sputtered a few choice phrases. Louise nodded and preened for the camera. Melody, looking over the edge of the car, smothered a laugh.
“Where’s the spare?” Dixon asked, having successfully removed the offending bolt. He pulled the tire off and looked up expectantly.
“Right here, but I can put it on. You guys had better get on your way, so Mr. Antsy-Pants there doesn’t have a stroke because you were being thoughtful and nice.”
“Are you sure? I can—”
“We are leaving,” Kell announced, and stalked back to the car. “With or without you!”
“Go,” I said, shooing him after Kell. “It’s way too early to encounter this sort of trouble.”
He smiled and took himself off.
I picked up one of the spares I’d removed from therear of the car and called after him, “Thanks for your help, Mr. Ainslie. Good manners and sportsmanship are always pleasing to witness!”
“Nice touch,” Melody pronounced, nodding her approval.
“Is this going to take much longer?” Louise asked, frowning when Dixon’s car rolled past us. “I don’t want us to get behind. We have something to prove, after all.”
“Not long,” I said, forcing the wheel onto the plate. “Just have to tighten the bolts a few times...”
The “few times” took five minutes before I was convinced the wheel wouldn’t fall off while we drove at high speeds, but at last we were on our way, Tabby and Sam in their convertible zooming on ahead to catch up with some of the other racers.
“That was just annoying as hell,” Louise said, gritting her teeth as she ground the gears together trying to shift up. “Just my luck, I get saddled with the lame car.”
“It’s not lame,” I said loudly, winding my veil around my head a few times before tucking it into itself. “It’s a gorgeous car, and incidentally it’s the same kind that won the original race.”
“Hrmph,” she said, and spent the remainder of the day telling the windscreen camera her every little thought, from what it was like to have all the responsibility of success on her shoulders to how stupid Thomas Flyers drove and how she wanted to race in a sixties sports car and call her team Vlad the Impala.
With a brief stop at a Starbucks for some much-needed caffeine (and a potty break), Melody took over driving a few hours later, and I took my turn late in the afternoon.
“Hey,” I said about an hour into my stint at being the driver. “That looks like one of us ahead.”
“Where?” Louise, who had been reclining on the backseat with her phone, sat up straight.
I pointed to the side of the road about an eighth of a mile ahead and began to slow down.
“What are you doing? You can’t stop!” Louise shrieked, pounding me on the shoulder.
“Are you kidding? Did you forget that Dixon stopped to help us just a few hours ago?” I pulled up behind them, putting on the massive hand brake. “I’m not going to just blaze past them.”
