“I had my reasons,” she says. “Anyway, let me know if you spot the Dodge.”
“You think he’s ahead of us?”
“I doubt it.”
I twist around to look at her. “How long till the finish line?”
“Nearly there.”
She drops a gear, slamming down on the brakes to turn at the intersection, skirting past a sedan, so close my heart jumps out of my chest. This helmet is suffocating me. I rip it off, throwing it onto the back seat before turning back, mopping at my forehead.
“Are you honestly that chill, or are you secretly clenching the hell out of your butt cheeks every time we nearly die?”
“You really want to know?”
I pause. “No.”
We’re heading straight up a street, about to hit a much wider cross avenue, traffic flowing left and right.
“You sure you got this?” I ask nervously.
“Yeah… I mean, all I have to do is go straight across.”
“Technically, that’s exactly what you’renotsupposed to do…”
“And it’s pretty chill from that point on,” she adds casually.
“Our visibility isn’t great…”
“Hey—don’t worry about it, man.” She narrows her eyes in concentration.
I’m past worrying—I’ve moved on to imagining my own funeral by this stage, and as she accelerates harder, every atom in my body is screaming that this is all wrong.
We’re going too hard, too fast.
I break into a full-body sweat, my breath coming in shallow gasps, and when we crest the hill, Amy doesn’t slow down. Headlights swing in front of us, and I’m blinded. I shut my eyes just as the wheels lift off for a handful of seconds—just enough time for me to whisper a prayer—and before I know it, we’re back on firm ground.
When I open my eyes, the Pontiac is hitting the open road again, the deadly intersection vanishing into the distance.
“Holy fuck,” I gasp. “You’re batshit. Your suspension looks good, but that was dicey. Like—reallydicey.”
She grins at me. And in among all the chaos, I can’t help but find her devastatingly beautiful.
We’re still hurtling down the road, and finally, I understand where we’re at—back at the gathering, streaming past the tattooed bald guy we met earlier. Three blinks later, and Amy is blasting through the finish line, cranking the wheel to throw the car into a drift. The onlookers are going nuts.
We screech to a halt, and my vision settles. I glance around us, frantic now, desperate for a glimpse of the Dodge.
So? What happened? Who won?
The stench of burning rubber floods my nostrils, but as Tyler pulls up beside us, there’s only one thing I’m picking up right now—the sweet smell of victory.
Wait—did we win?
I look from Amy to my car, and back again, my eyes as wideas saucers, my mouth hanging open. I can’t believe what just happened.
We won.
I keep my gaze riveted on my car. I wouldn’t put it past Tyler to go back on the deal. When he slides out from behind the wheel, though, I can tell he’s pissed, but he’s a man of his word, too. I let out a victory cry.
