The boys thought she did it to prove she was their equal in a society that valued their sons far more than their daughters. That she did it for the thrill of the win, for the adrenaline sent pumping through her veins, making sleep that night impossible. Perhaps, they thought, she did it to challenge death, to defy the gods and be all-powerful. They thought she did it out of anger, rebelling against DK and his family after they took her in. Their reasons were (mostly) all wrong. The reasons were in the car.
It was in the quiet purr of the motor. It was in the way her skin tingled with anticipation at the top of the mountain. It was in the gentle vibrations that started somewhere below her feet before traveling up her calves, between her legs, across the small of her back, settling at the nape of her neck. It was in the soft glow of the dash lights reflecting off the sleek leather interior. It was the cool metal of the steering wheel slipping under her fingers. It was in the lines drawn by streetlights far off as she curved down the road. It was in the quick intake of breath that passed by her lips when the G-force lifted her just slightly off the seat. It was in the gradual rush to the bottom, the end in sight and excitement rising to meet it. It was in the explosion when she finally came to a stop, her pulse racing and the lazy smile spread across her face, softening her eyes.
The reasons she drifted every night weren't about the victory of reaching the bottom in one piece, or some misguided effort to prove she was the alpha female. It was all about the car and the sensations it provoked in her.