Disclaimer: I do not own Midnight Club 3.
Hey guys =D I've had this fanfic in my head for years; I'm so glad to finally be writing it. Please enjoy!
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The purr and snarl of revving engines fills my ears as completely as the smell of exhaust permeates my nose. Darkness swallows the beam of my headlights six feet from my car. The stoplight blazes red. In another few seconds, we will start.
I glance to my left. The woman in the car next to mine meets my eyes at the same moment I look. She bares her teeth at me in a growl I cannot hear. Her message is clear: "You're going down." All I do in return is smile. Her shocked expression sticks in my mind as I turn my head back up front. The hair on the end of my ponytail tickles the back of my neck, but to reach back to fix it could cost me my start. A quick shake of my head suffices.
Red still rains down from the stoplight. The clenching in my stomach approaches unbearable. The buildup of apprehension and nervousness will soon be released in a tide of adrenaline. I know this, yet the tension doesn't let up. My hands clench on the wheel and handbrake, my toes curl inside the shoe pressing the gas pedal, my jaw tightens. I've raced so many times before, yet still this is what I always feel before we start.
Red turns into green.
My body automatically responds. My right hand releases the handbrake at the exact moment my foot floors the gas pedal. My engine roars and my head snaps back from accelerations' force. Sweet, hot adrenaline rushes through my skin, but my brain stays cool and calm, rational to the point of almost detatched.
We fly down the ramp, onto the highway. Traffic is still pretty high for this time of night. No problem. My eyes see the other cars and tell my brain I have to avoid them. My arms turn the wheel accordingly. My little Cobalt weaves a streak of purple paint and yellow light through the four lanes. There is no room for panic, no time for fear. Racing is all instinct.
Vanessa keeps pace with me, her headlights at my back passenger-side door. The rest of her posse falls away. We alternate between first and second: my car inches before hers, now she noses her way in front. Neither of us refuses to give.
Three-quarters of the way through the race, Vanessa falls behind me again, but keeps falling. I take this opportunity without thinking and hit the nitrous. My car charges ahead, but my rival will not be foiled. I catch a glimpse of fire spewing from her tailpipes in my rearview mirror before she becomes level with me once more. I take a split second and glance out of my passenger window at her. She's grinning like she's already won.
My eyes snap back ahead, and I blanch. A semi lumbers along at 55 in the middle lane – directly in front of us. I'm close enough to the far lane where only a twitch of the wheel is enough to merge. Vanessa would have rear-ended it, but she jerked her car all the way to the right, almost sending her in a tailspin across the highway.
Her lost ground proves to be an advantage to me. I dash in front of the semi and across the other lane, cutting Vanessa off. Sprinting up the exit lane and across the finish line, I win easily. I spend another second sitting in my car trembling and breathing heavily, my hands still holding onto the wheel like it's my last tie to life. In a sense, it is. One slip, one wrong turn, and I could die.
Like I said, all instinct. No room for fear. If I let the sinuous and slippery voice of fright into my head, I could freeze in the middle of a race and seriously compromise my life. There's nothing more terrifying than street racing.
But the rush and the money I win make it worthwhile.
Vanessa finishes as I'm unbuckling my seat belt. We step out of our cars at the same time. Her friends cross the finish line all around us, like river water parting around a rock. She stalks around the front of her car and stops with her toes to mine, inches from my face.
"You cheated," she snarls, her visage contorted with anger.
"I did not. I took one way around the truck, you took the other."
"You cut me off!" Vanessa spits.
I shrug, "Happens all the time in morning rush hour. You don't see anyone stopping and getting up in each others' faces about it. Besides, you were in the better position to exit. Not my fault you were slower getting there."
My nonchalant insult clearly infuriates her further. The shade of red in her face deepens. "I want a rematch."
"This is our third rematch. I've won, Vanessa. Fair and square."
"She's right, V." One of Vanessas' friends, the one who finished after us, steps forward. We both turn to look at him. "She just cut you off, didn't hit you or anything. She won it fair. Just give her the prize money."
We look back at each other. Vanessas' jaw is clenched as she looks at me with hard eyes. Her pride won't allow me to just walk away with her money. Before I was launched into the scene, she was the top female racer in San Diego. Now here I am, just a rookie, and I kicked her ass in all three of her races. She has a reputation to uphold.
But racing protocol is too strong for her to ignore. Her hand reaches into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out a wad of cash, held together with a rubber band. She shoves it into my hand but doesn't let go, grabbing my wrist with her other hand.
"If I see your stupid face around this city again, Rodriguez, you're dead." She hisses. She releases the money and my hand, turns and gets back into her car without another word.
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=0 I love ending chapters with death threats, don't you? xD Thanks for reading, reviews are greatly appreciated!