The tight leather crunched as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel; determination permanently etched into her brow, dark chocolate eyes set to the pavement before her. The engine of her dragster roared loudly, like a caged beast begging for its freedom. The sound would be deafly to others, but it was like sweet clamor that she grew to love.

The world around her outside the steel roll cage did not matter; it was only her and her car, the inanimate best friend she much preferred over humans. Out of timeworn habit, she blinked twice quickly – prepping her eyes for the signal of the Christmas tree – the light that would determine her fate within this race.

Through the padding of her helmet, she heard a dull banging from the outer of her shell, her father appeared to her left, within the small window that was too small for him to fit through, "Paige," He said gruffly, in a tone she had always disliked, "Don't get tunnel vision,"

She could roll her eyes at his statement, the same statement he repeated for the past few years, but she suppressed it, "All right, I won't," She said, her voice muffled by the engine and helmet. He gave a tight smile that Paige knew was forced, but she thought nothing more of it as her father disappeared from her sight.

Slowly, her competition rolled beside her; a Thomas Flint from Michigan, who Paige had met at a competition years ago. She felt her chest constrict to the memory; fire burned at her thoughts and she found herself pushing back to the current reality. Paige took a deep breath, "You have this," She muttered to herself, quickly eying Flint, "You have this,"

One of the men of her crew gave her a thumbs-up, her indicator that her eyes should be among the light, waiting for that split second – the make or break of the entirety of the race. Paige shut the visor of her helmet, her mind officially focused.

The light blinked a deep yellow, then again, and again, before it finally set to green, but by that time Paige had already floored her dragster, the motor loudly rivetingly throughout the racetrack, pumping an infamous amount of adrenaline through Paige's bloodstream.

From the stands, the race appeared to be over with in a matter of seconds, but, to Paige, she felt as though it had been long minutes – her mind slowing everything down, until she crossed the faded paint of the finish line of the track. She deployed her parachute, which pulled her dragster into a slowing speed, and, very gradually, into a stop.

Her heart was pounding in her ears – a deafening, dull, incessant beat rhythmically thumping in her head. She lifted the visor of her helmet, and her eyes caught the eyes of her crew, who were smiling at her. The first to approach Paige was Robert, her 'father-that-she-wished-she-had-instead', he smiled brightly as Paige unbuckled her harness. Instinctively, he held out his hand, which Paige gladly took, and helped her to her feet, as she squeezed her body through the small opening of her dragster. She took off her helmet and removed her balaclava, finally letting the world catch up to her.

"My Paige," Robert said, with a very proud smile, "You knocked it out of the track!"

His smiling was inevitably infectious; Paige mimicked his smile, "Did I?" She asked, "How fast did I go?"

He only smiled wider, exposing his white teeth, and even the dark of the missing tooth in the back, "Three hundred…" He started as Paige's eyes widened, "And twenty-six," He hadn't prepared himself for the engulfing hug, but, almost like a proud father, he welcomed her and her victory, "I'm very proud of you," He said, almost inaudibly, as the rest of her crew came around and joined the hug.

"All right, McCullers," Patrick, another crew member, announced, "Let's get you back to the front," He patted her on the back, "You did a great job out there, kiddo," The group hug ended as they returned back into their serious mode – anchoring the dragster onto the back of their pick-up truck.

"Come on, Paige," Robert said, draping a heavy arm around Paige's shoulders, "You have a trophy waiting for you," He guided them to the back of the pick-up truck, offering help as she climbed into the bed of the vehicle. He lifted himself onboard, and, after securing the dragster, Patrick climbed in the back as well, knocking on the hood of the truck. Paige braced herself as the truck began moving, progressing slowly towards the front. For the first time, she looked out to the on-looking audience who had watched her, and the sound finally flooded into her ears; cheering.

Wow, Paige thought to herself, a small smile filling her face. She looked over to Robert, who most likely already knew what Paige was thinking, and he nodded. It was all of two minutes before Paige was back at the beginning, climbing down from the truck, pulling off her gloves. Her father approached her, "Come on, Paige," He said simply, and she obliged, following him towards the press.

Paige never liked talking to the press; it wasn't a matter of being shy, more so of being private. She sighed quietly as she approached newscasters and journalists, at least she could pick whom she wanted to talk to. At least she had that luxury; otherwise, her father probably would have lined her up with every person with a voice or a pen.

She scanned the few journalists, who stood nearby, in their designated area, and didn't see any who she particularly wanted to talk to, but she had to talk to at least one. Paige could sense her father watching over her, silently urging her on. Finally, her eyes settled on a brunette wearing glasses, looking down at a notepad, "Do you know which newspaper she represents?" Paige asked her father, tilting her head towards the brunette for his clarity.

"She represents Rosewood Times," He responded, not very impressed by the selection, "Small-time," He added, "I wouldn't waste an interview with them. Why don't you look at Fox over there, they report all through Pennsylvania,"

"You said I can pick anyone," Paige reminded him, "And I pick Rosewood, okay?" He shook his head, "I'll be back," She left him, and made her way to the journalist. Once she gained closer proximity, Paige spoke, "Hello," The brunette jumped, dropping her notepad onto the ground. Paige knelt and picked it up, handing it back to the journalist, "I didn't mean to frighten you,"

"No, it's okay," She took the notepad, and then looked up, recognizing who was in front of her, "Oh, my god, you're Paige McCullers," She gasped, "I'm supposed to get an interview… I mean… can I interview you?"

Paige nodded, smiling at how frazzled the woman appeared to be, "Sure, you can,"

"Um, I'm Emily Fields, with Rosewood Times," She introduced, "Congratulations on your win… this… will be your third win, right?" Paige nodded, so she continued, "Does it feel good to return to racing… after the incident back in 2011…?"

Paige sucked in a breath, "It does, it feels great actually,"

"Have you, um," She flipped through a few pages of her notepad, quickly reading over scribbled notes, Paige inwardly chuckled at the journalist. She looked up and noticed the humored look on Paige's face, "What?"

"It's nothing," Paige said, "I've just never had an interview like this before," And it was true, this was already a unique experience.

"I'm sorry," She apologized, brushing a stray hair behind her ear, "This is my first time interviewing someone… who's not from Rosewood,"

"It's okay, when I first started racing outside of my hometown," Paige started, trying to comfort her interviewer, "I was too nervous to even look up at the light, and I was losing all of my races because I have to look at the light, you know," Bringing her story to it's point, "But, after a while the nerves went away, and, today, I won the NHRA Championship,"

Emily gave a warm, genuine smile, "Thank you, Ms. McCullers,"

"Just call me Paige,"

"Thank you, Paige," Emily repeated, correcting herself with the new name, "I… don't know what else to ask,"

"How about I make a proposition,"

Emily scrunched her eyebrows, "What proposition?"

"I'll give you a chance to redo this interview," Paige suggested, "if you can wait until after I can get a second to pack up and get out of this gear, because, honestly, with the sun beaming down on me, I'm burning up,"

"I… alright," She said, "Deal,"

"Deal?"

"Deal,"

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-Frenz