Chapter 3: Definitely the Best

(A/N):

A quick note: I realize that, based off of the credits of Cars 3, Cruz goes on to win the 2017 Piston Cup series. For the sake of the narrative of this story, I probably won't be writing in the frame of what happens in the credit photos. I'll try, but I'm not sure if it will all work out exactly the same. Just wait until they come out with a Cars 4, or some other extra features that take place after this film. It'll totally mess with the continuity of my own story.

Something disturbed Storm from him peaceful beauty sleep. It sounded a lot like a phone, but he couldn't be sure. No… it was definitely his phone. Storm opened his eyes groggily, already feeling a biting insult coming on, directed at whoever decided it was a good idea to wake him up—he glanced at his smart alarm clock—at 7:30 A.M.!

He answered the phone, which was installed beneath his left fender.

"What do you want?" he grumbled, not even bothering to listen to his virtual personal assistant read out the caller ID.

"Jackson, it's me," came the disapproving voice of his crew chief, "How many times do we have to go through this? I told you to be at the IGNTR facility at 7 A.M., not 7:30."

Storm was unabashed. "It's not my fault. What kind of crazy person wakes up at 7 in the morning?"

"Normal people, Storm. Normal people with jobs. And school."

Storm feigned thinking for a moment. "Hmm, nope. None of those things apply to me."

Storm could hear Ray sigh over the speaker. "Just get over here as soon as possible. Maybe it's not too late to beat the traffic." And with that, he hung up.

Storm had a short laugh to himself in the darkness of his room. Yeah, beat L.A. traffic. There's an idea.

Storm blinked for a moment, giving himself some time to wake up, before he rolled forward and pressed a switch which opened his bedroom curtains, allowing light into his adequately-sized Los Angeles condo. It wasn't that Storm couldn't afford bigger—because he could, what with all his millions of dollars in racing money he made. He just didn't need all that backyard space. And despite the fact that his condo cost almost two million dollars, it was only about 3,000 square feet in size. So not much room for a single car. He definitely didn't have so much space and possessions that he didn't know what to do with. He definitely didn't live all by himself, and never really had any need for the house because nobody ever visited him except for his crew. That definitely wasn't the case.

No—Storm just liked the view. It reminded him of the view he used to have when he lived with his father, in that 20 million dollar, modern masterpiece of a house, before he kicked him out and abandoned him for good.

When Storm graduated high school, his father gave his two options: either go to business school and become a businessman like himself, or study mechanical engineering, and learn how to make the very things he sells. Storm had no desire to become a businessman like his father, so he decided to go with the latter. Needless to say, he dropped out after one semester. He complained about how all the other students thought they were smarter than him. And they were. Or at least some of them were. And he didn't have any real interest in the field either. Storm was always like that. He was a very average student overall. One of his teachers said that he wasn't very interested in anything in particular, but that if he ever did find that one thing, he had the potential to be exceptionally good. His father never believed a word of it.

His old man supported him for a while, gave him money to rent out his own apartment, in the hopes that he would eventually get bored and go back to school. But Storm never did. So his father's already short patience grew even shorter, and he cut him off for good. Storm only panicked for a very short bit. He was on his own for the first time and didn't have someone else to do everything for him. But it wasn't long before he got back on his tires and went job searching. At first, he tried customer service. It went as terribly as one would imagine. He got fired several times for being rude to customers. But he claimed that it was only because they were rude to him first, and that he wasn't gonna sit there and take it, thank you very much. He attempted doing menial labor, such as factory and janitorial work, but the conditions were so harsh and humiliating for someone so high-maintenance like him that he quit after the first day. He tried modeling once. That was... interesting.

Soon, Storm was at the end of his rope. He was getting fired left and right for being an overall general nuisance, and the jobs he could hold onto bored him so much that he preferred to go broke. And he did. So one day, after basically selling all he had and having nothing left in his life, he decided to stop by the local racing arcade and check out what all the fuss was about. At first he didn't like it. The place was loud, bright, and filled with cars: exactly the type of place Storm never wanted to be. But it was all a different story when he tried playing Super Corsa 3, or as it was more commonly known: SC3, for the first time.

And it was a very different story indeed. At least in the beginning. Storm, like anyone else who had never played on one of those game stations before, wasn't immediately an expert at the game. The first few times he played, he was the runner-up, which to Storm was a fate worse than death itself. However, something inside him clicked during that very first game. He realized that this was the one. Storm, who never had any prior experience with racing, decided that this was what he was going to be the best at, because if not, well, there wasn't going to be anything else. Because he did love the game. But he soon discovered—once he started getting better—that he loved winning more. And that's what he did. He spent every waking moment at the arcade, playing from opening 'till closing. Sometimes, it seemed like weeks would go by in an instant. Once he got really good, he started entering competitions, earning himself quite a lot of money. Sometimes, when he was feeling lucky—which was all the time—he started betting on games, which was probably violating a rule or law of some sort, but he was careful. He wore the newly painted lightning bolt symbols on his sides with pride.

It wasn't long before he was a legend. Cars from near and far would come to see him play. It was a bit distracting at first, having tons of cars surround him and cheer loudly whenever he made a smooth maneuver. But he grew to love it, and eventually lived off of it. He could never really explain why he loved it so much. Normally, he was someone who preferred to keep a low profile, and he was still like that, for the most part. However, for whatever reason, racing was different. He was good at that. People loved him for that. And maybe that's why it was so amazing. The arcade soon became like home for him. He belonged there. He mattered there. People adored him there.

But all of that didn't matter anymore. His new home was on the Piston Cup Racing Series track. He had new fans, more fans than he could count. He made more money, more than he could count. It was just like the arcade, but better. Instead of those vehicles back at the arcade, who were definitely not the closest things to friends he ever had, he had new people working for him. His crew worked for him now. Yes, life could not be better for Storm.

But of course, waking up early was still a pain.

Storm rolled into the IGNTR Racing Centre at around half past 8. He found his crew chief waiting for him in the sim room, wearing a less than pleased expression on his front.

"Well, well, well. Nice of you to finally show up," Ray said, stowing away the papers he had been reading.

Storm cast a disinterested glance to the side, unabashed. "It's not my fault, the traffic—"

"Right, right. It's the traffic's fault, isn't it?" The pickup truck rolled his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation.

"Hey, there's not much I can do about all those slow-ass drivers." Storm made a satisfied smirk to himself. "Besides, I've already gotten, like, 3 speeding tickets in the last two weeks alone. I don't wanna get my license suspended."

Ray huffed. "Well, maybe if you actually came on time, you wouldn't need to—" He shook his hood. "Forget it. Let's just start practice already." He jerked his hood in the direction of the simulator closest to him.

Storm didn't need any more direction. He hopped on immediately, and one of the pitties started up the machine. Within seconds, Storm was hitting his top speed of 214 mph. Although Ray didn't verbally admit it, he was still impressed by Storm's flawless grace and expertise on the race track. Racing was basically second-nature to him. It was as if Ray couldn't tell where Storm began, and the simulator ended. If he was honest, it almost scared him sometimes, in a sort of awestruck kind of way, how perfect Storm was.

"Alright, you're doing pretty good," Ray commented. He'd give him that at least.

Storm narrowed his eyes in intense concentration. "Not good enough."

Ray was confused. "What do you mean? You hit your top speed already. What more do you want?"

"I want another mile, that's what." The flashing lights of the simulator screen glinted off of Storm's front.

Ray jerked back in surprise. "You wanna try going 215 miles per hour?"

Storm made a sound of irritation. "Uh, yeah, didn't you hear me?"

Ray studied the racer's rigid expression closely. "I mean, you just set the world record for the fastest lap ever recorded not too long ago…"

The race car never broke eye contact with the screen. "So?"

Ray thought for a moment, watching the simulator screen in silence. "Well, sure then. If you can manage it. Give it a shot."

The next couple hours were nearly dead silent, save for Ray's occasional pointer and the computer-generated voice of the simulator. But no matter how hard Storm tried, he couldn't break 215 mph.

The black and white checkered flag waved on the screen, indicating the end of the race. Storm had placed first… as usual. He rolled off the simulator to meet his crew chief.

"Nice work," Ray complemented, shooting a quick glance at the racer from over his clipboard.

Storm gazed off past Ray's figure, a dull, unimpressed look on his face. "Yeah, I guess."

Ray glanced back up at Storm once more. "What?"

Storm suddenly grew frustrated. "Didn't you see? I topped out at 214!"

Ray blinked. "Yeah, Storm, that's great. Keep it up."

Storm looked ready to blow a gasket. "Keep it up? The next race is in less than a week! I'm not gonna win if I keep it at 214!"

Ray was baffled. "Of course you are, Jackson. You're the fastest car out there. Well, maybe except for—" He finally understood. "Wait… this is about last week's race… isn't it?"

Storm's eyes widened slightly at the mention of the unfortunate event. But only for a second. He quickly adopted a more irritated front. "Well yeah, I lost—remember?"

Ray gave a short laugh of disbelief. "Everybody loses a race every once in awhile. Even you lost a few last season—remember?" Ray shook his hood. "Honestly, Jackson, I thought we've already gone over this."

Storm glared up at his crew chief indignantly. "Well last time, nobody did a freaking flip over me!" He growled in frustration. "I've got to change up my whole game."

"Here's some advice," Ray shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "Don't slam racers into the walls anymore. That might do the trick."

Storm squinted up at the gray pickup truck, his mouth forming a thin, straight line. "Very funny." He didn't bother to hide the venom in his voice.

Ray couldn't help but be amused at the racer's gloomy appearance. He resembled a petulant child who couldn't stand it when he didn't get his way. In fact, that was quite an accurate description of Storm when he was like this: a sullen, petulant child. Nevertheless, Reverham knew he wasn't helping the situation by teasing him like this.

He sighed. "We've been over this before, Jackson. You can't lose your temper like this when you don't get your way. Not here, and certainly not on the track, either. Not only is it unprofessional, but it causes you to lose your focus as well."

Storm cast his eyes down at the floor. His demeanor suggested that he was unapologetic, but Ray could tell that his words had some impact on him. "Well I'm sorry for being so competitive, but how else am I supposed to win?"

Ray gave Storm a firm, but supportive look. "You said it yourself: you have to be the best Jackson Storm that you can be. And that means having good sportsmanship—even when you lose." He paused for a moment when he noticed that Storm was unconvinced. "Just don't let your emotions cloud your judgment. Focus on what you came here to do: race."

Storm considered his words. "I don't know, Gus…"

Ray exhaled deeply. "Look Jackson, I don't know what else to tell you. Maybe it'd help if you tried working on changing your attitude toward things. Either way, you don't need to worry so much. You're still just as talented a racer as you were the last race. You'll be fine…. And I thought I told you not to call me Gus anymore…"

Storm was silent as he spent some time to ponder Ray's advice. Ray didn't even have to bother interpreting Storm's cryptic expression to know that he felt flattered by his praise. Although he rarely expressed it, the boy really did appreciate Ray's guidance and support. Ray had a feeling the young man never had enough of it growing up.

Finally, Storm exhaled as well. "Fine. I'll try to not be too much of a jerk. Also, I'm not worried. I just want to make sure I can handle whatever comes at me next."

Ray was somewhat satisfied with this response. "Good. That's good thinking. Start thinking outside of the box, and you might be more prepared."

Storm nodded. "Well. I'm gonna go take a quick breather." He turned and headed for the exit. "And when I return, I'm gonna come up with a strategy so good that I'll prove the other racers just who really is the best out of them all."

Ray waited until his racer was completely out of the room before sighing once again. It seemed like he was doing that a lot lately. Sometimes, it really felt as if he was not only Jackson's crew chief, but his life coach as well.

(A/N):

So in case you haven't figured it out yet, Storm is sort of my favorite Cars character. Gasp, I know, heresy right? Why not Lightning? Well, I like him too, but I kind of have a thing for edgy assholes, if my profile description is any indication. I like Cruz too, since happy, optimistic characters are always such a joy.

Also, you get my idea of Storm's backstory in this chapter. Sorry if it's a doozy. I feel as if my headcanon for his backstory is quite similar to a lot of people's: he has rich parents who neglect him, he's spoiled, etc. You'll see more of this at play later on. Oh yeah, and for the size of Storm's house, I assumed that in the Cars universe, houses are—on average—just naturally bigger, accounting for cars' bigger sizes. So they probably get more space for the same price as in our world.

But anyway, this chapter is a bit shorter this time around. I don't like making chapters too long, so sometimes it works out that each chapter is from one perspective. It depends, of course.

Finally, I know it seems that this story has a slow start, and that it meanders a bit, and that's because it does. I'm a sort of slow-burn kind of writer. But don't worry, there's going to be a certain turning point in maybe, five or so chapters. But don't be alarmed, it's like I said, the chapter-length varies. I just like getting all the characters developed first.