Flip of a coin

He was racing, finally racing again, zooming through Sugar Rush on the most amazing course he'd ever seen. There were villages and canyons and even a giant birthday cake, and he was having so much fun that he found himself laughing aloud. How could he ever have doubted that he belonged here? This was so much better than Turbo Time.

Now he was in a mountain range made of ice cream, and there was Vanellope beside him, smirking as she zipped ahead. He had to catch up! Luckily, he'd been here for so long that he knew all the secrets, and he swerved onto a shortcut that conveniently appeared before him. There weren't any rails on this section of the track, but that was all right. His was far too skilled to take a nosedive off the edge, and even if the unthinkable happened, he couldn't die here. This was his game now.

Soon enough, the shortcut rejoined with the main track, but he landed badly and ended up colliding with Vanellope's kart. Why had he done something so stupid? Now she was angry, of course, he'd be angry too if someone had jumped on top of his vehicle like that, but somehow they were still moving, and he'd grabbed something and was hitting her windshield, hitting her, and why was he doing this, why was he trying to hurt her?! Her mouth was open, she was screaming something, then her car was sideways and he was forcing it forward to strike a pillar – no, Vanellope, I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm doing this, you've got to get away! Fortunately she did, glitching at the last moment, but he had no time to feel relieved because he still didn't understand and he couldn't stop and WHAT WAS THAT THING COMING TOWARDS HIM DOWN THE TUNNEL –

"Kid, what are you screaming about?!"

Turbo shrieked again, terror tapering off into surprise, as his eyes finally began to observe the room around him again. He was glitching so badly that many parts of him had completely deliquesced into static and strings of 1s and 0s, and his hands were clamped over his head, as if blindly clawing at something inside. He exhaled shakily, flinching when his breath came out as a terrified half-sob, and lowered his arms. "O-oh…oh…"

Ralph was watching him with a quizzically arched eyebrow, leaning in the bedroom doorway…which, for the wrecker, meant that he had stuck his head and one beefy arm through the door. "Turbo, what's all the yelling about?" he repeated. Even his gruff face was a sight for Turbo's sore eyes right now.

"It was just a nightmare," Turbo gasped, saying it to himself as much as to Ralph. "J-just a stupid dream…oh…"

"…yeah, I figured that much." Ralph cleared his throat, still observing the racer uncertainly. "Do you always make so much noise when you have a nightmare?"

"I can't help it!" snapped Turbo, scowling. "It was…it was so awful! At first I was just racing, but then…!" He was losing the fervor that had made the dream so horrifying, and he frowned with an emotion that was almost confusion. After all, what was there to be afraid of? He was here in Sugar Rush, his new home. He could drive almost as well as before and was making good progress with controlling his glitch. He'd settled down for an afternoon nap not too long ago, though he'd almost been too excited to fall asleep, because…

Oh, right! The Random Roster Race – Vanellope's surprise! That must have been why Ralph was here. But Turbo could have sworn that when he dozed off, it hadn't been anywhere close to closing time.

"Take it easy, kid," said Ralph. The words weren't exactly dripping with love and comfort, but they weren't particularly cruel, either. "It wasn't real. It doesn't mean anything. Now get your behind out of bed and start getting ready, 'cause Vanellope will kill you if you're late to the Random Roster Race."

"That's right…" Turbo forced the last fragments of the dream out of his mind, focusing instead on Vanellope and their plans for the day ahead. He noticed that he was still fizzling with glitches, and silently chanting to himself that he was in control, he sucked in a few deep breaths and pushed the malfunctions into submission. Vanellope would never stop teasing me if she saw me like this, he thought.

Then he glanced up at Ralph again, brows quirking upwards in surprise. "Wait, I've been sleeping for almost three hours!"

"Well, that's not my fault, is it? I guess you really are a teenager."

Things actually did begin to look up that afternoon, starting with the Random Roster Race.

Turbo had never seen this event up-close before, and he had to admit that for a regular daily race, it was pretty spectacular. All fifteen Sugar Rush avatars, each themed after a different type of confection, rolled their karts up to the starting line of the Royal Raceway. Then they gathered around what appeared to be a tall popcorn box overlooking the track. His view wasn't entirely complete from where he was lurking behind the candy-box bleachers, but the important thing (or so Ralph had told him when the two of them had come down here) was that the jumbotrons were directly in his line of vision. If he could see the screens, then he'd be able to watch the race.

Vanellope stood at the top of the popcorn box, making announcements to the citizens of her game. Though she often referred to herself as the president, he'd never really given a second thought to that before, and he hadn't exactly considered her an authority figure – until now, when she seemed to slip effortlessly into the role of the spunky, competent leader of Sugar Rush. She spoke about various parties and public events that would be taking place over the next few days, and then explained the rules of entry to the Random Roster Race, including the gold coin system. "This event is pay-to-play!" she shouted.

We all know this, Turbo thought to himself, and then he frowned, his brow furrowed. How did he know that? He dismissed the eeriness that washed over him, sure that Vanellope must have just mentioned it to him at some point.

Remember, remember, whispered a persistent voice in his head, but the crowd was so rambunctious that he hardly heard it.

Next, the racers all lined up to toss their golden coins into the winner's cup, which was balanced atop the starting line. "VANELLOPE VON SCHWEETZ!" shouted the announcer, as the little girl's name and picture appeared at the top of the board. She was quickly followed by, "TAFFYTA MUTTONFUDGE! MINTY ZAKI! ADORABEEZLE WINTERPOP! SWIZZLE MALARKEY! RANCIS FLUGGERBUTTER!..."

He examined the racers curiously: there was a pink strawberry girl; another girl decked out in lime green; another bundled up in cutesy winter gear; a couple of boys who looked like a swizzle stick and a peanut butter cup, respectively. None of the avatars could have been much above nine years old. They preened themselves, waved to the crowds, suited up in their protective gear, and engaged in any other pre-race idiosyncratic rituals that they might have. Turbo contemplated how enjoyable it all seemed, and also how long-winded and overly complicated their names were. Gloyd Orangeboar, Crumbelina di Caramello, and even Vanellope von Schweetz were awfully complex for someone used to a roster consisting of "Jet, Set, and Turbo." The exception to these naming conventions was the last girl up on the board, Candlehead, whose name seemed ridiculously obvious by comparison.

Finally, the last of the enthusiastic children had hopped behind the wheels of their karts, and floating marshmallows – Turbo had to rub his eyes and squint in order to confirm that he was seeing things correctly, but yes, they were definitely floating marshmallows – swooped down with equipment clasped in their disembodied hands, preparing to begin the race.

"Is everybody ready?!" shrieked Vanellope gleefully from her kart, which was at the front and center position at the starting line.

The other racers brought their voices into a muddled chorus of, "Yes!"

"Are you sure you guys are ready?!"

"YES!" This time the response was made more deafening by the spectators joining in as well. Turbo even heard Ralph bellowing along from his spot in the "Assorted Fans" section.

"THEN LET THE RANDOM ROSTER RACE COMMENCE!"

3…2…1…the numbers materialized in the air and whooshed above the racers' heads. One of the flying marshmallows held up a green traffic light, and with that, the racers were off – with the exception of the girl in winter gear, who accidentally stalled her vehicle and ended up slightly behind the others as she finally began moving down the track. Within seconds, all sixteen of them had vanished from sight.

Turbo crept along the side of the bleachers carefully, certain that no one would notice him; the crowd was far too focused on the race, after all. His eyes darted back and forth between the two large jumbotron screens mounted above the course. One of them listed every single racer's name and ranking, constantly rearranging and self-updating as the positions changed, while the other switched back and forth between various scenes unfolding on the track. Currently Vanellope was visible on the live feed, weaving between opponents as she exited Sugar Square and flew off of a ramp that deposited her into Gumball Gorge.

That looks dangerous, he thought to himself, his gaze tracking the paths of the giant gumballs as they collided head-on with several racers, but kind of exciting, too. He wondered how soon he would be able to try it. So far the Royal Raceway was much more elaborate than Sweet Ride or the Cakeway had been, and certainly there was no point in even bothering to compare it to Turbo Time, but he was always willing to take a risk where racing was involved.

Vanellope was in third position by the time the avatars arrived at the next major section of the track, an enormous birthday cake. (Wait a minute – a town, a canyon, a birthday cake…isn't that like…? He snapped his attention back to the race before his thoughts could wander any further.) On the screen, she was visibly laughing and joking with the two girls closest to her. "No cherry bombs today, eh Candlehead?" she snickered, her voice sounding tinny and faraway through the jumbotron speakers.

Out of nowhere, another kid – this one was the peanut butter cup boy, Rancis Fluggerbutter – rammed into the side of Vanellope's kart. Without even flinching, she flickered into blue static and rematerialized an instant later, now in second position. The crowd let out a delighted cheer at their president's resourcefulness, and Turbo clapped right along with them. "You're good, glitter-graphics," he said aloud, his voice promptly swallowed by the roaring citizens. "You're really good. But watch your back, because soon you won't be the only glitch racing out there!"

The next location was the Ice Cream Mountain Range, where the road laced through mounds of frozen treats, signs were posted warning the drivers of hot fudge and sprinkle avalanches, and powdered sugar flurried down from the sky instead of snow. Turbo's arms tingled softly, not with a glitch, but with an actual chill. I knew that the next place would be an ice cream mountain. But why did I know that?

No time to think about it, because in another moment, the camera had switched to pursue the first place racer (Candlehead), and she had already entered a tunnel where the road glinted with sugar crystals, mottled with all the colors of the rainbow. The track dipped down at an almost completely vertical incline, and the children, not bothering to slow down, shrieked with a combination of joy and fright as if they were riding a roller coaster. Even watching it from a distance was giving Turbo an uneasy sensation of vertigo. He wasn't exactly afraid of heights, but he had to draw the line somewhere.

The race was now blurring into a frenzied rush of action as the children zoomed down the narrow road, past stalactites and other vaguely threatening rock formations, bumping and banging into one another all the way. Between the noise of their horns blaring and the crowd going absolutely bonkers, none of the snide quips that the racers tossed at each other were audible, but the spirit of friendly competition was alive and present nonetheless. As soon as they made it out of the caves, Turbo spotted them all speeding towards the finish line, raising clouds of cocoa dust. Every so often, there was a blazing blue flicker as Vanellope teleported here and there. The leaderboard was updating too frequently to keep up with.

And at last, they all sped past the finish line en masse, so forcefully that he could have sworn that he felt a gust of wind even from behind the stands.

The final rankings were: Candlehead in first, Adorabeezle Winterpop in second, Swizzle Malarkey in third, and Vanellope von Schweetz in fourth. Vanellope, seeming hardly bothered by her loss, congratulated each of the top nine racers for earning their spots on tomorrow's roster before handing the winner's cup to Candlehead. The green-haired little girl was overjoyed as she accepted the trophy, which was now filled to the brim with gleaming golden coins. "I was almost running out of tokens!" she squealed. "I can't remember the last time I got first place!"

Vanellope grinned and punched her on the shoulder playfully. "Well, hopefully that'll make you feel better when I whip-cream you tomorrow!" she cackled.

The little president blew kisses to her subjects only half-sarcastically, and she waved enthusiastically at Ralph, who flashed a thumbs-up from his place in the stands. Then a group of the other children, including bubbly hot-pink Taffyta (the strawberry girl) swarmed upon her like ants over a sugar cube. "Want to come to Tapper's with us, Vanellope?" asked Rancis Fluggerbutter.

"Yeah, we're having a victory celebration!" added Swizzle.

"No thanks, guys," Vanellope pardoned herself. "I mean, I'd like to, but I already made a promise to do something for somebody else today."

Taffyta smirked. "Oh, you're going off with your mysterious friend again? When do we get to meet him, anyway?"

"I already told ya, it's none of your beeswax! But yeah, it does have to do with him. Catch you guys later!" With that, she skipped off towards her kart.

Turbo, who had at this point hidden himself more thoroughly again, flapped his hand at her a little so that she would see where he was.

Moments later, Vanellope had screeched her car to a halt beside him, and she was out and babbling at full speed before he could even say hello. "Didja see me, Pajama Boy?! Didja see me out there?!" she gushed. "It was so cool! I was zooming down the track, vroom vroom vroom, nothing was stoppin' me! And then Rancis tried to push me off the road, did you see that?! But I glitched away! Ooh, and how about when Taffyta got that power-up cube? She almost hit me with a sweet seeker! Man, it was so great – "

"Great?" interrupted Turbo quizzically. "But…you didn't win."

"No, I didn't." She bobbed her shoulders noncommittally. "Who cares? Sometimes I win and sometimes I don't. Really, the important thing is to get in the top nine and be on the roster for the next day." She bounced on her feet. "And I did do that!"

"Yup, you did," he agreed. "And it sure looked like you were having fun out there."

"I was! Oh, it's always so much fun! I love racing!" She grinned, flipping her ponytail in his direction. "I bet you'll have the time of your life once you get out there."

He smiled, envisioning himself taking part in the chaos that he had just witnessed. Nothing like he was used to, but certainly something to look forward to. "Definitely."

"Anyway, enough talk! It's time for your surprise!" Vanellope leapt into the driver's seat of her kart and patted the space behind her. "C'mon, hop on!"

"Wait, we have to drive to the surprise?!" Turbo groaned and dragged a hand along his face, stretching out the white skin of his cheek. "Listen, glitter-graphics, I am so over this riding on the back of your car thing."

"Shut up and get on," she ordered cheerfully. "You'll understand when we get there."

Stifling an irritated glitch, he rolled his eyes and hoisted himself atop the perch that he hadn't used since gaining enough control to properly drive. "Okay, let's go. Hey, is Ralph going to wonder where we are?"

"Nope. He knows exactly where we're going." She shifted into gear, her fingers pattering excitedly against the lollipop joystick. "Hold on tight!"

They bumped along semi-familiar pathways, and after about ten minutes of driving, Turbo realized that they were headed in the direction of the factory always crouching low on the horizon. His theory was confirmed when they approached a small guard booth placed at the side of the road, with a candy cane barricade jutting from its side to block their progress; inside it was an old man with a woolen cap pulled over his head and a bushy white beard, who was snoozing away contentedly and taking no notice of their arrival. Small, puffy white Z's drifted above his head comically, popping like soap bubbles in a steady progression. He was the only other person that they had come across on their journey.

"Hey. HEY!" Vanellope shouted at him, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Hey, you! Beard Papa!"

The old man jerked awake, slapping his cheeks in an attempt to make himself more alert. "What?! Who goes there – oh, P-President von Schweetz!" he sputtered.

"What the heck do I pay you for?" she demanded irritably, drumming her fingers against her pretzel steering wheel in a telltale impatient manner.

"S-so sorry for the delay, Madame President!" He yanked on a lever within the booth, and the striped pole slid upwards to allow them passage. Turbo glanced over his shoulder as they picked up speed and noticed that the old man was staring at him uncomfortably.

Vanellope either didn't see this or was choosing not to acknowledge it, because she was humming contentedly as she drove down the trail towards the factory. She eventually parked in front of a large, sturdy door, adorned with a crown symbol – Turbo recognized the insignia from its various appearances around the castle, and also because it was engraved into every single golden racers' coin. As she clambered out of her car, she seemed to have lost all ability to hold herself still, and she skipped and pranced and even glitch-teleported herself all about as she excitedly explained the situation to him. "You're goin' up another level, Pajama Boy!" she announced. "Surprise – it's time to make you your very own kart!"

Turbo blinked, and a startled glitch rippled through him before he could even think to stop it. "I…I'm going to have my own car again? Really?!"

"Yes, really!" She grinned broadly, as if she was about to bestow upon him the key to the world…and he supposed that, in a way, she was.

He thought back on his generic kart, her pile of bakery scraps, and the various other themed vehicles that he had spotted at the racetrack earlier. "What kind of car do I get?"

"Whatever kind you want!" She was working on the door latches now, and after delivering a few swift yanks to the safety padlock, the entrance shrieked open with the grating sound of metal scraping against the ground. Behind it was a round room, draped with velvety red curtains, with a sequence of enormous gently glowing buttons set into the walls. Each one was emblazoned with a picture of a different type of racecar.

He was about to make his way into the room, but apparently he wasn't moving quickly enough for Vanellope, because she shoved him inside so forcefully that he was only able to keep his balance through sheer luck. "Pick one!" she commanded, opening her arms to gesture to the wide variety of karts available. "That one over there is mine." She proudly aimed her finger at an illustration of a vehicle that barely resembled her sloppy, icing-laden thing.

Turbo pressed his lips together in ponderance. "Ummm…hmm, let's see…" His yellow eyes, which pulsed with their own internal luminescence in the dim lighting of the selection room, swept back and forth thoughtfully. Suddenly, he caught sight of one with a sleek, narrow shape that reminded him of his car from Turbo Time – and even better, it was all red and white, apparently peppermint-themed. "How about this one?" He strode over, placed his palms against the button, and pressed down.

A panel in the wall slid upward, revealing a vast area behind it with an assembly line stretching out past his field of vision, and an announcer's voice boomed out of nowhere: "WELCOME TO THE BAKERY! LET'S BAKE A KART!"

"Minigame time!" sang out Vanellope, hopping like the sugar-fueled child that she was as her fingers sank into his arm. He found himself stumbling along behind her as she flounced towards the first station on the assembly line.

"YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE TO WIN IT! GO!"

Turbo frowned. "Wait, I have to make the car myself?! And – there's a time limit?!"

"Yeah, and the clock's already started!" she exclaimed. "Hurry up!"

"MIXING! PUT THE INGREDIENTS IN THE BOWL AND THROW AWAY THE TRASH!"

The sorting process actually wasn't too difficult. It was basically a tilting platform controlled by a steering wheel, and his reflexes were fairly acute, at least where steering wheels were concerned. Granted, he did slip up slightly and accidentally add a clock, a cardboard box, and a combination lock to his mixture, but everything else that ended up being spun into batter was definitely edible.

"Aww. I was never very good at that," pouted Vanellope.

He dashed to the next station. "C'mon, glitter-graphics, who's going slow now?! We've only got forty-five seconds left!"

"BAKING! PUMP UP THE HEAT AND KEEP THE PERFECT TEMPERATURE!"

This section involved a giant oven and a proportionally large tire pump, and it turned out to be much more problematic, since Turbo wasn't anywhere near tall enough to reach the handles. "I can't reach!" he cried, jumping up and down with his hands frantically wriggling in the air, but he didn't exactly have a platformer's hopping abilities.

"Here, let me help!" offered Vanellope, and she glitched herself atop his shoulders, where she struggled to press down on the pump. "Almost got it…almost…"

He was wobbling beneath her weight. "I can't hold you for much longer!"

"Oh, come on! I'm not that heavy!"

"You're not that much smaller than I am! I can't – "

Ding! The oven chirped at them, and Turbo's wobbly legs buckled. Fortunately, he barely even knocked his elbow in the fall, and Vanellope had teleported off of him before he hit the ground. They scrambled down the assembly line side-by-side.

"DECORATING!"

Turbo stationed himself at the blaster, standing on his tiptoes in order to get a good view of the glass tubes bolted to the wall. Frosting, sprinkles, cookie crumbs, and all manner of other garnishes extended in a line like a scrambled rainbow, and he immediately set about replicating the red-and-white theme that he'd seen on the kart in the picture, adding a few touches of his own. He took aim and methodically fired at four peppermint wheels, and then began laying down a thick layer of white icing as the bare bones of his future vehicle were pushed along beneath.

"Pajama Boy, your car is gonna look really boring!" declared Vanellope. "Don't you want any colors on it?"

"Trust me, I know what I'm doing!" he responded, adding a few pinches of red frosting to the mix. He only hoped that the final result would look the way that he was intending…

"TIME'S UP!"

The assembly line ended in a ramp, and the two of them darted over to it eagerly, now anticipating with equal enthusiasm what their one minute of frenzied work had produced. "CONGRATULATIONS, YOU DID IT, AND HERE'S YOUR KART!" praised the announcer, and down the ramp rolled…

…a go-kart in the very shape that Turbo had selected, primarily white but marbled with crimson stripes along the sides, lean and edgy and ready to tear up the road.

"Yay, it looks super cool!" giggled Vanellope, clapping her hands together. "What do you think, Pajama Boy?"

"It is pretty Turbo-Tastic, isn't it?" agreed Turbo, with a grin wide enough to reveal his yellow teeth. "But I think it's still…" He squinted as he gazed down the kart's mostly bare surface. "…missing something…"

He snapped his fingers as a sudden epiphany struck him. Over to one side of the factory was a shelf lined with piping bags, and he ran over to snatch one filled with red icing, before approaching his new car with a look of determination. It was time to make his mark on this thing.

Several minutes of squirting, spreading, and smearing later, he had accomplished his goal: a large red T was now glazed across the hood of the kart. He took a step back and smiled, dusting off his hands. "There. Now, it's perfect," he said, satisfied with his handiwork. But when this failed to elicit a response, he glanced over his shoulder with a slight frown. "Um, Vanellope?"

The garage-style sliding door at the end of the factory suddenly went up, and before there was more than a sliver of a gap between the bottom of the door and the ground, Vanellope had come charging inside in her own kart. She had placed her hot-pink goggles over her face again, but they did nothing to conceal her challenging smirk. "Well, Pajama Boy, are you just gonna stand there like a moron, or are you actually gonna drive that thing?"

Turbo blinked…then a delighted smile spread across his pale face, and his hand plunged into his jumpsuit pocket, grateful that he always kept his goggles on him nowadays.

"Race you back to the castle!" she proclaimed.

He secured the black goggles over his helmet and stuck his thumb up at her, copying his primary victory gesture from Turbo Time. "You are so on!"

Ten minutes later, he was barreling down the road at full speed while simultaneously grinning like an idiot. He liked this new car…no, he loved this new car. It was markedly faster than the generic vehicle that he had been using until now, and the buzz of its fresh-from-the-bakery engine ignited the most basic, shining kind of happiness within his very core. But perhaps more than that, it truly felt like something that was his and his alone, and it was something that any racer should possess: a racecar. He let out a spontaneous whoop of joy as he and Vanellope sped down the checkered pathway to her castle.

Vanellope, who was just ahead of him, peeked at her rearview mirror and laughed when she spotted the expression of ecstatic bliss on his face. "Having fun?"

"You bet I am!" he shouted, swerving in an attempt to get ahead of her, but she matched his movements and remained in front. He furrowed his brow in concentration. The day had been full of new things thus far, so maybe it was time to take yet another risk…he sucked in a deep breath, focused hard, and glitched.

She yelped with surprise when his car suddenly appeared on the road in front of her, materializing in a glittering fizzle of red pixels. Turbo, blinking as the glitch ended, returned to reality quickly enough that he didn't lose control of his vehicle. "I…I did it," he said aloud, and the wonder in his voice faded as he fully realized it. "Yes! YES! I did it! I did it! I used my glitch to get ahead! I FINALLY DID IT!"

Vanellope cheered at that, but was unable to keep from laughing at his reaction. "All right, Pajama Boy! Way to go!"

Turbo braked just in front of the royal garage, leapt out of his kart, and practically started dancing, he was so giddy at the perfection of the situation. Finally, things were starting to go right for him! He had his own car again, his glitch was helping him rather than hurting him, and now he even had something that he'd never had before – a friend, a good friend, a best friend. It was safe to say that he never would have gotten this far if it hadn't been for Vanellope, and he felt no shame in admitting that now. After all, there was nothing wrong with getting help from someone who truly cared about him…and who he cared about just as much, if not more.

Vanellope smirked as she pulled up alongside him, flicking her bangs away from her eyes. "I guess you won that one."

"Turbo-Tastic!" he exclaimed, pumping a fist into the air, and she snickered.

"Hey, I almost forgot." She reached under her seat, rummaging around for something. "I have another present for you." She produced a round, flat, shiny object, about the size of a dinner plate, and tossed it to him Frisbee-style. Turbo plucked it out of the air with some confusion, turning it around in his hands. It was…

"A gold coin?" he asked.

"Yup. You're gonna need it when you enter the Random Roster Race tomorrow!"

Turbo gasped. "The…the Random Roster Race?! Y-you really think I'm ready for that?!"

"Hey, you just used your glitch to win a race against me, and I'm the best there is!" She puffed out her chest proudly. "I think it's safe to say that you're ready for the track. You're in control now, Pajama Boy. Congrats!"

"Oh, Turbo-Tastic!" he repeated, hugging the gold coin as if it was a precious childhood teddy bear. "Thank you, thank you, a million times thank you, Vanellope!"

"Aw, it was nothin'. You put in the hard work yourself, after all…"

"No, really, I can't thank you enough! What you've done, it…it means a lot to me." He drew in a deep breath, his smile shrinking slightly, but becoming no less sincere. "Back in Turbo Time, I called Jet and Set my friends, but I never showed any gratitude towards them. I was just mean to them, and I acted that way until the end. I'm not going to be like that anymore. I want you to know how much I appreciate your help. So…thank you."

Vanellope stiffened, taken off-guard by his sentimentality. Her eyes dropped bashfully. "Uh…you're welcome." She reached out to him, brushing her fingers against his. "Just make me proud tomorrow, Turbo."

"Don't worry!" His sense of glee returned to him, and he grinned at her, oblivious to the sudden somberness that had clouded over her hazel eyes. For him, this was nothing but an occasion for the two of them to celebrate his return to racing…one of the best days of his life. "I won't let you down!"

He was far too happy for the nightmares to overtake him that night, and during the entirety of the next day, he paced throughout the castle, too excited to sit still long enough to work on his scarf. Anxiety nibbled at the edges of his consciousness, blending with excitement to form an uneasy, frothy mixture. What if the other racers freaked out when they saw his ghost boy appearance? What if he lost control and started glitching during the race? Or worse, what if he couldn't even enter the race because the game wouldn't recognize his code when he went to toss in his coin? Various catastrophe situations pranced through his head, but the potential rewards kept him eagerly awaiting the moment when the arcade would close.

He bounced around in his room, counting down the minutes, until finally the clock displayed a good time to get ready. In addition to his goggles, he snatched a pair of red elbow-length gloves out of his vanity drawer; he'd found them weeks ago but had been coveting them for a special occasion, and nothing could be more special than today. He was in such a hurry that he ended up knocking over the frame on the vanity that he'd been using to display the picture of himself with Jet and Set – other than his car, it was his most prized possession, but he was too busy leaping out the door to notice that it had fallen.

The drive to the Royal Raceway seemed agonizingly slow, and Turbo contemplated using his glitch to speed things up several times, but in the end he thought better of it. He was still only able to teleport so many times before he fainted, after all, and he had no plans to pass out on the track.

Vanellope intercepted him just before he reached the track, while the other racers were still milling about and preparing to line up. He could tell that exactly the same emotions that had been eating at him all day were fermenting inside of her, and as she came up to him, she kept bouncing from one foot to the other. "Are you excited, Pajama Boy? You should be," she proclaimed. "Oh, this is gonna be so much fun! We'll be racing together all the time! The gamers are gonna love you!"

"I hope so," replied Turbo. "Uh…what'll they even think when I show up on the roster, anyway? The gamers, I mean."

"They'll think that you're a super cool bonus character that the programmers put in as an Easter egg. You know, like the Q-Bert guys in Fix It Felix Jr.?"

"Oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense." He glitched, then winced.

"Aw, Pajama Boy, don't start glitching on me now!" Vanellope wagged a finger in his face. "Come on, where's your confidence?! This is what we've been training for, buddy boy! This is why I've been giving you glitch lessons for the past month! You're finally gonna be a real racer again, so get excited!"

He firmed his shoulders, tilted up his chin, and nodded in confirmation. "I can do it!" he declared. "I'm Turbo, the greatest racer ever!"

"That's the spirit! Now come on, bring your sugary T car to the starting line! You can put it right next to mine! Then you can line up with the other racers…" She pressed her lips together. "Um, if they stare at you when they first see you, don't be upset. They'll change their tune real quick when they see what a good racer you are."

"It's okay. I'm used to having people stare at me." He couldn't help but sigh.

He should have known that something was going to go wrong, starting from when he gathered beneath the popcorn box with the other fourteen avatars while they waited for Vanellope to give the daily announcements. Everyone was staring at him, and even though he had grown accustomed to this sort of treatment over time, something about these crawling eyes made him feel particularly uncomfortable. He spotted one of the girls, Taffyta, whispering into the ear of Rancis Fluggerbutter, and they both looked away when he turned his head in their direction.

Something is wrong here, he thought. Something is really, really wrong here. Maybe if I could just remember…

Remember, remember, remember, hoo-hoo-hoo!

He glitched. That last part hadn't felt like his own mental voice.

Vanellope mentioned him in her speech, although not directly. All she said was, "Um, as I'm sure you all can see, we have a new racer joining us today. He's my friend from another game, and he'll be competing with us. Please make him feel welcome." And then she smiled with an uncharacteristic amount of trepidation, looking down so that her gaze landed on Turbo, and somehow he managed to smile back.

And at last, the time of judgment had arrived: all of the avatars pulled out their gold coins and lined up in front of the winner's cup, while he nervously shuffled up at the back, clutching his token as if it were a life preserver. Vanellope speed-glitched her way down from the popcorn box and stood beside him, one pudgy little hand lightly gripping his sleeve. Her presence was admittedly reassuring.

"JUBILEENA BING-BING! SNOWANNA RAINBEAU! GLOYD ORANGEBOAR!" One by one, every Sugar Rush racer was listed on the board, each name accompanied by a small icon and a round of applause from their respective supporters. The line inched upwards as the children hurried off to their cars, until only Turbo and Vanellope were left standing on the sidelines. Turbo suddenly realized that he was petrified, and that slight glitches were crawling across his skin. "Y-you go first, glitter-graphics," he whispered.

Vanellope shrugged and skipped forward, tossing her coin nonchalantly. It bounced upwards, landed in the winner's cup, and the announcer's voice boomed, "VANELLOPE VON SCHWEETZ!"

The crowd cheered loudest of all for their president, and Turbo stepped forward, steadying himself with a deep breath. All of this attention and praise could just as easily be his…it was no longer out of reach. He only had to throw his coin, and he could prove himself. As his eyes roamed across the "assorted fans" section, he noticed that Felix and Calhoun had arrived (sitting next to Ralph, of course) and were both smiling and nodding at him, silently urging him on. He felt a surge of renewed confidence. Suddenly, he knew that he could do this.

Turbo strode forward and threw his coin. It arced high above the track, glinting like a slice of sunlight, spinning down gracefully into the golden trophy perched atop the starting line. As it fell, he was once again gripped by the fear that his code wouldn't be recognized and that nothing would go up on the board at all…

But that wasn't what happened.

All it took to turn the day from one of his best ever into one of his worst ever was the simple flip of a coin. That was it; that was all he'd done to deserve what came next. And when the name went up beside the number 16 on the enormous screen, the announcer's voice of course shouted it out loudly and proudly, oblivious to how the spectators and Turbo himself were reacting to this turn of events.

One coin, two words. And the name that the jumbotron blared out was:

"KING CANDY!"