I love the reviews, you are all so kind! And once again, thank you for telling me about any errors in the typing, formatting, etc. I will be sure to check out your fanfictions soon.
It's so sweet of that some are shipping Jackson and Melise as a couple. You know, Jackson would probably cringe at the thought of hugs and kisses, but everyone deserves someone right? I think 'StorMelise' is quite creative and fetching, neat! Jacklise and Malson are kind of funny! Still great nonetheless.
Chapter 11: 'You're International'
Fine-lined drapes colored in a sandy-brown– the carpets didn't match much, with white walls and paintings of historic cars and mosaic decorations here and there. The hotel accented a boring feel to the eyes. The only thing memorable was the moderately comfy suites, and the memories shared. The fountains were graceful too.
"Alright, everyone's set?" the pick-up truck, The Supervisor, asked. He scanned his employees, all with their luggage in tow, hardly acknowledging him.
"I will be giving you your assigned seats when we reach the airport," he continued. Melise listened quietly, looking elsewhere, pondering the hotel. She would miss this place. It felt surreal to be leaving already.
The Supervisor glanced back to the arrows of the clock, and down to the notes in front of him. He dismissed the rowdy boys chattering away, ignoring him. They would all be leaving Copper Canyon soon enough, and he could go to bed in peace soon enough.
Melise felt a very light tap on her roof, as if some sort of liquid had dripped on her. Her hood raised as she peered up, seeing no drops of water or dust of any kind. Before she could turn, another tap hit her back bumper, and she nearly jumped from her chassis, her luggage in tow falling over. A series of chuckles were heard behind her, and she turned around, embarrassed.
"Hey, sorry... I didn't notice a car was there!" it was one of her co-workers, one of the dark blue cars, snickering. There were some teared sheets of paper next to him, forming crumpled balls to launch with the flick of a tire. An array of balls sat around the floor near his friends ignoring the conversation between the two, already rained upon them.
Melise frowned, straightening her luggage tow, and placing her bags back inside. She turned away, pretending to be interested in the ugly bright yellow vase perched on the table nearby. She twiddled he tires briefly, and stared to the floor, nervously.
"Are those your real eyes?" the same guy asked, rolling over to her. Melise's eyes adverted to his license plate on his front- a rare sight on many cars- reading 'TONY', she made eye contact with him, her front end showcasing a wide eyed, expressionless look.
When she didn't answer him, Tony gave her a squint of his eyes, "'cause they're too big."
"Chrysler dude, right in front of her? Whoo..." the boy covered in Octane Gain stickers replied, hooting his last words, a distance away from the two. Tony glanced to him and both began laughing.
The Supervisor soon announced they were to head outside, as they had an evening flight to catch. Melise was grateful to have a way out.
Her face wore a look of confusion, embarrassment and hurt. She reversed away, turning towards the exit of the hotel, and following The Supervisor to the main road. The others followed in pursuit, Tony, showcasing a grin.
As the hotel gradually disappeared along the road's horizon, Melise felt a sense of loneliness being out of the confines of the comfortable suite. The street and building lights luminated a city of life as the main road merged into an avenue. The vibrations of trucks and 8O8's from a nearby club brought adventure to her hearing.
As the highway appeared behind a grove of trees, Melise merged her way down the ramp, gradually picking up speed. She never particularly liked the freeway, as there were so many things that could go wrong travelling faster than the normal roads, but after many times travelling with her mother when she was younger, it became a decreasing fear.
As the wind whipped across her roof and windshield, Melise imagined she was on a race track. The roads didn't curve much like a speedway, and the speed limit was lower. Factoring those conditions, Melise noted that the cars weren't packed close together- in fact, there weren't much cars in her lane at all.
'How do they do it?' she pondered, imagining how race cars like Lightning McQueen, Jackson Storm among many others manoeuvered the track at higher speeds than this, packed in like they were in a parking lot.
Melise focussed her eyes above to see a plane rocketing past, headed to the airport of her destination. The sudden thought of sharing a seat with one of her fellow oil-runners made her gas tank turn in disgust. What was the point of being mean? What did she do?
It didn't matter anymore. Melise knew herself, she knew her ethics. Ignoring was on the menu, and she would take it. No retaliation, no arguing, no fighting.
She peeked through her rear-view mirrors for signs of her co-workers, only seeing the lights of several trucks, a Dodge Caravan, and another plane far in the distance. She sighed, a smile gradually creeping to her front end. Even if they were keeping up with the traffic, she wouldn't fret, she knew how to handle it.
Tony listened briefly to the airport P.A system announcing a delayed flight out to the Caribbean due to weather conditions. He glanced to the mass of luggage travelling behind the passport terminals.
"Why can't we get VIP transportation?" he asked, turning to his supervisor. The pick-up truck turned abruptly, giving the young man an incredulous expression.
"Because you aren't VIP as an oil runner," he answered simply.
The other boys were at a shop nearby. Three were browsing the fake gold rims with glee, as the grey Bobby Swift fan boy laughed at his fellow McQueen fan boy gushing over some 'Lucky 95' glow-in-the-dark rims.
"...And because it's in the airport, it's so affordable!"
"Nah, dude it's just cheap," the grey car, covered in 'Octane Gain' stickers laughed.
"Screw you guys, you probably buy discount mud flaps at the dollar store."
The airport P.A croaked to life, the feedback causing some travelling cars to cringe. Melise, playing on her phone, glanced to her supervisor, already headed to the aircraft entrance, gesturing with the point of his hood, for her to follow- a wave of his tire for the others to head their way.
"All passengers boarding Flight 0188A, to Nashville, Tennessee please proceed to Gate 2. This is a final boarding call for passengers boarding Flight 0188A, bound for Nashville- "
"Yeah, yeah, we heard ya!" the same grey colored car said, rolling his eyes. Tony turned to him as they idled, waiting to board the plane behind Melise.
"How do we know she isn't getting boned by one of the airport cops while she's talking over the P.A and gets turned on knowing no one knows, man?"
They all began laughing hysterically as The Supervisor struck the boys a look of sheer annoyance. Melise sunk on her axles below the confrontation she was idling between.
Once the Supervisor drove around her to confront the boys, she turned to meet the smile of a forklift flight attendant.
"Boarding pass, and passport please?" she asked the convertible. Melise rolled her left tire and the boarding pass, above her opened passport, came into the view of the woman. She smiled kindly after a moment examining it, dismissing her to the cabin of the aircraft.
Melise listened as her boss kept his voice at a moderate tone, laced with anger addressing the inappropriate behaviour.
She rolled through the cabin, meeting the eyes of strangers who promptly smiled at her. Melise soon found her seat, a gleeful grin spreading across her mouth as she saw it was a window seat.
After settling in, Melise turned to see her fellow oil runners- the quiet three of the pack- seat themselves nearby. Two in the unoccupied lots beside her, and the other in the isle seat beside Tony and 'Mr. Octane Gain'. The last one, 'Lucky 95' parked behind them- The Supervisor parking beside him shortly thereafter.
Thank the Manufacturer, this was going to be a peaceful flight.
A sweet smile spread across Shannon's lips as she watched Melise roll into the new hotel, bags in tow. The convertible looked awestruck as she stared upon the royal purple curtains accented with white on the dimmed interior. Floodlights luminated the the room like it was a banquet hall. Expensive chandeliers surrounded the twin series of curling ramps leading up each floor, a large, long purple curtain draped down the center. They had been decorated with little ornaments related to the Piston Racing Series, namely, 40 karat gold, and genuine silver mini Piston Cups that shimmered with the reflection of passing rear view mirrors on each ramp.
"You look impressed!" Shannon mused. She glanced behind Melise to see her supervisor entering the hotel, and promptly making his way to the receptionist, but none of the other six oil runners in sight.
"It's magnificent," Melise said, taking her eyes from the scenery, to Shannon.
"So," Shannon began, approaching the receptionist line, Melise following, "how was your flight?"
"I fell asleep for exactly 5 minutes of the three hour journey," Melise giggled. "I'd never imagined I would fall asleep on a relatively short plane ride. It was peaceful and the food was okay."
Shannon smiled and waved as some cars entering the hotel, began bouncing on their axles when they saw her.
"Well many staff have been complaining that this year's oil runners aren't up to par..." Melise frowned turning to look at Shannon head on, lost for words.
"Except for one. An adorable peach convertible," Shannon winked. "You've been doing great, Melise, some of the staff, and even crews appreciate your extra effort for your slacking co-workers."
Melise's front end brightened up, and her mouth began to drop open. She hadn't even realized the extra juggling of oil cans as her fellow employees watched every second of the race was worth it.
In fact, if Melise was being praised for the efforts Tony and his meddling pal lacked, she had no reason to be intimidated by them.
"I didn't think I could be of so much help, thank you," Melise answered, genuine in her soft voice. Shannon smiled bright.
"I think you meant, 'you're welcome', Melise." Shannon chuckled.
"Where are the other guys anyway," Shannon asked, briefly scanning the room.
"I think I heard them say they wanted to go to one of the clubs nearby, or maybe a bar," Melise replied, indifferently.
The two began cruising side-by-side through the elegant hotel after registering Melise's room, and receiving the key card.
"Welcome to Wheelsworth Inn, guest room 304," Melise read the card.
"The Series usually tries to arrange racers to be in rooms matching their racing numbers," Shannon stated, Melise's expression became amused. "Good thing we'll be a floor or two away from those revving engines."
"Well, I better go settle in my stuff, I'll come back downstairs afterwards." Melise said, glancing up the twin ramps leading to a series of floors she could merely imagine.
"A-OK!" Shannon chanted to her, heading up one of the ramps. "I've got to go back to the Rooftop Venue, there's a meet and greet going on, you should come!" The shimmery brown car was soon gone.
Melise didn't waste a minute, her suite awaited. She cruised cautiously up the marble ramp, glancing at the mini Piston Cups hung from the large centerpiece ribbon. This place was an elegant contrast to the Wild-West atmosphere of the Copper Canyon's hotel. She just hoped she wouldn't make a fool of herself if she ran into any racers this time around.
Flashing lights of paparazzi and rim-attached fan cameras blinded the hotel entrance as Ray cruised through, squinting his eyes among the hollering fans. He made a U-turn and turned to see his Jackson following in at a moderate speed, eye's half closed and expression in a half-smile.
"WE LOVE YOU, STORM! WE LOVE YOU MAN!" A male van shouted as security blocked the door, and sight of the racer.
"Everything's all in order, your room is ready for you." Ray began, glancing around for anymore rowdy fans. He turned to Storm, watching the familiar sight of the racer staring in awe of the elegant hotel.
"Now," Ray said, calculating Jackson's possible reaction.
"I have to attend the Meet-&-Greet venue on the skyline roof." Jackson said simply, taking the words from his crew chief's mouth. He turned his eyes back to Ray, seeing his pitty, Quincy pulling up beside the crew chief. "Yeah, yeah, all that jazz IGNTR wants me to do."
"You'll get more simulator time after that's over with," Ray replied, watching some cars pass by, staring at the racer with stars in their eyes.
"This time you won't restrict me to just six hours?" Jackson asked, paying very little attention to any fans.
"You just had nearly seven hours on the thing. There's a world outside of the virtual racing, Jackson," Ray said, slightly annoyed with the young racer.
Ray breathed a sigh, "Just be a good sport, make some friends."
"Look Ray, I'll save friendships for when someone else actually wins against me," the race car replied, his voice dripping with cool confidence. Ray exchanged a glance with Quincy, who grinned in return, before heading out of the hotel, into the dying down flashes of phones and digital cameras.
"So a venue on a roof, huh? Must be something," the forklift remarked, glancing down the length of the intricate ramp as Jackson showed little interest in his question. The racer looked about the the marble flooring, and dark royal colors accenting the walls of the top floor. Balloons colored in dark blue and black lined each doorway, with ribbon Piston Series banners hung in front of normal hotel decors.
"Nice choice of colors," Jackson said, scanning over the balloons. He cruised down the hall till he saw Shannon greeting racers and their entourage just inside the roof entrance. Security officers idled inside by the skyline entrance and outside, a red-rope allowing VIP cars into and out the venue. Fans stood at the sidelines behind the ribbon, eagerly waiting for more of them to be let in.
"Ah, number 2.0, greetings," Shannon said excitedly, as the IGNTR racer cruised pass her, giving her a nod of his hood as the red rope was opened for him, and his pitty. Jackson's eyes scanned the glowing decor of the skyline party, seeing no familiar faces or importance to him. Quincy accelerated immediately to the small bar, leaving the racer to his usual solitary.
Jackson's jaw twitched at the sounds of excited fans roaming the small party. They squealed, they hollered, they jumped around with their Piston Cup souvenirs. He couldn't stand the barking of annoying fans, especially if they were his own fans.
When the door opened, a creak was hardly heard on the swinging frame. The room, a royal purple color donning the walls, and a large frame of a castle with a moat perched on the bed head wall. A black cushioned sofa, a coffee machine, and a large bathroom made the suite more heavenly than Melise could imagine.
She set down her towed bags, and cruised around the room, a smile across her features and she viewed her home for the next few days.
Snapping out of her wonder, Melise reached for her phone, ready to call her mother.
"Melise! Grandpa's a huge Jackson Storm fan," Vanda said, laughing on the other end.
"I think you'll have to get him an autograph or picture of that race car."
"What an interesting greeting, mom." Melise replied. She thought about the embarrassing first time introduction with the racer, her gas tank sank at the thought of the race car. She couldn't tell them how she had first met him. In the background, the sounds of her Grandfather chanting to what must be a live re-run of the Copper Canyon race televised were clear.
"Aww, sweetie, I'm glad the flight was safe, " Vanda said, "all set at the hotel now?"
"Yes, it's like being in a world class hotel. Like a banquet hall." Melise said, practically gushing.
"It's that five star hotel for athletes in Nashville, the Wheelsworth Inn?"
Melise studied her key card again, "In fact, it is..."
"I'll take two more," Quincy said, turning to look at Jackson Storm several meters away, uninterested in the conversation, "one's for our champion."
The bartender–a large grey SUV– grinned to the forklift with three empty glasses of champagne beside him.
When Quincy rolled over to the racer, Jackson took little notice of the glass place in front of his tire. His eyes scanned the skyline, bored. Some fans snapped a photo of the racer a few feet away, and Jackson immediately sported an annoyed look at their presence. They were too busy grinning into their phone gallery to notice the race car grimacing at them.
When Storm turned on his wheels to the exit, a glimpse of the peach convertible was in his sight. She idled beside the RSN reporter, just inside the doorway. The two were chit-chatting like friends, while the guard let some fans inside.
Jackson studied her- her paint scheme appearing a glossy, aqua color under the reflecting blue lights. She reversed slightly, turning to face her friend, a cheerful look upon her hood with a bit of blush in her smile.
'What was her name again?' Jackson thought, narrowing his eyes. 'Maisie? Melissa?'
All he could remember was it was some unusual name.
Her expression changed slowly in twee to an innocent stare as she listened to the reporter explaining something to her.
"Hey, Storm! Can we get some pictures with you?" Jackson turned to see some new fans- three of them- to his side. They smiled when he looked at them.
"Not now, but here," the racer answered, "I'll sign your fenders."
Melise glanced inside the venue, not much interested in going inside to socialize, as she listened to the R&B music tunes from the speakers.
She could see some racers chatting with fans, and taking photos with them. Some appeared to be new racers, as she hadn't noticed them before.
Melise's eyes trailed across the room, a small smile across her lips as she watched the excitement, when her eyes soon met the grey stare of Mr. Jackson Storm. He had just finished printing his signature on the fender of a young male Corolla, the grey font showing perfectly on his red paint job.
Her cabin felt like cold water rushed through it, and she stared back to the racer, giving him a sweet smile, before quickly turning to Shannon as if she had been called by her. Blush rose to her hood.
"Madame, a snack?" a waiter parked himself in front of Shannon and Melise, addressing the convertible.
"Uh, um, sure!" Melise said quickly and aloud, the waiter reversed slightly, as she made her display, lowering his tray to her.
The food consisted of a single large meatball, shish kabob between two roasted and seasoned tomatoes. Melise had to admit, it looked and smelled delicious, she helped herself to one, thanking him as he drove elsewhere.
She quickly bit into the meat, and Shannon giggled as Melise tried to eat it innocently without making a fool of herself. She could feel Storm's eyes on her.
"You're such a cute little Honda!" Shannon puffed Melise's cheeks with her tires, giggling.
Jackson's eyes turned to some loud groupies, huddled around a bright green, new rookie racer. The new racer grinned at the young women squealing and making silly faces in photos with him.
He adverted his eyes back to the convertible, minding her business, and chewing her meatball. She made them look like little kids, her elegance and reserved nature making her seem to glow among the loud guests.
Quincy glanced to Jackson's untouched glass, and followed the racers eyes to see a lovely- looking Honda, her front end laced with blushed cheeks on a peach fibreglass frame. Jackson's mouth hung open slightly as he watched her with his same usual relaxed eyes, as if she had ten Piston Cups on her hood.
"Hey, there's Swift!" Quincy said suddenly, Jackson's eyes turned to the approaching purple race car. The Octane Gain racer's mouth was tugged into a grin as he headed towards Storm. On Bobby's tail, the same newer, high-tech car in green- N20 and '68' donning his hood and sides, smiling to guests.
"Congratulations on your win, Storm." Bobby said.
"Yeah, that was awesome, man," the green race car said, amazed. A grin spread across Jackson's front.
"Thanks, I appreciate it," Storm replied. He turned to the green car.
"This is H.J Hollis," Bobby stated, the green racer smiled. "His first race is coming up here, Speedway of the South."
"Hey," Hollis greeted Jackson- he nodded his hood once, cool grey eyes addressing the new rookie.
"Good luck out there, Hollis," the IGNTR racer answered, "You might need it," he began reversing, dismissing his interest in the two men.
Jackson headed towards the far back of the venue, Quincy followed, snickering at the confused racers reaction, Storm was indifferent.
"Uh, thanks... I think," Hollis replied, caught of guard. He turned to a blank faced Bobby, not much phased and seemingly, uncaring.
Once out of most cars' sight, Jackson turned to an inquired faced Quincy, "Tell her," he pointed his tire, clear in the direction of Melise, "tell 'Peaches' to come over here for a minute, I've got to ask her something."