The shaded area of the quiet, empty stadium was safe from the hot, Floridian sun for the idling cars nearby. The group shared collective annoyance on their hoods, making use of the minimal break time. A familiar red sedan grinned into the reflection on a coolant tank. The Rust-Eze decal, a common souvenir of his, caught a small ray of sunlight and sparkled a shimmer on the "95" orange outline. Preston grinned at his treasure, the dried, sandy residue of road paint left at least one part of his cab clean for the day.
"Why you checking out yourself like a girl?"
The red sedan narrowed his eyes and peered through his mirrors as the three cars behind chuckled.
Grid's headlights dulled a dry cover of dust and grime from the painstaking work. His paint hardly casted a glare with its grubby appearance. Preston gave his friend a predictable once over of annoyance. The sun was too hot for arguing.
"Dude, go take a wash before your muffler gets clogged."
The grey coupe leaned his weight on one tire lazily, turning his eye to reply, "What?"
"You look like a junkyard."
Preston's grin appeared as all but Grid, hooted in amusement. The coupe gave him a distasteful curl of his upper lip.
"We all do, McWiener. At least I won't spend half of my paycheck on a guy who ain't the fastest car anymore, like you." Grid rolled his eyes as his reverse lights flashed on. "He would lick McQueen bumper just to hear him rev his engine — who even needs Rust-Eze ointment when you have this guy?" his tires aligned beside Tony, hearing the pick-up snort to conceal his fit laughter.
"BREAK TIME'S OVER," a white, Ram pick-up truck lectured. He took a glance at the long check-list for his employees, hearing the group groan as the pulled out of park, and into the hot sun.
As the other's muttered defiance under their grilles, Yarvis cruised towards the supervisor, the truck's eyes acknowledged the Toyota idling head on with very little as a slight raise of his lid.
"With all due respect, Sir," the sedan began, "You've had us doing chores for the last two weeks! Can't you extend the break?"
The pick-up truck furrowed his lids, "Extend the break? Do you understand why you are here to begin with?"
The group listening behind fell silent in unison, recalling their escapades.
"Sir, I wasn't even a part of it," Yarvis protested, "It was all their idea!"
"What!?" Tony slammed on his brakes, narrowing his eyes in opposition, he turned, "Dude... are you serious!?"
Watching the two bicker for a moment, their supervisor cut in, "Both of you will learn the hard way, If you want to keep your contract's until the next season, you'll adjust to this formal discipline."
"Formal?" Grid grumbled under his breath, "Is that what he calls repainting the rumble strips?" He glanced from his place under the oil pump tent to the red car approaching.
"And cleaning the press box," Preston added as he passed, towing two paint cans towards the pit lane.
The white Ram waved his tire, dismissing Yarvis' further groans of protest, "Now get back to work boys. The season's opening race is in a few days, the track needs to be pristine."
Preston's grin appeared in the distance, "Yeah, McQueen's gonna book it this year!"
Kessler grinned in amusement beside Tony as the two got back to dusting the fresh cut in-field grass, "He actually meant to say Storm," the navy pick-up truck winked.
"I mean it," Preston shouted, "You can't mess with a legend!"
Grid rolled his eyes at the conversation. He stopped scrubbing the sticky tar caked around the oil tank nozzle, and took a glance of the empty track. It almost felt like the first day on the job again. A sludge of tar splattered on his hood, and the coupe jerked in reverse, incredulous as he turned to make eye contact with his boss. The Ram glanced him over, seeing the grey coupe cower slightly, "Get back to work, Griddy, the muck on that nozzle won't clean itself."
He glanced among the working cars, beginning with Grid in front, matting his tires in the sticky, black residue caked and dripped down his grille, across to Preston in the distance, scrubbing grime and garbage off the track, "Consider yourselves lucky, your paychecks are arriving tomorrow morning, and you'll be free then until the next chore is assigned."
Dumbfounded, Grid watched the truck head out of the lot. Tony and Kessler began snickering as Grid raised a lid in stupor, "Did he just call me 'Griddy'?"
"Yeah, he did, Griddy," Tony snickered.
The grey coupe groaned. The punishment was just too much, even if there were quarts of Transberry juice to feast at leisure in the gas tent. The Florida race was approaching, and nearly a year of oil running wasn't much of a time to perfect the act as the big boss claimed. One race team would require seven litres, another would request twelve— confusing yet, the pump didn't measure the fluid inside, creating a disruption as it fell empty right in the middle of races.
The manager drove in groves of serpintines in the stands behind the fence. Grid watched as he did his part, placing banners for the upcoming race beside pillars for guests that would eventually happened to cross by.
Either the oil runners he hired were akin to dump trucks, or the job was too much to handle. Nearly a month ago, things were smooth. The coupe could remember the boss' smile, his praise as the day ended neatly, the free time afterwards...
The idea was as non-existent as a spectator in the racing dome today. Things went downhill, and the team preferred to talk instead of work— it made the long day easier, but the manager wasn't having it. Foolishness online or not, Grid was in the can with Tony and the other guys, all over innocent fun.
Grid got back to scrubbing. If they did the job right, they could get out of here quicker. Punishment be damned, they didn't need an extra member to get the job done right. He could figure it out, maybe become team leader within the days following. The Florida 500 was well-anticipated within the coming weeks, what better way to secure a good repertoire. The guys would be thankful for a team captain that didn't yell all the time.
The oil drum creaked, groaning sludge that sloshed to the bottom of the tank. Grid stared incredulous as the nozzle splattered strings of sticky dark brown blobs to the asphalt below his treads.
"Grid, you better clean that stuff up before it hardens!" the Ram called from the grandstands.
"Yeah," Grid muttered looking about for a plow attachment, "I'll— uh— get to it."
There was always distinct vibrations as a vehicle passed by. Several doors along the halls would open, others would slam closed— different cars, different personalities. The likely culprit, breakfast room service.
The world and its worries were scarce. Time and disarray didn't exist for now, and her eyes remained closed. She inhaled the fresh air blowing through the veranda window. The breeze was serene, tickling her lashes as thoughts roamed of 2.0 decals. Her lips curled into a smile, and she held back a joyful giggle. She could almost hear his resonant voice…
"MELISE!"
The Honda's eyes shot open, her eyes turned to calmly view the intrusion. A familiar, glossy Camry idled a few meters away, her grille crinkled in anger as her shimmery eyeshadow twinkled with each frustrated blink. Melise exchanged a confused glance with her opened suite door through the rooms, and the invading Toyota in front of her.
"YOU WENT TO HIM!" Emla accelerated forward, glare fixed.
"Wha…"
Her tires latched onto the convertible's fenders, and she rattled her left and right, "YOU ACTUALLY WENT TO SEE THAT GASHOLE!?"
Emla concentrated on the doe brown eyes horrified of her. Melise mumbled some incorherance.
"YOU HAVE LOST YOUR MIND!"
"Emla, stop!" Melise squealed, pushing against her with clumsy axles.
"YOU NEED TO STOP!" Emla's gear shot in reverse as she let Melise go. Her tires skid against the oak flooring and her tail bumper met the dresser, causing it to rock unstable, swinging slowly to a stop.
Melise heaved once. She raised her lids in worry, seeing her hazard lights ironically blinking in the mirror opposite. Initiated by accident in the shuffle, Melise turned them off, and glanced back to her angry friend.
She knew Jackson Storm wasn't a pleasing topic for Emla, it was made clear with the 'gashole' comments yesterday. Despite the confliction, the last thing Melise expected was to be ambushed over visiting him.
"… All we did… was talk… and… wait! How do you know that anyway!?" Melise looked horrified.
"What do you mean "how do I know"?" Emla furrowed her lids in agitation at the clueless convertible, "you must seriously love being in front of cameras, embracing and making kiss-faces like some couple," the Camry rolled her eyes in annoyance, while Melise shrunk into embarrassment.
"What..." her voice fell small and stiff. News travelled fast.
"What did you guys talk about hmm?" She sneered, seeing the Honda hardly snap out of it. Her brown eyes were void of the life they once had, instead replaced with horror. Was this a just a joke?
"After the way he treated you!" Emla fussed, "You decide to actually go see him!?"
"I..."
"The way the media would portray you! Do you honestly think Storm cares about you!?" Emla extended her axles in emphasis.
The sentence surged frigid coolant through Melise's engine. She could remember Jackson's disgusted expression now, the way he asserted his dominance over her in the presence of other cars. He was agitated with her then— and she was annoyed with him. Mutual dissonance.
But what was beneath it? His status, his valuable free time. Then there was that thing he did— looking her up and down, like she was a priority, a random convertible who just screeched his name from the Pits. He would flex his jaw slightly, and trail his grey irises to her own, ready to listen to her babbling. He was a total jerk, and an honest one, but only when he wanted to be.
"You don't know him!" Melise shot back, eyes narrowing.
The Camry's aggravation grew and she stomped her tire, "Don't defend him! Do you think he would defend anyone else, or even you!? Where is he now!? Use your brain!"
Melise ignored the adrenaline of shame coming her way, she watched her friend latch onto a familiar blue sheet of paper.
Emla read the note over once, mere seconds before turning her eyes towards Melise. The Honda exchanged glances between her friend, and her treasure. Emla pressed her right tire on the paper, using the other to shred the note in half.
"It's garbage, everything you think about him. I know what I'm talking about," the scraps of sky blue tone paper quickly stained to a grey dusty hue under Emla's treads.
Melise watched panting and speechless as the Camry tore her prized possession apart, her brown eyes dilated, and a gasp arrived seconds later. For a moment, she expected a cold rush of anger, maybe even a cut to her heart, only to hear the growling of the Toyota, and her assault on the racer's invitation, nothing else. Melise blinked, quiet and observing as the breeze blew shreds of blue tailored paper around her room. Emla poured her frustration mindlessly into her task at tire. Her teeth gritted as she struggled to pull apart a thick stack of paper. Defeated, she dug at the mess nonsensically with her treads.
Melise exchanged a demure glance between the event unfolding before her, was this all Emla could do to assert her dominance? Shred an invitation that was already used?
The newfound peace in her life was usually interrupted favour of animosity. This was different, growing familiar with the with the new array of personalities in her life.
Her doe brown eyes loomed silently over Emla, accepting, and still slightly sleepy. The urge to flee or cower was absent. Horror was new, but expectant. Melise blinked, her eyes narrowing as she searched her muddled mind for some sort of mental explanation. Emla's voice seemed to fade in.
"… And then you come back here! Now what? You and him will have long chit-chats about stupid things, then you just leave each other alone again!?"
The rather blunt statement gave way to a frown on Melise's delicate features. The comment hurt— this time. Emla saw the frown appear on the convertible's front, and she narrowed her approach, finding the weakness.
"He's a famous race car, he doesn't even need you, or anyone. All he's going to do is reel you in, then throw you out. Don't you get it!?"
The convertible's frown remained in place, she was still. Emla beat her tread into the floor, "Just look at the way he treats his fans and the Press!"
Melise shook her hood, rolling to a brake, "But you can't base your entire argument on what you saw on T.V!" her voice fell quieter when she realized there was a shouting match, "There's more than meets the eye."
"Like what?" Emla emphasized her axles in extension.
Gloss coated Melise's eyes as she thought about it, her thoughts remained absent in fluster of the events around her as Emla narrowed her eyes impatient.
"That's what I thought," the Camry huffed, "If you want to hang out with Jackson Storm so badly, consider waiting in line with the rest of his fans, seriously, keep dreaming."
Melise crinkled her front, taken aback by the reality of the comment. She ignored the sinking in her circuits, "I don't need you to tell me how to think or feel... Just get out."
"What?" Emla asked, puzzled. The girl always mumbled like a shy high schooler.
Melise kept her incredulous annoyance fixed, "I said go! Leave me alone!" She paused and her eyes fell into a curious knot of her lids. A new noise of the room's main entrance opened, accompanied by the sound of an approaching engine.
"I hear yelling! What's wrong?" A muffled posh male voice came, pushing the bedroom door open. The sun ray entered the opening door, reflecting on familiar polished, gold fibreglass.
The Bentley's vision lined up with Melise, and her RPM's visibly increased further as she caught sight of her mentor with the widen of her eyes, much to Jonah's own chargin, she looked like a spooked tractor. Emla—quick to disdain, charged away without another word. Melise cringed as the Camry slammed the suite door, her eyes settled into a downcast.
She was alone again, the creeping in horror of vulnerability ruined the already tarnished setting. Silence filled the room.
"Fighting off jealous competition?" Jonah joked, lightening the air, "I like that!"
Melise frowned attitude in her tone, "She's my friend."
Jonah ignored the sass on her voice and watched her stare in space, her melancholy returned, and she flipped her mouth into that Chrysler-awful looking frown. Jonah couldn't pin-point it exactly, but she reminded him of a cabbage-patch car, wide-eyed and giddy, the difference was that she wasn't stuffed. His content grille became straight with his comedy falling short. She was difficult to please too, ungrateful at best— he came to check on her safety, but here she was scornful as usual. He watched her roll towards the bathroom.
"That girl is one of the other competitors," Jonah stated carefully, "Why were you fighting with her?"
Melise made a sharp U-turn, facing her mentor head-on, "I wasn't fighting her. I don't really know—she's upset."
Briefly, the Honda's attention was absent as she hoped he wouldn't pry, watching him nod absently. She stared in space, lost and recollecting. Her tires soon turned her away from him, following the short distance to her destination.
"We have a show tonight," Jonah announced, he looked up in keen thought, "it's sponsored under— wait for it: Sidewall O' Shine. Stupid name right?" he flashed a grin her way, looking at her mirrors.
"…Kay," she murmured, seeing him grinning at his lame jokes. She could remember a note in her pamphlet stating the sponsor was cutting its partnership with the racing series in favour of corporate ties after nearly ten years. This must've been their next move, rim sales.
"I'm thinking that cute little bumper of yours will look great in sky blue," Jonah emphasized his tires to the ceiling in a semi-circle. She turned to look at his display, her lip curled in slight repulsion. He shot her a wink as she reversed into the bathroom.
The silence returned, and Jonah grumbled a sigh. He knew she was miserable. You couldn't turn a small town car into a high-end roadster overnight, especially a fragile convertible. Turo could disagree, IGNTR could dish out as much cash as they wanted, Jonah knew she wasn't fit for the competition. He couldn't wrap his mind around a beautiful car preferring to actually drive the speed limit. Melise didn't take those thrilling challenges. In fact, the Bentley was almost certain she had a well rounded set of cylinders, she could rev that sporty engine if she wanted to...
They'd have to put away their differences aside for now. Youngsters were snappy and girls were moody, but the Bentley considered himself young at heart. If he wanted to get along with Melise, he'd have to befriend her, no matter how hard it was.
Jonah pulled up to the door, listening inside to hear what she was doing. After moment of silence, he sighed. She must be stressed out, but that's the high life.
"Uh...Turo sent the tires and rims for you. Wanna try them on so I can take some pictures?"
She didn't reply, instead, opening the door to look at him. The somber expression was replaced with a blank once over his gold dimensions.
"Are you alright?" the usual softness in her voice was back, free of stress and fear. The comment caught him off guard.
Jonah raised a lid confused, "Huh?"
"You went to the hospital, right?" she accelerated past him, making a turn around the bed to fix her messy comforter, "Are you okay, now?" she glanced his way, her gentle eyes of concern emphasized her grace.
"Yeah, yeah," his voice rose an awkward octave as he answered her. "Other guy wasn't so lucky though, wish you could've seem me pummel him into the asphalt."
Melise watched him punch his treads against the air in mimicry of an event Jonah wished had happened. She giggled in forced to clear the air of an embarrassment.
Soon changing the subject, Jonah slid three cans of different coats of paint in front of her. Melise glanced among the cans, the first was a glossy sunshine color of yellow, followed by a chrome magenta and lastly, Jonah's recommendation, the glossy baby blue.
"I'm telling you, listen to the master of fashion, baby," Jonah boasted as he reversed to a comfortable spot behind her sight in the vanity mirror, "That blue is meant for you."
She hesitated, "I don't know if I can do this..." Jonah rolled his eyes, not this again.
She breath a deep sigh, "Will everyone else be wearing blue?" she began studying the glossy adorable color.
Jonah shrugged, "Who cares!? All that matters is you rocking that runway." he pulled away for a moment, wheeling in a single tire and matching glossy rim just for her. Melise stared in wonder at the sparkling blue beauty, IGNTR's signature ring lined the side walls.
"It's so—"
"Amazing right!?" Jonah cut her off, seeing her eyes brighten some, "I do know how to choose."
The Bentley crept in close, seeing her reasonable content turn to uncomfortable concern, "and you'll look better than that friend of yours." his voice was low and obviously trying to hard.
"If you insist," Melise remarked flatly, rolling forward in an 'S' to avoid Jonah's attention.
Sure to arrive for adequate timing, Jonah dropped his tow of the Honda's belonging, her tires, and the fancy ESR rims. He watched through her provided vanity mirror as she peeked inside, looking about the empty dressing room.
"What's up?" the Bentley asked, turning to face her, she seemed to ignore his comment, blinking rapidly as she passed him, brake lights turned on at the dresser, and she parked herself.
"Okay," she glanced to him, aligning beside her, "I've decided I want the yellow paint," she stated bluntly. Jonah's jaw nearly detached, she chose the ugliest color for her model.
"What!? We decided on the blue!" Jonah protested. He watched her ignore him once more, indifferent to his commands.
"You wanna change just like that?" He became quizzical as she nodded.
"I think the yellow colour is pretty," Melise grinned as she thought about it shimmering under spotlights, "plus, I've never been yellow before."
Jonah thumped his tire in annoyance, "Are you kidding me!? Ugh!"
Melise glanced to the traffic moving disorganized in the half closed door of the hallway through the mirror opposite. She caught sight of a blue Benz passing by nonchalantly, likely looking for her friend. Her eyes moved about, soon settling on a vehicle out of sight, Merina's eyes glimmered in content as she disappeared from the doorway view. Melise shifted her weight in discomfort, turning her attention back to her reflection.
"I'm not changing the paint, you will look fabulous in baby blue," Jonah stated boldly.
"I don't want the blue paint! Go get the yellow, please!" the Honda snapped.
Her mentor shot her an incredulous look, soon reversing right out of her room for her demands.
Melise watched as the door creaked closed, soon fidgeting in discomfort. She backed up from her spot, knocking over a forgotten quart of oil left on another vanity. The drink stained the carpet flooring.
"Oh Chevy... " Melise muttered in annoyance. She pushed the can upright, and raised her tire to toss it into the trash. Her left tire dripped the substance, staining her front bumper with a streak. The convertible wiped at it with her inner sidewalls, smearing a mixture of grubbiness over her faded peach fibreglass. Glancing up to see the mess on her front, she growled in high octaves as she saw the IGNTR racer's autograph.
Arriving back with her artist, Jonah showed her the can in silent attitude, Melise blinked rapidly, looking away, "Thank you."
The runway was glamorous for the relatively unknown brand. LED lights lined the cruiseway with spotlights at the end, lighting each dimmed approaching vehicle. The audience was a sparse array of cars, likely a few hundred, chattering until the lights lowered and the bass riffed to begin the show.
Parked at the judges table, Jonah peered at the sight of a chrome orange Royce, her sharp, long lashes emphasizing her menacing resting face. The Bentley watched Melise line up with the other girls, her chosen yellow color standing out among the collection of chromes surrounding her. He fought the urge to lose his mind, that particular car was a well-established fashionista, from the intricate designs on her treads to assert her wonder, to the shiny tint of her windows of luxury. Laverne Spark, he had no idea she would be here to witness this.
"I've gotta say, we are truly blessed by the Maufacturer to have you here!" the M.C grinned, listening to the scattered cheers.
The Royce rubbed her lips together, knowing full proof her lipstick was where it was supposed to be, "My pleasure," she answered in elderly wisdom, "I didn't convert to Tesla for Sidewall O' Shine's cruelty-free reputation for nothing."
The two shared a fake array of laughter to keep the crowd pleased. Within mere minutes, Jonah planted himself firmly in park, he wasn't going out there, but the very thought of who was caused him to cringe, his reverse lights carried him to the corner to breathe obnoxiously.
Melise watched as each vehicle returned with pearly white smiles, their chromes shining off each opaque object in sight. She hardly noticed the twinkling blue on Merina as she pulled past her, finishing he round. The Benz smiled, while the convertible paid her little attention.
"I'm ready... I'm ready... I'm ready," Melise murmured, she made eye contact with a maroon chrome shimmer approaching.
It was Jin, giving her a once over, "Wow, that's different, in a good kinda way!" she grinned in honesty. Melise forced a smile to the comment, despite her missing chrome shine.
The car in front disappeared down the runway, vibrations shook Melise's cab as she waited, nervous and patient. A moment passed as she loomed at the audience under dark blue lights, The cars focussed on the girl leaving the runway with impression.
Melise's RPM's quickened, and she rolled forward in hesitation, allowing the returning model to pass quickly. Her nose end pulled out awkwardly into the cold air and dimmed atmosphere. Lights acted as white lines on a road, leading her to her destination of blinding spotlights at the end.
High on her suspension and a demure elegance on her enhanced beauty, the convertible took off down the cruiseway, caught up in muddled nervousness, it made noticing anything impossible.
The cars cheered, scattered wows of awe as her doe brown eyes glimmered on her white windshield visible in the dimmed length of cruise to cover.
Melise noticed the Royce in front squint with a shift of her cab, raising her lid. The convertible soon came bumper to bumper with the judges, hearing a strange scatter of spaced cheering from the audience as her bright yellow polish clashed with the atmosphere. She smiled, quick to avoid the awkward exchanges between the unpleased judges. The table was chrome, the Rolls Royce— chrome, the decor, even lighting, all chrome.
Her rose showed on her sunshine yellow fenders, matching tire rims, and ugly contrast the the toned down colors of the world around her. Her lids raised in worry, quickly turning to stupor as she was taken aback by the shameful stares. The Honda sped in her perfect U-turn, her straight, thin oval tail lights soon disappearing into the blue dim lights again. Her frown followed her past two familar cars, both dull shades of chrome sparkles. The Camry looked elsewhere with a knowing expression. She fought back a grin and the laughter behind it.
The cars that finished their rounds, watched as the Honda bolted into the dressing room, cursing loudly as she blew up in frustration.
"Are you kidding me!?"
Jonah chewed his tire, he cringed at her unusual volume. Cars nearby the stage entrance listened to the noise as the music drowned into an instrumental, quieter bridge.
A yellow car, stocky and heavy axled jittered his lid at the obscene shrills backstage, the two young ones beside him looked for guidance, raising their naive lids in confusion.
"Oh Chrysler," Emla cringed, "That's Slider Petrolski."
Merina looked at the race car, older and stumped in the audience outside, "Who?"
Emla groaned, "He used to race under Sidewall O' Shine. Those are his kids, duh."
Merina watched the Royce squint in confusion as the music picked up bass, muffling further screams, "That sucks," she emphasized with a sigh of awestruck.