Sam reached out for her clock, collided with the wall, and pulled her hand back in frozen confusion. It was several seconds before memory kicked in as to where she was. Thirty seconds after that she was shaking, hands clenched in the pillow. Last night had been fun, a few hours of real independence. Now she had a choice to make. Go back and face her family, or stay independent forever. And it wasn't even a choice. She wasn't financially independent. She had to go back. She wanted to go back. She just didn't want it to be to the atmosphere she knew there would be at home.
There was no choice. Sam gritted her teeth, climbed out of bed and put the water on to boil. Coffee. And then she needed to leave this place spotless. Pour the remains of the milk away. Pretend she'd never been here.
The coffee woke her up, but didn't make her feel a whole lot better. Sam downed it, and a second cup, and then couldn't justify delaying any longer. The bedding was folded and put back in the locker, the windows in the bedroom shut down and the curtains drawn. The skylight was considerably more of a challenge. There wasn't a movable piece of furniture in the place. Sam spent a couple of minutes doing a comedy routine bouncing up and down trying to catch hold of both handles at once, before realising that it could be lowered one side at a time, and a single handle was just within her reach on tiptoe. Skylight locked down, table and sink wiped as clean as she could get it with only toilet tissue and water, all the curtains in the main area drawn shut. Sam cast one last glance round the interior to check she hadn't forgotten anything, swung her backpack onto her shoulder with some difficulty in the cramped surroundings, and extracted herself from the trailer.
She hadn't expected the trailer opposite to be shut up and silent, the car gone. Sam stood there in confusion for some seconds. She didn't know how to check she'd turned everything off correctly, or who to give the keys to. She'd have to show up this afternoon now. No matter how annoyed her stepfather was, he believed in doing the right thing by those who'd helped you. Good for her chances of getting the keys back to Jeff, or one of his colleagues. Not so good for her chances of taking up a career which Steve didn't approve of. She'd take the keys back home and plead that she simply had to return them.
Sam got off the bus twenty minutes later to her second no-vehicle shock of the morning. This one was pleasant. Steve's pickup was missing from the front of the house, while her mother's car was there. Sam took a deep breath, walked up to the door, and let herself in.
She hadn't anticipated tears, or the near-hysteria of her mother's reaction. It hadn't occurred to her that she and Steve would ring round every close friend Sam had, looking for her. And that they'd called the cops - that rocked her back on her heels.
"Anyone could have sent that message, Sam! Anyone! And, love, the spelling was too good for you. We thought you'd gone home with one of those...men."
"They're not like that." Sam patted her mother's back comfortingly. "They're good people. Carl sent the message for me. I was real upset after Steve tried to make me leave."
"Your friend could be brought up for assault. Does he know that?"
Sam shook her head. "Steve went for him. Steve lost. Is he hurt?"
Her mother smiled weakly. "Mostly his pride, I'd say. He's gone off to work, so it can't be too bad. But Sam, this has to stop. You're almost eighteen. You need to find a job to apply for, none of this messing about with motorsport jocks."
"I have applied for one."
She beamed. "Really? Tell me."
"Apprentice mechanic where I've been working."
Her mother blanched visibly. "You are joking, right? Sam, you're my little girl. This isn't like you! Come on. Let's have a coffee, and then we can go out. I saw some advertisements - we could go take a look at the places -"
Sam held up the keys. "I can't. I have to take these back this afternoon." She hesitated. 'Bring your family,' Jason had said. But she knew it wouldn't help. "I promised. And I promise you - I'll be home this evening, before it's dark."
"Carrie's expecting you to go out with her today."
Sam smiled, knowing she had to stay strong now. If she couldn't hold out against her mother's persuasion, she'd be lost when it came to standing up to Steve. "I'll phone her, then. Saturday afternoons aren't going to be so good for me now." Her heart sank at her mother's stricken expression, but another part of her pointed out that despite it, her determination wasn't shaken. She'd told both her parents what her plans were. She could do this. Especially when Carrie wasn't answering her cellphone, and all she had to do was talk to voicemail.
"Carrie? It's Sam. Sorry, I can't come out today. I'll see you Monday." She turned the phone off and turned back to her mother.
"I'm not joking. I've applied for a job there, and they seem to think I've a good chance."
"You'll feel different once you're back at school with your friends."
Sam sighed. "Mom, I'll be there for another week, then I'm done. Most of my friends are off to college anyway. It's not like I was going to work with them."
"But - mechanic? Steve says it's all men who work in those places. Who are you going to talk to?"
She resisted the urge to laugh. "Men can talk too. Please, Mom. Let me do what I want. You can say 'I told you so' in six months when I tell you I hate it. But I do want to try."
Her mother frowned and bit her lip. "It doesn't seem five minutes since you were drawing lipstick on your dollies with red crayon. You hated toy cars!"
"I've changed since then." Sam considered the time. "I have to go out again at one-thirty - is Steve coming back for lunch? I can get my own if that's too early."
"He won't be back until this evening. He was real worried about you, Sam."
Yeah - worried he wouldn't get his own way. Sam just nodded. "I'll be back by eight. Are there any eggs? I'm hungry."
Sam was overwhelmingly grateful to get out of the house, and it was good not to have to pretend this time. Jeans and a sweatshirt, although she still felt the need to make sure the makeup was perfect. She felt better that way, even though she was pretty sure nobody at the track would even notice, but more importantly her mother relaxed visibly when she saw her. Sam might have taken leave of her senses when it came to applying for jobs, but at least she still put her face on to go out. Two weeks ago she'd not have even realised she did it.
She walked up to the guards trying to show rather more confidence than she felt. "Hi there - remember me?"
The older of the two looked her up and down. "No."
His colleague, however, did a swift double-take. "Sure - you were with that driver, right? Does he always show up that late?"
"I wouldn't know." Sam flashed her best smile at both of them - there was no harm in being remembered by those whose job it was to keep people out - and pushed her way through the double doors to the corridor which led to the tunnel under the track.
Ed turned the moment she walked through the door to their pit, and for one horrible moment Sam thought she'd done something dreadful.
"Tell me Jason's with you again?"
Well, he wasn't exactly with me last time. "No. Sorry."
Ed said various things about Jason, none of them polite and most of them unprintable, and stalked off.
Sam looked around, and found nobody she knew particularly well and only Anton who she even knew by name - well, she knew the four men frantically adjusting Jason's Car Two, but she had the strong impression that talking to them right now would make her less than popular.
"What's going on?"
"Driver crisis. Jason's not here, hasn't told anyone he's not coming, and Jeff's sick. Here, but sick. Only fit driver we have is Luis, and he's a rookie. Carl -"
The man himself hurried out of a side room, waved his clipboard in the air, and there was instant silence.
"Luis, you're taking the first race, and the third. Jeff will try to take the second, and if he can't we'll scratch. Allen's on his way over and just hope he gets here before the fourth, because if he doesn't I'm driving it. Damage limitation, guys."
"Allen?" Sam asked.
"Used to drive for us a lot, but he gave it up when he got a promotion. I'm surprised he's around if Jason isn't, but who knows. He's months out of practice. But he's got to be better than Carl."
"I heard that," the man in question called, and Anton flushed scarlet.
"Sorry, Carl."
"We all know it's true. But I've at least got a license to be out there." He frowned, obviously thinking. "Sam?"
For the second time in five minutes she felt heartstopping fear. "No, I don't have a racing license."
Carl's face cracked into a brief smile. "I know that. Can you go feed Jeff glucose tablets or something? He's through there. If he's going to drive, he's got ten minutes to be on his feet."
Sam cast one glance toward the track, Luis climbing into Car One, stiff with nerves, Ed leaning on the side spitting instructions at him, engine noise just starting to build all around the circuit, and nodded. "Sure." She'd wanted a chance to show she could make herself useful - well, maybe here it was. Being someone who'd sacrifice watching the races when something else needed doing had to be useful, surely? She hoped so.
She had no problems finding Jeff. Five doors led off this corridor, but only one of them was muffling the sound of someone sneezing explosively and repeatedly. Sam tapped at the door, got no reply except for another sneeze, and pushed the door open.
Jeff was one of those people who it wouldn't have occurred to her to talk to. Red-blond short hair just long enough to curl, six feet of tanned, superfit race driver already suited up, Sam would normally have been thoroughly intimidated by someone who so clearly had it all. Right now, though, he was less than intimidating, face buried in a handful of tissues as he blew his nose.
"Can I get you anything?"
"Wha..." A pair of watering blue eyes appeared above the tissues, and promptly disappeared again as he sneezed hard. "No. Thanks." At least that was what she thought he said - his voice was so congested it was a little hard to tell.
"Carl says you've got ten minutes to get on your feet."
"Fantastic." A ball of wadded tissue hit the bin, and Jeff grabbed another few from the box and blew his nose into them. "I take it back. Glass of water?"
"Sure."
She came back into the room to find him lying back on the couch applying something to his nose. He sat up as she put the glass down, grimacing. "Man, I hate that stuff."
"What is it?"
"Decongestant. Now mostly running down the back of my throat. Yeurch." He reached for the water and sipped it slowly, before putting it down in a hurry to sneeze again. "Damn stupid time of year to catch a cold. Which race did Carl give me?"
Sam scoured her memory. "The second one."
"Just as well - that's the short one." Jeff sneezed yet again and followed it up with a bout of nose-blowing that made Sam flinch in sympathy. He sounded truly horrible, but at least his voice was a bit better than it had been. A bit.
"Are you fit enough for this?"
"I'll be fine once the race starts. Adrenaline's a wonderful drug." Jeff blew his nose again, this time sounding like he might actually be able to breathe, and headed out with his helmet in one hand and the tissue box in the other.
"Are you up for this?" Ed asked him the moment he walked to the car.
Jeff nodded. "It's only a sprint. I'll survive."
"Make sure you do." Ed's look was close to a glare. "If you're not fit, you pull out, understand? I don't want you in a smash because you sneezed at the wrong moment. Melissa would kill me."
"Understood." Jeff peered out of the front of the pit. "Who's on, and how's he doing?"
"Luis, and he hasn't crashed yet." Ed's voice wasn't, however, quite as scornful as it had been.
"Luis in race one? Where's Jason?"
"I wish I knew." Ed rolled his eyes. "No show, no message. Damn irresponsible kid."
"You know he gets called up at all hours."
"Yeah, and I know if there was anything major going on up at ISO Allen wouldn't be available either, and any attack would be all over the news. I'll be wanting a damn good explanation from young Jason." Ed stalked to the front of the pit and shaded his eyes as the cars screamed past again. "Well, whaddaya know? He's actually passed someone."
In fact, he did slightly more than that. Luis pulled in at the close of the race having not only finished, but beaten two people. Climbed out of the car sheet-white and shaking, made it just barely out into the open air, and proceeded to be thoroughly ill into a trash can.
"Now that I didn't expect," Carl said softly, having traded off the headset with Ed as Jeff pulled Car One out onto the track. "There may be hope for him yet."
"Because it made him get sick?" Sam frowned.
"Because it scared him silly. Race one isn't rookie territory, he went out there all bluster but he realised he was out of his depth. Now he can improve. 'Scuse me." He headed off in Luis' direction, and shortly the two of them were deep in conversation - and Luis appeared to be taking notice. And watching the new race intently, rather than coming inside and hitting on her. Thank heavens for that.
Jeff didn't win. Sam rather got the impression that on a normal day he might have been expected to, but now, today, with him sick, with Jason missing, the team knew they didn't stand a chance. Fifth was respectable in a field of twelve. She wasn't entirely sure when she'd made that connection, but it felt as if she'd known it forever.
When she saw him get out of the car, it suddenly sounded more than respectable. He looked horrible - shaky, flushed, bleary-eyed, and Ed obviously thought the same.
"You're done. Go change and call Melissa to fetch you home. You're not driving in that state, not even on the roads. Damn - two weeks running I've said that to a driver. At least last week we had a spare."
Jeff nodded, taking himself off through the swing doors, and Sam abruptly realised she still had his trailer keys in her pocket and followed him.
He was doubled over as she entered the room, coughing as if he'd never stop, and she wasted no time in finding the remains of his earlier glass of water.
"Thanks..." he croaked, and even that made him cough again.
Sam waited until he'd stopped, more or less, and then held the keys up. "Thanks for these - you saved my life last night. Don't say anything! Did you phone yet?"
He shook his head, obviously fighting another coughing fit.
"Would you like me to? Is Melissa your wife?"
He nodded twice, dug in the bag at his feet, passed her a cellphone and stumbled to the other side of the room, coughing again.
Sam mentally crossed her fingers and found her way to 'M' in his cellphone's address book, and to her great relief found only one entry. Melissa. She dialed it and waited hopefully.
"Hey, sweetie! Are you done already?"
"Melissa?"
"Who are you?" There was instant fear in the voice, and Sam had a sudden flash as to what a race driver's wife might presume if she received a call from a stranger on his cellphone while he was racing.
"Jeff's fine. Well - heck, I'm rubbish at this. He hasn't crashed. He's feeling lousy, though. Can you come fetch him home?"
"Where is he?" Still horrified suspicion.
Sam held the phone up towards Jeff, now coughing in between sneezes. "He's right here, he's just not up to talking. He's in the room behind the team pit. Do you want me to come out and meet you?"
"Oh, that won't be necessary." And the phone went dead.
"Well, how do you like that?" Sam said to nobody in particular, put the phone back on the table, and wandered out to get her temper back where it should be in private.
She felt better - and more than a little guilty - twenty minutes later, when a blonde woman who would have been stunning if she hadn't been so pregnant Sam wasn't sure she'd have fit through the door sideways, and looking pale and tired, walked slowly into the pit and was greeted with, "Melissa!" by Carl.
"Is Jeff okay? I got a phonecall from another woman -"
"That was me," Sam put in. " Sorry - I didn't mean to scare you. I just didn't know what to say."
Melissa glanced at her, and managed a smile. "That's okay. Thanks for calling me. Carl, where is he?"
Carl pointed at the swing doors, and Sam decided not to comment that she'd already shared that particular piece of information. Pregnancy made it hard to concentrate, she'd heard. In any case, it was time she returned her attention to the racing. If she wanted to make a good impression, it might be an idea to actually know how the team had done today.