Apparently you don't approach Mr. Toretto without permission from his
guards. I about had a fit arguing with this huge burly biker looking guy
named Vince. He was about as polite as Mr. Grouch from Sesame Street. Oh,
excuse me while I stick an air freshener to your can Mr. Grouch!
"Get your hands off me you sorry excuse for a-"
"Yo, alright miss thang. You've got my attention. What do you want?" A deep voice rose above my protests against the barbarian.
My sight traveled from my opponent to my new target. My god. He was huge! He was like Mr. Universe 2003! I wonder if this guy could make Arnold run for his money? Whoa, what does a girl have to do to get a piece of that!? And as if spoken to, there she was. His little senorita chiquita, she wrapped an arm around his waist as he did likewise to her. Judging from the death glares she was charging my way I was guessing they were an item.
I struggled to find my voice, "I wanna race."
The crowd burst out laughing. Assholes.
"You." He pointed at me, "Want to race?" He looked me over, my eyes darted to his girl to make sure this was appropriate. It wasn't.
"What makes you think you can keep up little girl? Just cuz you got a skimpy little top and skin tight pants don't give you any more points than the rest of us." She sneered, "Where's your ride at anyways?"
I spun on my heels and walked back to my car, hoping that they would follow. They did, thank god. I know if they hadn't followed I wouldn't have had the guts to turn back around and ask them to come see. I was hoping to hear gasps and awes and "Wow! You're car is bitchin!" –Okay, okay. Maybe that last statement is a little over the top but shit! It would have been better than what they did say!
"We don't race Barbie wheels Skipper, might wanna call Ken and ask him for a ride home." Toretto's girlfriend laughed.
"Why? You scared I might make you eat my dust?" I snapped back.
NOW I had the crowd gasping. Psh, gee. Thanks a lot.
She stomped over to my face, her nose almost touching my own. I held my breath, afraid to let the air out my lungs. She was an intimidating bitch she was! Her eyes glared harder and right before she was most likely about to sock it to me sideways, she changed her mind.
"Alright. Warm it up pumpkin, see you at the start line." And with that, she walked off…
I'd like to tell you I won. But I didn't. I'd like to tell you that one more inch and that money would have been mine. But I can't. I'd like to tell you that I made this girl whither in my wake. But again, I can't. Why? Because I didn't even get to race! There I was, engine revving, adrenaline all wired up, and this chicken was already off racing in another set! She had lied, she made me think she was off to the start –well she was but… I mean, she was but with different racers, she had no intention of racing me. Just out of spite I bet.
My rage was beyond normal capacity, my ears were pumping with blood, my fists were clenched so tight my knuckles turned white. Was it so HARD to just give me a chance?! I decided right then that no one was going to give me a chance. This was the big leagues and even my brother had to start at the bottom. But I'm not my brother am I?
I jumped into the driver seat of my Honda S2000 and revved up the engine, the back sending up clouds of exhaust and sparks of pure power. I was worthy, I knew I was. I just had to make them SEE that.
The next line of cars was already about to boost off, I had no idea who was racing, nor did I care. All I knew was that I was going to fly past that finish line first, even if I had to start from the back. Even if I didn't cash in my share of the bet money, they could kiss my ass, even if I did win I wouldn't take the money. Those bastards were gonna pay for laughing at me.
As the racers roared their mufflers and the skanky girl at the front raised her arms up above her head, I was just idling my motor around the corner, causing a few people to shout in wonder. The race was started, the cars zoomed off in attempt to reach the finish line a quarter mile down the road. As the racers all shifted their gears and pressed their foot to the accelerator, I released my first tank of NOS and flew by to catch up. Hearing only the beat of my own heart, I passed one, two, three of the competitors, I charged forward to the Red Mazda, almost at it's tail.
I was so sure I was going to win, so positive that this was it. This was —whoa! Than it hit me, that wasn't just a Red Mazda, that was HIS Mazda, Toretto himself was in this race, and I was going to beat him! I shifted gears and pressed on, determined to pass this guy up, he couldn't be THAT good of a racer, I bet the only reason he won was because everyone was too afraid to actually beat him. He might, after all, kick their asses. But I didn't care, bring on the abuse baby, cuz I was going to won. I HAD to win. I pressed my thumb down to the second NOS tank release button and flew past him, I screamed in triumph, I was going to win! I was…
NOOOOOOOO!!!
I underestimated my NOS ability, because just as I was about 50 feet from the finish line, he pressed his NOS and zoomed past me like the fuckin' wind. I wanted to scream, shout, maybe throw a couple things, but I wouldn't let my anger shine through. Damn him and his winning streak. I HAD to see what was under that hood.
I swerved to a stop beside the Mazda and stepped out of the car. Defiant as I am –which has gotten me into more fights than I can count using my fingers AND my toes, I stepped up to Mr. Torretto himself.
"Do you know how much trouble you could be in if I allowed it?" He said with a smirk on his face. I could tell he was impressed, but nonetheless, he was still angry.
I shrugged, "I still deemed myself worthy didn't I?" I really should bite my tongue next time.
He laughed, LAUGHED! Gah, what a butthole.
"What makes you worthy? You didn't win."
"I almost did." I snap.
He laughs harder, "Honey, I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told the last person who said something along the lines of that." He stole a look over his shoulder to glance at a guy behind him. The guy –I swear, looked like he belonged on the beach waxing a board rather than standing along side all these cars.
"It doesn't matter whether you win by an inch or a mile. Winnings, winning." Toretto said.
I rolled my eyes, "Whatever, I just thought I'd give it a try." I sighed and went back to my car.
"Wait." The surfer guy called out, he went to Toretto.
Then Toretto turned around, "Monday morning, Toretto's auto shop, be there and we'll talk." He nod, "You can thank Brian for that." He pointed to the surfer guy.
I nodded and went home.
"Get your hands off me you sorry excuse for a-"
"Yo, alright miss thang. You've got my attention. What do you want?" A deep voice rose above my protests against the barbarian.
My sight traveled from my opponent to my new target. My god. He was huge! He was like Mr. Universe 2003! I wonder if this guy could make Arnold run for his money? Whoa, what does a girl have to do to get a piece of that!? And as if spoken to, there she was. His little senorita chiquita, she wrapped an arm around his waist as he did likewise to her. Judging from the death glares she was charging my way I was guessing they were an item.
I struggled to find my voice, "I wanna race."
The crowd burst out laughing. Assholes.
"You." He pointed at me, "Want to race?" He looked me over, my eyes darted to his girl to make sure this was appropriate. It wasn't.
"What makes you think you can keep up little girl? Just cuz you got a skimpy little top and skin tight pants don't give you any more points than the rest of us." She sneered, "Where's your ride at anyways?"
I spun on my heels and walked back to my car, hoping that they would follow. They did, thank god. I know if they hadn't followed I wouldn't have had the guts to turn back around and ask them to come see. I was hoping to hear gasps and awes and "Wow! You're car is bitchin!" –Okay, okay. Maybe that last statement is a little over the top but shit! It would have been better than what they did say!
"We don't race Barbie wheels Skipper, might wanna call Ken and ask him for a ride home." Toretto's girlfriend laughed.
"Why? You scared I might make you eat my dust?" I snapped back.
NOW I had the crowd gasping. Psh, gee. Thanks a lot.
She stomped over to my face, her nose almost touching my own. I held my breath, afraid to let the air out my lungs. She was an intimidating bitch she was! Her eyes glared harder and right before she was most likely about to sock it to me sideways, she changed her mind.
"Alright. Warm it up pumpkin, see you at the start line." And with that, she walked off…
I'd like to tell you I won. But I didn't. I'd like to tell you that one more inch and that money would have been mine. But I can't. I'd like to tell you that I made this girl whither in my wake. But again, I can't. Why? Because I didn't even get to race! There I was, engine revving, adrenaline all wired up, and this chicken was already off racing in another set! She had lied, she made me think she was off to the start –well she was but… I mean, she was but with different racers, she had no intention of racing me. Just out of spite I bet.
My rage was beyond normal capacity, my ears were pumping with blood, my fists were clenched so tight my knuckles turned white. Was it so HARD to just give me a chance?! I decided right then that no one was going to give me a chance. This was the big leagues and even my brother had to start at the bottom. But I'm not my brother am I?
I jumped into the driver seat of my Honda S2000 and revved up the engine, the back sending up clouds of exhaust and sparks of pure power. I was worthy, I knew I was. I just had to make them SEE that.
The next line of cars was already about to boost off, I had no idea who was racing, nor did I care. All I knew was that I was going to fly past that finish line first, even if I had to start from the back. Even if I didn't cash in my share of the bet money, they could kiss my ass, even if I did win I wouldn't take the money. Those bastards were gonna pay for laughing at me.
As the racers roared their mufflers and the skanky girl at the front raised her arms up above her head, I was just idling my motor around the corner, causing a few people to shout in wonder. The race was started, the cars zoomed off in attempt to reach the finish line a quarter mile down the road. As the racers all shifted their gears and pressed their foot to the accelerator, I released my first tank of NOS and flew by to catch up. Hearing only the beat of my own heart, I passed one, two, three of the competitors, I charged forward to the Red Mazda, almost at it's tail.
I was so sure I was going to win, so positive that this was it. This was —whoa! Than it hit me, that wasn't just a Red Mazda, that was HIS Mazda, Toretto himself was in this race, and I was going to beat him! I shifted gears and pressed on, determined to pass this guy up, he couldn't be THAT good of a racer, I bet the only reason he won was because everyone was too afraid to actually beat him. He might, after all, kick their asses. But I didn't care, bring on the abuse baby, cuz I was going to won. I HAD to win. I pressed my thumb down to the second NOS tank release button and flew past him, I screamed in triumph, I was going to win! I was…
NOOOOOOOO!!!
I underestimated my NOS ability, because just as I was about 50 feet from the finish line, he pressed his NOS and zoomed past me like the fuckin' wind. I wanted to scream, shout, maybe throw a couple things, but I wouldn't let my anger shine through. Damn him and his winning streak. I HAD to see what was under that hood.
I swerved to a stop beside the Mazda and stepped out of the car. Defiant as I am –which has gotten me into more fights than I can count using my fingers AND my toes, I stepped up to Mr. Torretto himself.
"Do you know how much trouble you could be in if I allowed it?" He said with a smirk on his face. I could tell he was impressed, but nonetheless, he was still angry.
I shrugged, "I still deemed myself worthy didn't I?" I really should bite my tongue next time.
He laughed, LAUGHED! Gah, what a butthole.
"What makes you worthy? You didn't win."
"I almost did." I snap.
He laughs harder, "Honey, I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told the last person who said something along the lines of that." He stole a look over his shoulder to glance at a guy behind him. The guy –I swear, looked like he belonged on the beach waxing a board rather than standing along side all these cars.
"It doesn't matter whether you win by an inch or a mile. Winnings, winning." Toretto said.
I rolled my eyes, "Whatever, I just thought I'd give it a try." I sighed and went back to my car.
"Wait." The surfer guy called out, he went to Toretto.
Then Toretto turned around, "Monday morning, Toretto's auto shop, be there and we'll talk." He nod, "You can thank Brian for that." He pointed to the surfer guy.
I nodded and went home.