Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to Pixar. All OCs belong to me.

Chapter 6 – Bullies

"No, I don't think it's a good idea for Monty to race," Aunt Sarah said to Uncle Alan later that evening. They were both in the kitchen preparing dinner, while I was parked up on the landing, eavesdropping again.

"You said it yourself, the kid needs a hobby," Uncle Alan pointed out. "At least this one will help keep him fit and active and, hopefully, out of trouble."

Aunt Sarah sighed heavily in defeat. "Very well then. I just don't want to be the one patching him up if he gets himself into any wrecks. It's one thing for our foster kids to go on to being a mechanic or and engineer, but racing? Alan, it's so dangerous! Especially for a little car like Monty."

"He'll be fine," Alan reassured her. "From what I saw and heard today; he's got a natural instinct for racing. Heck, he even almost managed to overtake Jeff Green!"

"You're kidding?" Aunt Sarah exclaimed.

"Nope! There's something about Monty's build, like I've seen it somewhere before. I'm almost a hundred percent certain that he has a racing pedigree."

"Just don't go raising his hopes. He might not end up being as good as you think in a real race. Anyway, can you call him down for dinner, please?"

"Sure. Monty!" Alan called loudly. "Dinner!"

I hurried down the ramp as fast as I could safely go. "About time!" I said as I parked at the dinner table. "I'm starved!"

Uncle Alan smiled knowingly. "Well, we've got a lot of work to do if we're going to get you racing fit by the start of next year's racing season. You start school tomorrow, right?"

I cringed. "I don't want to go to school…"

"Tough!" Aunt Sarah snapped. "It's not up to you or us. It's a CPS requirement."

"Okay, here's the deal, Monty," Uncle Alan began. "I'll hook you up with a trainer at the racetrack, so you can train with them after school each day. I can't let you train on weekends though because we have races on then. However, if we find out that your grades have slipped below a C, or that you've been playing truant, your race training will be revoked until you sort yourself out. Deal?"

I pondered Uncle Alan's words for a moment. What he was offering me was huge, and all he expected from me was good behaviour and reasonable grades. It was a fair exchange.

"Deal!" I agreed. And with that, I started eating my dinner.

…

The following morning, Aunt Sarah accompanied me to my new school on her way to work. Not only did she want to ensure that I knew the way to the school; she also wanted to ensure that I stayed there. The school was only a couple of blocks from the speedway, so I knew I'd be able to find my way there after school each day.

When we arrived at the school, I stared up at the imposing building in awe. It was at least four stories tall and looked to be over a century old. Once we were inside, Aunt Sarah took me to see the principle, Mrs Bumper.

"Mrs Greenway, it's lovely to see you again," Mrs Bumper said enthusiastically as we entered her office.

"Likewise. It's been a while," Aunt Sarah replied. She gestured towards me. "This is our new charge, Montgomery McQueen."

"Monty," I said. "I prefer to be called Monty."

Mrs Bumper smiled warmly. "Welcome, Monty. I'm sure you'll enjoy being here. However, I have noted from your records that you have a history of playing truant from school, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to restrain you for now."

I backed away fearfully. "Restrain me?"

Mrs Bumper sighed sadly as she pressed a buzzer. "I wish I didn't have to…"

At that moment, a security car entered the room. "You buzzed, Mrs Bumper?"

"Yes. Monty here needs the restraint."

Before I could react, the security car had fitted a magnetic satellite tracker to my left rear wheel rim. It was one of only a few places around my body that I couldn't reach with my claw arm. I instinctively tried to shake the offending device off.

"Hey!" I protested. "What is this, a prison?"

"That tracker will let us know where you are at all times," Mrs Bumper explained. "If you're more than five minutes late to a class, it'll send an alert to security who'll then go and find you. If you leave the school limits during school hours, it'll also send an alert to the local truant officer and the police. The tracker will be removed from you as you leave school each day, and it'll get put back on you as soon as you arrive. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but… Will I always have to have it?"

"Only until we're certain that we can trust you," Mrs Bumper said. She turned to face the security guard and she gave him my class schedule. "Take him to his first class, please."

"Yes, ma'am." The security guard gave me a nudge towards the doorway, and I reluctantly went with him.

We arrived at my form room class just before the first bell rang. The security guard gave my schedule to me before he left. Seeing that all of the other students in the classroom were now staring at me, I slunk behind one of the few spare desks in the room.

Glancing around, I noticed that a couple of my classmates were also wearing satellite trackers. I breathed a small sigh of relief now that I knew that I wasn't the only one. Glancing around, I immediately recognised the cliches. The jocks were parked at the back of the room, next to the emos'. The nerds were parked at the front, next to the geeks. Behind me, a trio of hot girls giggled.

"He's hot!" one of them whispered.

"He's mine!" another smirked.

Embarrassed, I sank as low on my shocks as I could. Luckily, the form teacher, Mr Harris, entered the classroom then.

"Mornin'," he said casually as he parked at the front of the room. "I understand that we have a new student joining us today." He looked directly at me. "Montgomery McQueen, correct?"

I nodded slowly, doing my best to ignore the giggles from my new classmates. Mr Harris glared at them until the classroom was silent again.

"I hope you'll make Montgomery feel welcome," Mr Harris continued. "He's just moved here from Chicago."

Not by choice, I thought disdainfully.

The rest of the morning passed by reasonably well. Since I was new, most of my classmates ignored me. I guessed that they were sizing me up to see what I was like. I was happy to be ignored though because I didn't want to risk being late to a class and triggering an alert.

I was glad when lunchtime arrived because I'd started to get hungry. However, as I was retrieving the lunch money that Aunt Sarah had given to me from my locker, I heard three vehicles pull up behind me. Turning, I gulped when I saw three of the vehicles from my form class – a dump truck, a crane, and a semi. All of them were smaller than an adult truck though because they hadn't yet finished growing. Still, considering how small I was, they looked huge and intimidating.

"Hey pipsqueak!" the semi growled. "You'd better hand over your lunch money, or you'll find yourself dangling from the flagpole."

Having dealt with lunch-money-bullies in the past, I quickly put the money in a small pocket hidden in my right front wheel well and I slammed my locker closed. "Like hell, I'm gonna give you anything!"

The three trucks sneered as they revved their engines. They already had me cornered, and for a moment I was afraid they'd beat me to a pulp. Then, the crane reached out with his hook, snagging me by my rear bumper. He easily hoisted me into the air and started spinning me around.

"That's it, Darren!" the semi jeered. "Shake him loose!"

A small crowd had started to gather around us by then. Most were just anxious onlookers, but some of the bullies' friends jeered along with them. The spinning was starting to make me feel sick, but I had very little food left in my stomach from breakfast, so I only ended up dry retching. To my dismay, I saw my lunch money flutter down onto the floor. The semi picked the notes up with a smirk.

"Oohh! Rich kid, huh? Looks like we'll have fun with this one, boys!"

The bullies continued laughing even as I was released from the crane's hook. I landed heavily on the floor, which winded me badly, so I leaned against the lockers for a moment. By the time I'd recovered, the hallway had cleared, and the bullies were gone. Deeply ashamed that I'd let them win so easily, I hurried outside the school, slamming the door crossly as I went. Much as I wanted to get back at those bullies, I knew that if I put one tyre wrong, my dreams of racing would be over before they even started. I also knew that there was no way I could tell my foster parents about what had happened. I firmly believed that they would punish me for losing my lunch money.

I was completely lost in my thoughts when the bell rang to finish lunch, so I didn't pay any attention to it. I just wanted to be alone. After all, it was what I was used to.

Suddenly, I heard someone approaching behind me. Turning, I saw one of the school's security guards coming towards me. He stopped and sighed when he saw that he'd caught my attention. He gestured towards the school building.

"Didn't hear the bell, huh, kid? Come on. Let's get you to class."

"Wait…? Is lunchtime over already?"

The security guard gave me a gentle nudge towards the school. "Eight minutes ago."

"Shit!" I exclaimed, realising that I would be late to my next class. The last thing I needed was to be late on my first day. I accelerated so quickly that I left the security guard standing there, coughing on my dust.

…

Since I'd had no lunch that day, I was starving by the time I arrived at the racetrack after school. Although I was small, I was still growing and needed to eat a lot. However, I was determined to hide the fact that I hadn't had lunch from my foster parents. Although I hadn't known them very long, I knew them well enough to know they'd only make a fuss. That was the last thing I wanted.

Once I'd arrived at the racetrack, I headed into the office area inside the main grandstand. It didn't take me long to find Uncle Alan's office. However, just as I was about to knock on the closed door, a security guard saw me.

"Hey! What are you doing in here, kid?"

Before I could answer, Uncle Alan opened the door to his office. "It's okay, Phillip. He's with me."

Phillip groaned and he rolled his eyes. "Another foster kid, huh? You know they're nothing but trouble."

Uncle Alan pushed me inside his office, and he closed the door, trapping me inside. I assumed that he was about to have a strong conversation with Phillip. Sighing, I drove across the room to the office window. It overlooked the racetrack, just behind the press box. I could already see several cars practicing on the track. Just watching them sent my RMPs racing.

I can't screw up now. This is my biggest chance to make something of myself.

Hearing Uncle Alan return inside the office, I turned to face him. It was then that I noticed a photo on his desk. It was of Uncle Alan with none other than Strip Weathers. I gestured towards it.

"You're a King fan, huh?"

"What? Oh…that. I don't really have a favourite racer, or team. I can't be biased in my job."

I smirked knowingly. Just then, someone knocked on the office door.

"Come in!" Uncle Alan called.

A copper-coloured pick-up truck entered the office, closing the door behind him. "Mr Greenway? I'm Frank Gaskin. Kyle Petty said you'd like to see me about a potential new Junior racer?"

"Yes. This is my new foster son, Monty McQueen. Kyle gave him a tryout yesterday, and he believes Monty has potential to be a professional racer."

Frank stared at me, studying me closely. "A crossbred. Huh! Never had much luck with them. How old are you, kid?"

"Fourteen," I answered, feeling insulted.

"Well, let's see what you can do, kid. I don't suppose you have a radio yet, or any other racing modifications?"

I shook my front. Frank sighed.

"Come with me, kid. Let's get you some proper racing kit. Can't let you loose on the track without a tailfin at least. You'll only end up kissing the wall."

I followed Frank out of the office and down the hallway towards the elevators. A huge wooden board hung on the wall opposite the elevators. While we waited for an elevator to arrive, I studied the board. It was a list of all the Piston Cup champions going right back to the start of NASCAR in 1949. I scanned the list, looking for names I was familiar with.

Let's see… Strip Weathers… Jeff Gordon… Dale Earnhardt… Darrell Cartrip… Richard Petty… Hudson Hornet… Wow. I hope I get my name up there one day…

"Hey, Monty?" Frank called from inside one of the elevators. "Snap out of it! I can't keep holding the elevator forever."

I zipped inside the elevator just before the doors started to close.

…

Twenty minutes later, I'd had a tailfin, racing tyres and a temporary radio fitted to me. Unlike yesterday, this tailfin fitted me better. Frank nodded his approval when he saw me.

"Okay, kid. I want you to do a couple of warm-up laps and then show me what you've got. Try and stay on the racing line if you can."

"The racing line?"

Frank sighed indifferently. "The centre of the track, kid. And hurry up. The sooner you do this, the sooner I can go and tell Kyle that I think he's wasting his time with you."

My jaw dropped open in shock. "What have you got against crossbreds racing? It's not like you could ever race!" And with that, I spun around and headed out onto the track, building up speed as I went.

I was so angry that I forgot to do the warm-up laps. Instead, I just floored it as soon as I entered the back straight. I didn't look at my speedometer either. I just focussed on the track as it whizzed by beneath me. It felt good to go that fast. It made me feel free; like I was racing away from my past, leaving it in the dust behind me.

I'm not sure how many laps I'd completed before I started to tire. It must have been at least twenty. If not, it sure felt like it. Reluctantly, I headed into the pits, bracing myself for Frank's critique. However, when I saw him, his jaw was almost touching the ground. Kyle was parked beside him, a smug look plastered all over his face.

"What'd I tell ya, Frank? This kid's a natural!"

Frank finally picked his jaw up. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Uh, kid? Monty…I'm sorry I was so harsh about your pedigree. It was uncalled for. I'd love to have the privilege of training you for the Junior Cup next year."

I glanced from Frank to Kyle, not sure of what to say. "Fine, but on one condition."

"Anything, kid!"

I gestured towards Kyle. "I want Kyle to be my crew chief if I get selected."

Kyle smiled and nodded in agreement. "I think we have a deal there, kid."

I grinned. "Great! So, uh, just how fast was I?"

Kyle and Frank exchanged bemused glanced.

"Kid," Kyle began. "You topped out at a hundred and eighty. That's thirty miles faster than the maximum speed allowed for the Junior Cup. Looks like we'll have to fit you with a speed limiter!"

...

AN: Hey everyone! I'm so sorry I've taken ages to update. I got writer's block and burned out, so I decided to take a break from all of my writing. I've only just recently got my mojo back following the recent tragic death of my older brother. I know you all appreciate my stories, but writers are human too, and sometimes we just need to rest for the sake of our mental health. I don't have a writing schedule like other FanFiction writers because of my mental health. I'd rather write quality instead of quantity for my fans, and rushing makes me write stupid mistakes. So please, don't ask me for a new chapter as soon as I publish one. It is very insulting. If you want to leave a message, please just review the chapters I've published. Thanks!