Chapter Three: Shifting Gears

Although Lightning always hated to admit it, Cruz was good at her job. One of the greatest, actually. It took a lot of energy to handle eight trainees at once, each racer shifting in and out every month like tasks on a to-do list. Even when she was training Lightning, she had to deal with a crap ton of other responsibilities at the same time. She was focused, determined, and knew when to put her feelings aside. Her tia used to call her "chica loca" because of her tendency to lose sleep over her training, but Cruz always told herself everything would pay off in the end.

Now, Lightning couldn't help but scoff. All of that work without breaking a sweat herself, and here she was at Talladega, excusing herself for a moment to apologize to Jackson Storm. There were two days left until the big race, and Cruz was already out here making friends with her opponents. She had the best practice lap for Chrysler's sake.

"Cruz, where do you think you're going?" Lightning called, but the young rookie was already walking towards the recognizably pitch-black trailer.

Lightning knew that trailer all too well. All the racers instinctively cover their ears whenever it pulls into the stadium. Now EDM replays in Lightning's head when he tries going to bed. It's… pretty awful.

"Cruz?" Lightning called out a second time, but she was already long gone. The old racer's voice faltered as he shook his head. The ringing in his ears only increased when Ray, Storm's crew chief, sneered at Cruz as she passed him.

He really had to work on the whole authoritative voice thing.

Lightning sighed. It didn't help that none other than Cal was Cruz's new crew chief. Lightning couldn't help but feel conflicted – like he should be in Cal's position, even though he still wanted to race. He really didn't think this through.

"Son, what happened out there?" Smokey panted as he approached the dejected driver. "You damn well hit into the wall. Is everything alright?"

"Wha- oh yeah," He said distractedly, tearing his eyes away from the IGNTR tent. "Yeah, just a slipup - it's practice run anyways. Still feels like off-season, you know?"

Smokey eyed him wearily before placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know you've drove on this track more times than I can count, boy. I'm not going to baby you."

He squeezed his shoulder and proceeded to walk into Dinoco's garage, carefully stepping over the stool Lightning was sitting on.

Lightning huffed and stared at the car they were working on in the garage. It was a bright red Chevy, like always, but instead of the Rusteze logo on the hood, there was an unmistakable white dinosaur. The rear bumper was damaged, thanks to Lightning's slipup.

Simply looking at the car made Lightning feel terrible, mostly because it reminded him of his rookie years. He would've traded anything in the world back then to sport the Dinoco logo on his firesuit, and like anything with high expectations, he felt all the more disappointed. He thought wearing the Dinoco suit would propel him back to the past he used to dream about, as if he could go back to 2006, go down the alternative pathway and relive the past decade all over again. He felt like a poser – like he was trying to make up for lost time.

A few engineers sat in the car, inspecting the inner mechanics and making sure everything was safe. To their left, Luigi and Guido were frantically giving directions to several pitties. Next to them was the Dinoco spotter - Kyle was it? He was busy watching reruns of Cruz's practice laps while lazily tossing a roll of duct tape up in the air. The sun was still high and there was much to be done, for every crew in the stadium.

Smokey was right - it definitely wasn't Lightning's first time at Talladega. He'd raced here more than ten times and knew the track inside and out. But why did everything feel so different?

He attributed his crappy attitude to the absence of his friends from Radiator Springs. He knew that he wasn't the centre of their lives, but it felt surreal to be racing without them now. Mater, Sally, Ramone - even Fillmore and Sarge - he missed like hell. In his rookie days, he was fine even without a crew chief. How he managed, he didn't know. If he were to do that today, it'd seem impossible; he'd grown dependant on those guys.

And then there was Cruz. She'd been there for him when the rest of the gang couldn't, especially during the last off-season when it mattered the most; she equaled the support system of the entire town. He'd been so hopeful to restart his life and pretend that everything that happened, well, didn't. Cruz helped him realize how much Doc meant to him as they probed at his past together. Being her mentor made him feel a little closer to Doc, too. Although him and Cruz were immensely different, he saw a little bit of himself in her, and that seemed to suffice for the loss of identity he'd suffered. She made him feel like a father figure –something he wasn't sure he'd like, but did.

Lightning thought back to the bar in Thomasville, when they first met Junior, River and Louise before the season kicked off. He couldn't have mustered enough courage to go there all by himself, let alone venture out onto the dirt track. He hated having to suppress his grief over Doc's death for years, and desperately hoped physically going to Thomasville would confirm his death somehow. But instead, something about the place made him feel as if Doc was still alive, and being too close to him would cause Lightning severe heart damage.

He forlornly gazed at the red car again. He drove in the same paint scheme over and over for his entire life; it was all he knew. If his life was a movie, there would be a cherry hued filter draping every moment. That red paint scheme defined Lightning McQueen, and he wasn't so sure if he liked that version of himself anymore. Even this ridiculous Dinoco version of him felt so out of place.

Lightning was an adult now, albeit a rather confused one. He wondered if the reason he was so obsessed with the past was because it was the only thing familiar to him.

It was too late to change his paint scheme now, but he had some ideas in mind for the next race. He stood up from his stool, searching for a certain CEO.

"Hey Tex, can I ask for a favor…"

Cruz held her metallic yellow helmet firmly under her arm and strode towards the infamous IGNTR hauler. Storm's driver, Gale, couldn't be seen. She was a pretty woman in her 40s, related to Ray Reverham. It was no surprise, they looked strikingly alike.

Cruz couldn't help but notice how Storm's crew all looked the same – with the exception of a couple engineers. Not only were they dressed in the same IGNTR attire, they even had the same facial features and expressions. Storm definitely looked like he was apart of the team, but his team didn't necessarily look like they were a part of Storm. His crew was their own little tight-knit family, who just happened to take on Storm and his bratty antics. Courtesy of the one and only, Ray Reverham. Ray pushed Storm and Storm pushed back, but that was it. Cruz doubted he talked to anyone in his crew besides Ray.

To be fair, you're kinda expected to interact with your crew chief.

As far as anyone on the track could see, Storm was completely fine with being alone. Gale, Leon, Quincy – he could tolerate. The rest? Forget it. He paid for their salaries.

"Storm!" Cruz yelled, trying to catch the runner-up's attention. She was sweating profusely inside her race suit; she'd been in the stuffy car for what felt like hours.

Cruz definitely didn't have to work very hard to catch his attention. She was all Storm thought about for the entire week. Jackson Storm never loses… it just isn't in his vocabulary. And yet, to a nobody from nowhere? A former trainer, of all things? It was worse than losing to McQueen (which he never experienced, mind you). He shook himself out of his inner monologue before his thoughts spiraled out of control.

God, what was Ray going to say to him? She was so good during practice that the other next-gens began striking up conversations with her. Yeah, another excuse for them to avoid Jackson Storm.

He scowled when he saw her reflection smiling at him on his shiny trailer.

The moody racer mentally cursed and tried inching away, but he was helplessly trapped. His swearing only increased when he realized she was alone. Where was the press? The young racer made Storm actually wish for the RSN to intervene. Would he have to resort to a fight, or something? He considered the idea, but remembered he still had his helmet on. He would look like a coward if he went at it with head protection. Plus, going at a little girl like that wouldn't be good for his image.

But that girl beat you, he reminded himself, as his heart beat out of his chest. His pace quickened as he pretended not to notice her.

"Gale c'mon, where are you," He hissed, but his driver was nowhere to be seen. His trailer had the newest lock system, courtesy of, again, Ray Reverham. Storm debated on yelling for Gale but he hated attracting attention off the track. He was painfully aware of the former trainer walking towards him, probably to give him racing advice, or whatever trainers do. All Storm wanted was to leave the scene of the crime as soon as possible – the crime being his major effin loss.

As soon as he was about to run towards the back of the trailer to escape, a slender finger tapped him on the back. She couldn't exactly reach his shoulder with ease.

"Storm," Cruz began, mustering up all the courage she had.

He chose to ignore her. Five painful seconds passed by. His lips were turning white.

"Ok," Cruz nodded curtly. "I wanted to apologize about last week."

Storm raised an eyebrow. What was wrong with this girl? He almost forgot about his plan to ignore her, but he caught his tongue.

Cruz let out a long sigh. She knew herself that her attempt at being professional would go nowhere. She knew little about the racing world, but heck, she could try. They were supposed to talk, right?

"I mean," Cruz said. "You were being a jerk, but if I hadn't egged you on, maybe it wouldn't have ended that way?"

"I only lost by 0.3 seconds." Storm said strongly, realizing immediately after that he had spoken. He couldn't help himself; his ego was hurt. "You'll end up another McQueen." He sneered.

Cruz bit back a smile after hearing his voice. "Took all we had to beat you." Her laughter pierced the air and he felt like his eardrums would burst. Her voice was so goddamn loud. Not to mention annoying.

"Lucky number 95, huh," Storm said drily, rolling his eyes. His feet were still planted on the ground and his fingers trembled. Get it together, he thought.

He finally turned 180 degrees to give her a once-over; she was shorter than he thought. She had a lot of nerve poking fun at a guy like him, previous Piston Cup champion and all.

"Between us winners, can we be friends?" Cruz continued to gloat over her win, twisting her feet and dancing on the spot. Storm simply looked at her in annoyance while she kept dancing. Thank god simulators existed. If he had a trainer like that, he'd go insane.

Storm kept his stoic facial expression but cast furtive glances around them. "Shut up Ramirez." He hissed, glancing left and right. She kept dancing around his trailer, chanting something about being friends. At this rate she would definitely attract the RSN and Natalie Certain. "Just shut up," He repeated harshly, grabbing her arms and steadying her.

"Hey, you finally called me by my name for once – Ramirez," She noticed, calming down. Her eyelashes looked longer than usual – not like Jackson paid any attention before.

"As if, um, costume girl." Storm bit his tongue and discreetly let go of her. He was breaking composure, fast. He saw Gale approaching the hauler from the corner of his eye and breathed a sigh of relief. "Don't say I didn't warn you. You got a big storm coming."

He backed into his hauler right as Gale turned on the ignition.

As soon as she was sure Jackson was gone, Cruz smirked and flipped her hair. She tossed her helmet up and caught it in one hand with ease – a neat move she learned from Kyle.

Let Win Piston Cup Master Plan: Phase One begin.

Break down Jackson Storm.

On second thought, let his damn car break down too.