Woo! So, thanks to MereMcQueen314 for the review & favorite! I have a few of the chapters written out already, but decided not to post them all at one time (and if I need to make any revisions, I can still do that). Anyway, here it is, the second chapter. Enjoy and please leave a comment! Critique, thoughts, any review is welcome and appreciated!
"She just ain't got what you got, King," the golden Cadillac said, glancing at his long time friend. "She's good, but her heart ain't there." 'The King' Strip Weathers turned his rust-colored eyes to watch the powder blue car speed around the track, only for her to spin out in the grass. Dirt flew, tire marks deepened, and he simply sighed, his tank sinking at the sight of her struggle.
The car peeled off the grass, a frown across her grill as she sped back onto the track, taking the turns recklessly as she quickly gained speed. Strip looked back to Tex with a shake of his hood. "I think her heart's in it, Tex. That ain't the issue here. I think she just ain't usin' her hood," he remarked. He watched her spin out again, coming dangerously close to a collision with the wall. "I think that's enough for today."
Tex watched as Strip pulled away, driving down to the track before the girl could do herself real harm. The golden Cadillac simply sighed, reversed, and drove out of the lot as a bleeding sun set over the track.
She turned her eyes up, but quickly lowered them when she saw Strip approaching her. Her tires turned in the dirt, but she went nowhere; she simply parked her bumper where it was and waited to see what he would say. 'I'm tryin' so hard, please...' she thought to herself. Her grill tilted down as she tried to cool her heated engine down. She couldn't help the words that escaped, out of nervousness. "I'm tryin'. I just can't get the feel is all, really."
Strip waved a tire. "It's fine, darlin'. Get yourself unstuck and we'll go home." His eyes were calm and kind, his accent thick like syrup. It calmed her nerves a little, even though she worried that she had disappointed him. His voice gave nothing away, except maybe exhaustion, while hers gave everything away.
"Are you sure? I need to practice and all, so we can stay out a little longer..."
"Your mama's worried sick by now, and besides, supper's probably ready anyway. C'mon, hun." Strip brushed some dirt from her hood, gently, in only a way that a father could.
"If you're sure," she answered, digging herself out from the dirt. The King led her off the track, drove off the lot, calling goodbyes to his crew as he and his child headed for home. It was a short drive from the track, which reassured the girl in some way. She was glad that the day was coming to a close; another day of training was done. Her failures, she could see them plain as day. She could see the hills she couldn't quite climb sprawled before her.
She was just a girl, in an entirely male world. It would have been okay if she had that natural knack that her father had for racing, but she lacked it. She wasn't built like he was. Her spirit was not tame as his was outside the races; his flourished on the track while her flame simply seemed to flicker and die on the track. She saw the hopes and dreams behind Strip's eyes, though, and he was the reason she kept on.
Today was tough, though. Tex was like an uncle to her, yet when it came to racing she wanted to avoid him. He was the silent judge, parked beside her father. The pressure weighed down on her sometimes. All the time. And today, it was like two tons of cold metal resting on her engine. Every turn she took seemed to constrict her, she couldn't focus, could hardly breathe. Her engine burned, her tank churned. She was exhausted.
She followed her father into the house, making sure to close the garage door behind her. The kitchen, however quaint it was, smelled of supper. All she wanted was a cool ration of oil, though. That would have been enough for her.
"How was it today?" Lynda looked up with her youthful, pretty blue eyes. Her grill curled up into a smile, which made Strip smile in return as he drove over to her. The girl simply ducked over to park beside the table.
"It was jus' fine," Strip answered casually, nuzzling his wife gently.
"Georgia?"
"Jus' fine. Peachy," Georgia replied, watching her parents. She admired them, how they worked things out, the way they talked to each other in low tones, smiled fondly. She hoped for the same thing one day, a thought that brought a smile to her grill. Lynda smiled in return, satisfied that her daughter was satisfied. Her pretty blue eyes sparkled as she drove over to the counter to bring supper to the table, while Strip gestured for Georgia to follow him.
"C'mon, darlin'. I need to talk to ya," he said gently. Georgia pulled her tires from their spot, following her father into the next room. The two parked next to one another, she angled slightly towards him, her eyes drifting to the pictures that adorned the walls. He gave her a moment to gather her attention before he spoke. "How did you feel about the track today?"
Georgia paused. How did she feel about the track? How did she feel about the training she did? "The track was all right. Couldn't get a grip on it, though."
Strip nodded his hood. "What about the training?" He searched his daughter's expression for anything she may have been trying to mask.
She shrugged her tires loosely. "It was jus' fine." She turned her eyes to the curtains, which allowed the bleeding rays of orange to spill through.
"Mhmm." He watched her stir, her rusty eyes glassy as she gazed down at the orange rays, as if she was searching for something within them. Something better to say than 'jus' fine'. "What's on your mind? Tex seemed to think your heart jus' wasn't there today."
"I'm jus' tired," she replied, waving her tire slightly. Her engine was still warm, and there was still a throbbing under her hood from the day's training. 'It seems like I work harder every day, but there ain't any proof... I try, I really do.' She didn't make eye contact with her father. He was a racing legend, and she couldn't even go fifty laps without spinning out at least three or four times, sometimes five.
"You need a break?" Strip asked, settling low on his tires. Concern colored his rusty eyes a shade darker as he waited patiently for Georgia to respond.
"No!" Her reply was hasty as she suddenly looked up at him. "I'm fine. I jus' need to get to sleep earlier is all, really, Papa."
Strip didn't believe her. She couldn't keep the emotion out of her voice, like her mother. How she reminded him of Lynda; it was crazy. He could look at them side by side and clearly see a difference, but they had the same voice, full of emotion. "Georgia," he started, reaching out to her, but she shied slightly, fearing that he was disappointed.
"I'm sorry, I really try, I do. I'm tired is all, jus' tired," she repeated, blinking once or twice. She reigned herself in, reminded herself that she was a Weathers girl. There wasn't any room for trying and failing. She had to make it in this world, if not for herself, but for her parents. "I'm tellin' you, I'll be able to take those turns easy tomorrow."
Strip felt a little guilty. He pushed her so hard, set her up, but watched her get knocked down. "You don't have to go down to the track tomorrow if you don't want to. You practice every day, Georgia. You work hard enough, Tex'll understand," he assured her.
"No, I can go to the track." She stopped short. 'I want to go the track, don't I?' She couldn't stand that look of upset in his eyes. "I want to go to the track." She reached out with a tire to gently nudge his tire, smiling half-heartedly. "It's all about trying and failing and trying again, right?"
Georgia felt a little twinge in her engine as she watched the news.
"So, the question I ask of you, is Chick Hicks washed up? Is he simply wasting his time? I think so. He couldn't capture the Piston Cup during the era of 'The King' Strip Weathers, and has continued to fail in his attempts to win. Lightning McQueen and the pressure seems to have finally gotten to him," the reporter proclaimed, a sure tone about his voice. He turned to his colleague and gestured with her tire as she sent a frown his way.
"Now, Elliot, you seem to be forgetting two things."
"And what would those two things be?" He seemed a little irritated at his colleague's disagreement.
"Well, despite the fact that he cheated to win, by causing that horrible rollover crash, he did win the Piston Cup. And Lightning McQueen entered the World Grand Prix, which gave Chick time to recuperate without all of the Lightning fans in his face," she retorted, sounding matter-of-fact.
"Yes, but it's been, what? Four years? If he can't get it together now, he's wasting his time. He ought to retire now and admit defeat," Elliot said, his grill set in a thin line.
"I don't think so. He's just been in a funk is all," she countered.
He looked at her with a pointed expression. "Right. A four year funk. That's very realistic, Veronica."
Georgia tuned the rest of the broadcast out as she finished off her oil, taking the finished can to the counter. Her mind wandered on the name, Chick Hicks. She had met him briefly, a few times, but not enough to suspect that he would cause The King to take a tumble like the one he did. As much as she loathed him for that, she felt sorry for him in some way. He really was washed up, had wasted so much time, put so much effort into his racing career... And to watch it crumble.
I'm putting too much into this. Chick probably doesn't even feel like he's made a mess of himself, and why dwell on it?
She cleaned up her area, pulling yesterday's mail towards her to get that out of the way. The news was now a distant hum in the background as she looked through everything, looked at bills, looked at magazine subscription renewal cards, and things of that nature. She pushed the uniform white envelopes aside to pick up a cream yellow one, a little larger than the others.
Slicing the envelope open, she pulled out a letter, folded and written in messy cursive letters addressed to her.
Georgia - Hi, sweetie. How have you been lately? Your father & I are just fine; we've finally settled into our house in Radiator Springs. It's a nice little town, just the right size, and reminds your father of the place he grew up. He visits the racing museum almost every day, just to see the Hudson Hornet wing. I think it's good for him to get away from the track. After he retired, you know, he was a little down, but here he's happier than I've seen him in a while. That all said, I think you should move out here, too. Your father doesn't want me to say anything, which is why he doesn't know about this letter, so don't tell him, dear, but you've lived there long enough. Don't you want a change? If you are your father's daughter, you must be going a little stir crazy in that house.
Her mother was right.
Anyway, dear, we have extra room in our little house for you to stay until you can find a place of your own. The town is booming, so I'm sure you'll be able to find work somewhere. Even if you don't move out here, you should come & visit us soon! We love you, Georgia. - Mama
Georgia settled in on her wheels, re-reading the letter a few times to let it sink in. Move out to Radiator Springs? To the desert? She was an adult, and her parents wanted her to move in? It was sweet of them, she thought. But her mother had a valid point.
She turned her eyes to the window, watching the leaves float listlessly in the golden morning light. Life was the same here, every day. Her routine was the same. It was a typical life, which she had accepted over the years.
And here her mother was, turning things upside down and watching her tumble out the salt shaker in a blur.
Georgia set the letter on the table, driving over to the telephone. She pressed a button, allowing the keypad to pop out from the wall. She dialed her parents' - new - house number, deciding that at least a visit was in order. She wanted to see the town before she made a decision as big as moving out there.
It rang a few times, until a voice as thick as syrup answered the phone. "Kelly's pool room, how can we help you?"
Georgia paused, glancing at the keypad. She had dialed the right number, hadn't she? "Yes, this is Georgia Weathers..."
There was some noise on the other end before a more feminine voice replaced the earlier one. "Your father doesn't use his hood anymore, hun."
She sighed in relief, resting easy on her tires. "When did he start answering the phone that way?"
"I don't know." In the background, she heard Lynda chewing Strip out, but he seemed to be laughing rather than skirting away. "Anyway. You got my letter?"
"Yes. I'm not sure if I want to move out there, but... When do you want me to visit? I think I could use a break."