So in this chapter I only own Georgia and Sam, Chick's driver. Anyway, I thought I'd have a Chick flashback in this chapter. Besides that, there's not much else to say! Thanks to the readers and reviewers so far, and as always, any reviews are welcome! :) Enjoooy!
"Thanks," Chick muttered, turning to leave. I just wanted to know what cone I was in. McQueen's girlfriend was nice, and she didn't talk to him like he was trash to be thrown aside, but the green racecar wasn't really in the mood for anybody, kind or not, today. He drove past a light blue car, whose eyes he could feel resting on him, which irked him a little bit (okay, a lot). He whirled to give the car a few choice words but stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he looked her over.
Where do I know you from? This is going to bug the hell out of me if I don't figure it out... He eyed the paint job, which was strikingly familiar, but it was the eyes that gave it away.
"Hello," Georgia started, offering him a smile. Chick's eyelids went up in a surprise and hers went up as well.
"Weathers," he said suddenly, scoffing. He remembered her now - she used to go to all of her daddy's races and cheer him on from that VIP box with Lynda and Tex. Wasn't she supposed to be the heir to Dinoco? She was The King's own oil and metal, after all. Just the realization that she was related to him made her smile void, as all of his problems were tied back to that incident. Even if he knew it was his fault.
"It's nice to see you, too, Chick," she greeted.
"'Nice to see you, too, Chick,'" he muttered, shaking his hood. As he drove away, he mumbled, "Just like your dad, aren't you?" He pulled out onto the pavement, driving over to Flo's to catch up with his driver. He had to get a few things out of his trailer, because if he was going to stay here, he was at least going to make himself comfortable. The big rig was parked in a comfy little slot and was slugging back some fuel.
He looked up when he saw Chick approaching. "The trailer's around back," he told him, gesturing with a tire.
"Thanks, Sam." The words were rushed and quiet, but Sam got the message Chick was trying to get across. He knew that the green stock car was always moody, which was a shame, because he hadn't always been that way. Even before the race at LA, Chick had an attitude, but he was never moody like this. Now Sam was lucky if he saw the good side of his friend.
Chick drove around to the back of the trailer, his mind wandering on his brief encounter with Georgia Weathers. He had only spoken with her once or twice, a memory that had faded a while ago; however, it seemed that meeting her once again jogged his memory a little bit.
It was hot, the air was sticky, and his engine was full to bursting. Chick hadn't raced that hard in his life, but Chrysler did it feel good to get all of that out. Granted, he had spent the entire race chasing that powder blue tailfin, a sight he seemingly couldn't shake from behind his windshield, but that wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was the fact that he had been so close, and yet with his coming in second place, he had never felt so far away.
His first race in the big leagues, his first race up against The King, Strip Weathers.
"You did great for your first race, kid," one of the crew remarked, nudging him in the side.
"Thanks," Chick replied, half out of breath. He drove away from the mess of reporters and cars, needing a moment to get his bearings. The first car - or vehicle, really - that he went to was his driver, Sam. The guy was just as new at this as he was, but Sam had his hood on straight, his tires on the asphalt. He was the one who kept Chick from going insane when he couldn't sleep on the drives to all of the races.
Sam was half asleep in the humid night air, his eyelids drooping slightly, and at first he didn't notice Chick driving towards him.
"Sam," the racer started, his voice strident and hoarse. Chick cleared his windpipe, calling Sam's name a little louder this time. "Sammy!"
"Huh - what? Oh, sorry, boss," the big rig answered, sitting upright on his tires. He quickly got his bearings, shooting a smile in his friend's direction. "Hey, that was some nice strategy you used out there on that track! Your first race and you're already good enough to rival The King!" Sam was rather proud to be hauling the car that would be the breakout star of the season.
"Thanks, Sam. And don't call me boss," Chick told him, parking a few feet away. He stole a few glances around, before settling in on his tires.
His voice was a little lackluster, or so Sam noticed. "What's wrong? You had a bang-up race out there!"
"I'm fine, Sam. Just a little disappointed is all."
"Disappointed?" The big rig blinked. 'How can he be disappointed? That was amazing.'
Chick sighed, sounding exhausted. "I just thought I'd win, you know? I've won almost every race up until this one, and I'll tell you, I would have rather come in last than come in second place. Second place in my first race." He laughed slightly. "Any other car would be satisfied with that, but I just can't be. Second best in my first race? No, I want all of it or none of it."
Sam wasn't sure that he understood. "Second place puts you in a great spot, boss. I mean, Chick. Your name will be everywhere."
"Yeah, I know that." Frustration. Chick was frustrated. "But think about it, Sammy. Second best in my first race. I can only get worse from here, not better. The only way to get better would be to beat Strip Weathers." And although Chick wouldn't say it out loud, he was thinking it: That was unlikely to happen.
"I think you're wrong," Sam replied, shaking his massive hood. "You can only get better. You've got a lot of talent and this was only your first race. So you came in second to The King? Most others cars would have come in last. And most cars would be beating themselves up about this - but I know you, and you're not one of those cars."
Chick sighed, revving up his engine. "Then why am I so pissed about taking second?"
Before the big rig could answer, Chick had driven off, leaving Sam in the sticky heat alone, wondering if the green racer had defeated himself before he had even gotten started.
Chick drove around the trailers, which were mostly graced with the presence of the pitties stocking everything away. He swerved around a few of them, expertly avoiding tires that were expertly tossed through the air. He ducked around a corner to a more desolate area of the stadium, where a few cars were drifting around here and there. He moved to grab a can of oil before the crowd poured in, following either The King or Tex or both.
He snagged some oil, turning abruptly to make his getaway, only to stop short with a screech of brakes. "I'm sorry!" came a Southern sounding voice, although it was light and sounded more feminine than most of the other Southern voices he was used to.
"No, it's my fault," he said quickly, trying to be polite to the girl. She was young, maybe a little younger than he was, but her paint job caused him to pause. 'She must be a diehard Weathers fan,' he thought to himself, looking her over once. She was the same powder blue as The King, and the only thing missing was the Dinoco logo, and the fact that she was built differently than he was.
"Chick Hicks, right?" she asked, squeezing past him to get a drink.
"Yeah."
"I'm Georgia," she introduced. "You raced really well out there." Her compliment came as a surprise to him.
"Well, thanks, Georgia."
She caught the hint of earlier frustration in his voice, one of her eyelids going up as she took a sip of her drink. "Not as good as winning though, right? I know how that goes..." She shook her hood, but she smiled at him. "Strip is definitely goin' to be hard to beat." She nodded towards him, though. "But you're good - scary good. I was worried you were going to beat him there for a while!"
Chick took a swig off of his drink, listening to this car's words. 'She certainly can talk, that's for sure.' "You're a King fan, then? I figured as much by the paint job."
"Oh, well, yeah, of course I'm a fan of The King. He is my dad," she said quickly.
Chick almost choked on his fuel. "What?" He stared at her, a look of shock on his face.
Before the girl could give a reply, her attention was diverted by the voice of Lynda Weathers. "Georgia Rian! Why did you drive off like that?"
She looked back to Chick. "I'm sorry - my mama's goin' to have a tractor if I don't get back to her. It was really nice to meet you, Chick," she told him, her words rushed, but her voice was sincere. "You raced well, so don't beat up on yourself so much. Good luck!" And she turned and drove off, calling, "I'm comin'!"
Chick stared after the car, still in shock. 'Was that really...?' He almost didn't believe it. Yet the thing that stuck with him most, were the words she had spoken, and the way she talked as if she had tasted the same disgusted defeat that he had tasted today.
Chick collected his crap and drove back to the Cozy Cone to put his belongings in his room, replaying the memory in his mind a few times. As much as he wanted to find something to give him reason to hate Georgia to, he couldn't. The only thing he had against her was the fact that her last name was Weathers, so now he felt like a jerk for talking the way he did.
He placed the things in the room, not bothering to organize them so much as make sure everything was there and that he hadn't left anything in the trailer. The memory was like a highlight reel in his mind, replaying after it had ended. She had been nothing but supportive, and he didn't even know her. "For Chrysler's sake," he muttered under his breath, shutting the door to the cone.
The htB sponsored racer drove back to Flo's, where he parked beside Sam.
"Got everything?" Sam checked, hoping to get Chick talking, to somehow relieve the tension.
"Yeah," the stock car replied, pausing for a moment. "Do you remember my first race against Weathers?"
"Of course!" Sam answered, nodding as he finished off his fuel, ordering another canister. "It was amazing. Everybody talked about it for weeks afterward."
"Right, right, but do you remember... Nevermind. I don't want to know, don't want to think about it, and I honestly don't care."
Sam's grill tipped downward in a frown. "What...? I remember that you had your chassis all in a twist for coming in second place."
Chick shot him a glance. "I remember that part, Samuel." The big rig rolled his eyes. "I mean, did you see Weathers' girl? Georgia."
"No. I saw him, but the girl and his wife had already left, I think." Sam looked curious. "Why...?"
"No reason," Chick replied nonchalantly. "I ran into her earlier at that stupid caution cone motel."
"Oh?" Sam raised an eyelid, looking down at his friend with a grin.
"Oh what? There's nothing to oh about! I just ran into her, and she was all, 'It's nice to see you, too, Chick', and it was annoying. Now I'm stuck with McQueen, Weathers, and her, that's what I'm getting at, Sam. What, what's with the oh? There's no reason for oh!" Chick huffed, causing Sam to raise a tire defensively, but the stock car could see the smirk hiding behind the big rig's grill.
"Okay, don't freak out. It sounds like someone thought it was nice to see you."
"Probably just pity," Chick muttered.
"Or maybe she was thinking about you and really thought it was nice to run into you - hey! Miss Mia! Could I get another canister of fuel?" Sam rushed his words as Chick growled under his breath, glaring up at him.
"I swear, Sam! Sometimes I think you're still like two years old, just trapped in a big guy's body..."
The two went back and forth for a little while, until Sam got distracted by something that was going on in the street. Two cars were jerking around chasing one another, basically playing in traffic, if Sam should say so. They darted around buildings, re-emerging from alleyways, one looking rather flustered and the other looking a little more than triumphant.
"Sam! Sammy! What are you looking - oh." Chick rolled his eyes. "What is McQueen doing now?"
"Is that the car you were asking me about?" Sam gestured to Georgia, who was trying to catch Lightning by the tire.
Chick stared a second. "No!" he said quickly, looking away. What is it with these cars? As soon as they get into the city limits of this place, everybody goes crazy. Is it something in the fuel? I'm glad nobody besides McQueen's girlfriend saw me talking to her... Chick looked back at the spectacle, shaking his hood. "I wouldn't drink anymore of the fuel, Sam. I think they put something in it, or something, you know?"
Sam snorted. "Right. I think you should take fun lessons from her. She obviously knows how to have a good time."
"Playing tag in the middle of the road is a good time?"
"You know I'm just playing around, boss." Sam settled on his wheels to watch as Sheriff hauled the car away.
Chick watched McQueen speed off. "Leave it to McQueen to drop the blame on somebody else." Unaware of Strip Weathers' elaborate plan, Lightning's actions just added more fuel to the burned out flame that Chick was still trying to stoke. "I wonder what Weathers is going to think of this one, eh? I should personally deliver the news. 'Was that your daughter that got arrested? That's a real shame, Strip.'"
Sam looked at him pointedly. "You would never do something like that, Chick, and you know it."
"You wanna bet?" Chick asked, mostly messing around, but his tone said otherwise.
"You know you wouldn't," Sam retorted. "You're already on the world's hit list - talking like that to The King would only dig yourself further into your grave." Chick blinked, surprised by his driver's bluntness. Yeah, the guy had always been honest, but never like that. Was that really what Sam thought? He was digging himself further into his grave, as in he was already in the grave? Was he implicating what Chick thought he was? Sam immediately shook his hood, looking a little surprised at his own words. "Chick, I didn't mean for it to sound like that-"
"No," Chick cut in, waving his tire. "I know what you meant."
As he turned to drive out of the parking lot, feeling more than betrayed, he shot one last glance at Georgia. Their eyes connected for a mere moment, before she turned hers away from his, but it was enough to leave him with a stirring feeling in his tank.