Early Start, Late Finish

The day before the start of the Survivor Series left me with so many butterflies in my stomach, I thought I'd never get to sleep, but I did … at 4 AM.

"Trixie!" called a voice in the distance. "Trixie, wake up!"

Still half-asleep, I opened my eyes and saw Speed's smiling face looking back at me. He was almost glowing. His eyes were perhaps two shades lighter than usual. I swear; he looked like a kid on Christmas.

"What?" asked I groggily. I really hadn't wanted to be awoken. I was having the most wonderfully cruel dream where he'd lost the keys to the trunk of the Mach 5 with Spritle and Chim-Chim still inside …

"Today's the first race of the Survivor Series!" he exclaimed. I glanced at the clock. It read 8:00 AM. It had been four hours?! It felt like ten minutes!

"Mom told me to get you for breakfast," he continued.

"Okay, you go down, I'll be right behind you," I said. He followed my instruction, bolting down the stairs like the Roadrunner.

"Someone needs to limit that boy's caffeine intake," I muttered to myself. I threw the covers off the bed and changed from my pajamas to a pink shirt and white pants. I smoothed my hair down with a brush and placed a little heart pin on the right side. Then I went downstairs.

I really wasn't in the mood to eat. Every time I even thought of food, I became nauseous. But Mom Racer wouldn't have that. She insisted, "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I won't have you two driving on empty stomachs," as she placed a plate of waffles in front of each of us.

Speed seemed not to be nervous at all or, if he was, he'd become a master at hiding it. He was happily eating his waffles and drinking his milk.

"How are you two feeling?" asked Pops. "Rearing to go?"

"You know it!" said Speed.

"For sure," I added, knowing that was what he wanted to hear. I wanted to still be in bed.

Seeing that I had barely touched my waffles, Mom Racer pointed a spatula at me and demanded, "Eat!"

I looked down at my plate and saw a furry arm reaching a fork to it. My eyes widened. I looked up at Chim-Chim, who was smiling innocently and took the pepper shaker—at breakfast—to explain his lunging movement across the table.

I frowned, still so upset at having to leave the alternate reality of that dream.

"They're all laughing at me, I know it," said Speed as we walked onto the red and white checkered line of the Fuji track. Truth be told, I wasn't looking forward to racing over and around a volcano that could erupt at any second.

"They're not laughing at you," I assured him.

"If you say so."

Speed had something to prove at Fuji. Last year, he'd rejected the offer of one E.P. Arnold Royalton. He'd tried to bribe Speed away from Racer Motors with 'I still feel as independent as ever' mumbo-jumbo and purple suits. I wished he'd kept that suit. He looked really good in it.

But I digress. Speed rejected him, and that was when he learned how corrupt racing had become. Royalton promised him he'd never finish the track at Fuji, and he was right. Speed blew up. Thank God for the Kwiksave bubbles; or I might have had a heart attack.

That race, as I watched him pull his yellow gloves over his hands, I saw a determination in his eyes. Nobody was going to stop him … or laugh at him, as his train of thought might have been.

"Speed Racer," said a voice.

We turned around, only to find Taejo Togokahn, the second … okay, maybe third, to last person we ever wanted to see again. He'd used us to up his family company's stock in the Casa Cristo, and then let Royalton buy them out. But then he later testified against him.

"You have a lot of nerve coming over here," I said.

"You don't understand," said Togokahn. "I have come to apologize to you both. I realize my actions were totally unacceptable."

"Well, I guess it all worked out in the end, so—no way!" Speed shouted.

"What?!" asked I. He pointed at another car, "Look what the spearhook dragged in."

"It can't be!" I said. But it was. Somehow, Cannonball Taylor was on the track with us today.

Nobody, beside Royalton, had lost more when Speed won the Grand Prix than one Jack "Cannonball" Taylor. Now, in no way was any of it Speed's fault. Cannonball was racing in the Royalton GRX, which had a spearhook installed in it. When he saw that Speed was a contender, he decided to use it. But Speed, ever the clever, used his jumping jacks to show the cameras the illegal weapon. Cannonball lost a spot in the hall of fame for it.

"Who would even sponsor him now?" asked I, even though I knew Speed had no answer.

"He's racing for Rival," said another voice. It was the deep speech of Racer X.

"Rival?" asked Speed. "Jack Rival? He's one of the dirtiest. I've heard he'll kill a driver that stands in his way."

"Sounds like just the type for Cannonball," I snorted. I turned to Racer X, "Is that what you're here for?"

"That's part of it, most definitely."

"All drivers to your cars."

"We must go," said Racer X before sauntering over to the yellow and black Shooting Star. "Good luck." I always felt there was a silent 'you'll need it' directed at me at the end of that sentence.

"Good luck," said Taejo. He strutted back over to his car, the red and black Hangul.

"I'm still gonna Sweet Spin him," I told Speed.

"Give him one from me," he said.

I slipped into the TRX-1. It was a beautiful pink car with checkered black pattern on the back. It perfectly matched my helicopter. The number 7 was emblazoned on the hood and the sides.

Always one place behind Speed, Trix, I thought for a moment. Then I shook my head, don't be silly. It's just the seventh car Pops has built.

"3…" the countdown was starting again.

"2…" Now that I had mastered the starter boost, I hit the accelerator.

"1… GO!"

The Fuji track starts out in two paths. I veered to the right, Speed went left. The only driver on the path with me—right in front of me—was Taejo. I sped up closer to him.

"This one's from Speed Racer," I whispered. I pressed a button on my dashboard and Sweet Span him. The Hangul tumbled behind me.

The two paths came back together. The Mach 6 came up next to me. Speed looked behind my car for a second and asked, "You totally did it, didn't you?"

"I said I would," I chuckled. I got caught in another half-pipe and did a 540 turn back onto the track. People actually started cheering. I drifted perfectly through a turn, and the crowd went crazy.

"Looks like you have fans," said Speed. But that wasn't possible! I didn't get fans. I had that lack of charisma. We sped through the tunnel and jumped over the lava.

"Don't fall, don't fall, don't fall," I chanted at the TRX-1 as I took off the ramp. I really didn't want third-degree burns. They so weren't in fashion that season.

Soon, we came up on the start to run the third and final course of the race. I was ready to pull back into the right lane, until Snake Oiler rammed me into the divider between the two paths. I pushed the accelerator on my car, but it didn't help, I was stuck.

Man, I hated that guy! During the Casa Cristo while I was subbing for Taejo, he basically tried to take my head off with his back tire! Granted, he didn't know it was me. Speed retaliated by doing the same to Snake. I thought that was so romantic, but it didn't really hit me as such until I was back safe in the TRX helicopter.

Speed drove by, a worried look on his face. He reached his hand out to me, like he thought it would do some good, and yelled, "Trixie!!"

"Oh, come on, baby," I said to the car. "Don't do this! Momma needs you." I pushed everything I thought would get me out of this bind, but it was starting to look hopeless. I was trapped. The crowd was murmuring.

"And Trixie Shimura is stuck, caught between Fuji's two paths! This could be the end of her," said a racetrack announcer. I couldn't help but notice he said my real last name.

Finally, I pushed the jump jack button. I took to the air and landed on the start line.

"Alright, now I'm only about 10 miles behind," I snorted to myself. I glanced at the boost bar. It was blue, signaling that I could go into the Zone. I'd never done it before, but anything was worth a try now. I pushed the boost button.

"And she's back in it!!" yelled the announcer.

The track became just a blur as I said at 424 miles per hour. I wasn't meant to travel at such breakneck speed, I had thought. The highest I'd ever reach was 370! I sped past the Hangul just before the boost bar ran out.

"Trixie?!" asked Speed, the Mach 6 steady right in front of me, "are you okay."

"I'm fine," I replied. We all ran across the finish line. Speed and I had finished fourth and fifth, above only Togokahn.

"And the winner is … Racer X!"

I sighed while getting out of the TRX-1. Some of the pink paint was scratched. The right side was dented.

"Damn Snake Oiler," I muttered.

Late that night, I was staring at the ceiling with the lights off when Speed came into my room.

"Are you asleep?"

"No," I whispered.

"Then why don't we take the Mach 5 and go to Inspiration Point."

"I don't know …" I said. "It's pretty late…" But he took my arm, dragged me to the garage, got into the car, and turned the key in the ignition.

"Who am I to say no?" I asked rhetorically.

"Why did you suddenly decide on this?" asked I as we sat among the budding trees. He shrugged, "I don't know. You've just been looking so bummed out since the race."

"I'm sorry," I told him. "I got you all worried and you lost the lead. It's all my fault you didn't win."

"Don't even think that," he said. "There's still a lot of the Survivor Series left to go." He put a hand on my cheek, "We'll make a comeback. And at least I didn't blow up this time."

"Since when do you know the perfect thing to say?" I asked.

"I'm learning."

"And here I thought you were a lost cause."

We stared at one another, until a noise broke the silence. It was low and gravelly

"Is something wrong with the engine?" I asked.

"No, that doesn't sound like an engine," said Speed. "It sounds like … snoring." His eyes widened, "I'll be right back." He got out of the car and opened the trunk.

"Spritle, get up!"

"Psht, snort, WHAT?!" yelled the boy's voice.

"Who told you that you could sleep in my trunk?" asked Speed. I turned to watch them. Spritle was staring at the new surroundings.

"Who told you to drive off in our clubhouse?" he asked. I couldn't see Chim-Chim, but anywhere Spritle was, I was sure he wasn't too far.

"Club—you know what, never mind," said Speed. "Go back to sleep." He slammed the trunk shut.

"Well then what did you wake us up for?!" asked Spritle's muffled voice. Speed flopped back into the driver's seat and sucked on his bottom lip.

"We have to go home?"

"Yeah," he replied. "All the good intentions in the world can't save us from the kid and the monkey."

"I heard that!" yelled Spritle. Speed gritted his teeth. I gave him a silent, small kiss on the cheek.

"Cootie shot!" cried the boy.

Speed merely shook his head and drove off.