Is The Juice Worth the Squeeze?

--Author's Note: This chapter's name is a totally useless reference to another Emile Hirsch film...The Girl Next Door--

There was knocking on my bedroom door. It prompted me to open my eyes and sit upright. I was dressed in new pajamas: a pink top, white bottoms, and a thin gossamer robe. Groggily I moaned, "Who is it?"

"It's me," said Speed's voice. "Inspector Detector just called."

I perked right up. My robe swayed in the air as I ran to the door and pulled it open. "You mean about the explosion?! Did they get him?" Speed took one look at my wide eyes and obvious concern. Then put his head down.

"They can't prove anything … can they?" I asked softly. Speed shook his head, "All results are inconclusive. They have to chalk it up to a malfunction."

"But it wasn't a malfunction …" I said. "I know it wasn't."

"I know," he concurred. "But there's nothing the CIB—or we—can do."

"And the Infernal Series?"

"It's back on," he answered.

"Of course it is," I sighed, grasping to the bellows sleeves of my robe. I turned my back to Speed and walked further into my room, "They won't be satisfied until one of us is dead. Then some mysterious piece of evidence they overlooked before will come into plain sight!"

Speed was shaken by my prediction of death. He followed me, "One of us dead? Trixie, what are you talking about? Do you know more than you're telling me?"

"I watched someone die!!" I yelled, turning abruptly to face him. "If I knew anything that could put that bastard Jack Rival behind bars for the rest of his life, do you think I wouldn't tell?!"

"Why are you so scared?"

"Why shouldn't I be?!" I yelled. "Some madman is killing our colleagues!"

"So what are you trying to say?" he asked. "You're not going to Brittlerock?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I asked.

"Actually … I would."

I hadn't expected him to say that. I stumbled backwards and stammered, "Y—you want me to quit?"

"I almost lost you," he explained. "I don't want to feel like that ever again."

"So you don't think I'll make it?" I asked. "And you'll manage just fine?"

"Well," he began, searching for the words to say what he meant … or what would get him out of this predicament fastest, "I—I'm—"

"I'm going to Brittlerock," I assured him. "And you can go there—and to all the other races—without me!" I walked past him and down the steps. He followed me, but stopped at the top of the staircase and asked, "Did we just break up?"

I stopped, looked at him with widened eyes for a moment, and continued. Those sure sounded like break up words, but if we confirmed that there was nothing between us any longer, I might shrivel into dust.

"Trixie, if you don't want to do this anymore, just tell me!" he screamed.

I kept running down the steps, ended up tripping, and falling on my face. Speed ran after me and propped me up on my knees. He said softly, "You're mad. I get that. And people say things they don't mean when they're mad. So tell me you didn't mean what you just said. Tell me that, and I'll believe you."

I put my hands in my face and wept, "I'm just so frustrated."

"I know," he confessed. "It frustrates me, too."

"I'm sorry I screamed at you," I whispered. "There's just no one else to scream at, I guess." He kissed my forehead, "It's fine." We sat together on the steps in silence for about a minute, until Speed asked, "Hey, have they asked you to come to the school again?"

I was jerked out of a moment of deep thought. I backtracked a moment and recalled his question, "Huh? … Oh! What does it matter? You don't want to go…"

"But you do, right?" he inquired.

"Yeah, so?" asked I. Speed shrugged and muttered, "Well, if you want to go…"

I snorted.

"Speed Racer," I said, "are you trying to tell me you want to go back to Annville Elementary School?" Never the one to admit anything, he replied, "I only want to go if you want to go."

"And if I want to go?" I asked.

"Then I'll go," he answered.

Two days later, however, when we stood in front of Mrs. Waterstratt's third grade class, he looked like he would have sold his soul—or the Mach 6—to be anywhere else in the world.

"Everyone," said Mrs. Waterstratt, "this is Speed Racer and Trixie Shimura. I had them in this class when they were your age."

"They were our age once?!" asked a young girl.

"Wow! They're so old!" said another.

"I hope we never get that big," added a boy. I chuckled. They were all so cute!

Speed was less enthusiastic. Every time Mrs. Waterstratt turned her head away from us, Speed would glare at the back of her head, or stick his tongue out, until the children would start laughing and she'd turn to inspect the noise.

She continued our introduction by saying, "Look how you've both grown. How pretty you are, Trixie!" She gently slapped my cheek … but not so gently that it didn't still hurt. I muttered, "Ow."

"You were such a good student," she praised me." She went over to Speed, "And Speed, you were so …" she patted the top of his head with a fake smile, "Cute." She turned away and Speed frowned. He waved his hand next to his ear in a mocking sort of way. The kids laughed again. Watterstratt turned back at breakneck speed to inspect us. Speed reflected her phony smile back at her.

"Now," she said, not taking her eyes off Speed, "Who has a question for Speed or Trixie?"

A little boy raised his hand Speed pointed at him, "You."

"Speed, how long did you know you wanted to race?" he asked.

I watched Speed's face gain that nostalgic grin he wore whenever he spoke of racing, his past, or both. He answered, "Forever. I only learned how to walk so I could get into a car. Racing's all I ever wanted to do. And now that I'm doing it … I couldn't be happier."

"It's what he was born to do," I added. "I mean, look at his name! Come on!"

"Next question?" asked Speed.

"Over here, please!!" said a girl. She was completely dressed in pink and had my haircut. Speed gave her a smile and said, "Let me guess … you want to speak to Trixie."

"I have two questions," she declared.

"Let's hear them," I said. She grinned broadly, so happy at the prospect of speaking to me, that it made me grin, too

"Is it true that you can fly a helicopter?!" she asked. I chuckled and assured her, "I sure can. Come by Racer Motors when you get a little older, and I'll give you a little flying lesson in the TRX." I winked at her, "What's your second question, hon?"

"Well," she began, "my big brother says racing is for boys and that a girl could never win. So, could you win the Grand Prix so I can show him he's wrong?"

My eyes widened and my mouth was slightly open. I could feel Speed's eyes staring at me. Slowly I went over to the girl's desk and told her, "Sweetie, I can't promise you that, because I don't know if I'm going to win or not. But you can be sure I'll do my best … and that your brother is wrong. Someday some girl is going to get to the Grand Prix and whip all those boy into shape. Who knows? It might even be you. You've made a fan out of me."

She put her little arms around my neck and hugged me.

"That girl got to you," Speed mentioned as we stood in the rosebushes we met in all those years ago. I'm not joking; there was still a dent from where his head collided with the dirt. I sighed, "Yes, she did. … I don't know what I'm doing. I feel like everyone's pulling me in a thousand different directions."

"Well, Trix, the secret to the success of racing," he said to me, "is to figure out your direction. And then you forget everyone else and their direction and follow yours." He glanced at the window to the clock, "It's getting late. We better go home."

"Yeah, okay," I concurred.

As we came into the front door Speed declared, "We're home!" but no one answered. He peeked into the living room. Spritle and Chim-Chim were on the couch, watching TV.

"What are they watching?" I asked.

"Afterschool cartoons, I guess," he replied. "Come on, let's go upstairs."

But something kept my eyes glued to the TV screen. I waved him upstairs, saying, "You go, I'll catch up." He looked at me strangely, shrugged, and trotted up to his room. I watched as the commercial break ended on their program and a picture—of all things—of me and Speed came on the screen.

"Speed Racer and Trixie Shimura have used their driver—pun intended—to make it to this year's Infernal Series," said a faceless reporter. "They're favorites to win the Grand Prix. But could their love of the sport outweigh their love for each other?"

Our portrait snapped in half.

"Could this be the end of Sprixie?" asked the reported. I cocked an eyebrow, Sprixie? I mouthed the word.

"Spritle!" shouted the voice of Mom Racer. "Turn that dreadful program off!" She came into view, grabbed the remote, and turned off the TV.

"Hey, Mom," said Spritle, "can Chim-Chim and me have Trixie's room if she stops dumps Speed and moves out?"

"Bite your tongue!" scolded Mrs. Racer. "Trixie is a part of this family and she won't be moving anywhere!"

I went upstairs before they could notice me. The first thing I heard when I got to the top was Speed's voice shouting, "WHAT? NO!!" There was a sound of a phone being hung up and the pulling of a cord.

"Who was that?" I asked, watching him wrap the cord around the phone.

"That was a rep from Racers Monthly asking if we would do a photo spread and interview," he explained. "They wanted to call it 'Engine of Love.' What does that even mean?"

"And I take it you said no," I observed.

"Trixie," he said, "I don't need the world to know how I feel about you … I just need you to."

"Speed," I began, reaching for his shoulder, "What would you do if … I won it all?" Immediately after my last word his arm went limp. With no facial expression whatsoever, he said, "Brag," and that was all.

Surely he'd taken his arms and pushed me apart from him! And yet, no, there we were in the same spots.

"Oh," I replied. I turned to the doorway, glanced back, and shut the door.

Not a smile, not ever a twitch! His voice felt so cold he might as well have been Old Man Winter! Was I really about to lose him? A single tear dropped from my right eye. I wiped it away quickly. I sat on the floor and leaned on Speed's door. Only one thought came to mind: is it worth it? Are trophies and races worth losing the boy I've loved for…ever? Was Racer X right?

It was something to think about.