Riding to Reach You

--Author's Note: the title to this chapter is a really obscure reference to a Travis song called "Writing to Reach You." It's a bit of a tie-in to the "Wonderwall" thing, since the songs use the same chords.--

The world went blue. Everything was a blur but the cars in front of me. None of them were purple and gold. They were nothing but in the way. I veered left and right in zigzags, taking out one after another.

"Trixie Shimura is plowing through the competition!" yelled the commentator. "I'm reminded of a young Velocity DeWit! She's become unstoppable!"

"You bet your ass," I whispered in response. The TRX-1 went off a ramp, did a 360 roll and a 540 flip. I landed backwards on the track, realigned myself, and continued.

Booster Mbube, driving the green Surgebox, hit the side of my car and went past me. I caught up to her, slipped my hood under her, and pressed the A button. The Surgebox soared though the air and landed, rear first, on the other side of the ramp.

"Oooh, that HAD to hurt!" said the announcer. "Too bad Booster Mbube didn't realize the Pink Queen's no shrinking violet!"

Finally, as we came upon a swirled portion of the track, I could see the GRX.

"Trixie Shimura is a woman possessed! Cannonball Taylor better get ready for her!"

I turned my steering wheel steeply to the left to keep up with the new shape of ground, but I didn't even glance at it. I couldn't take my eyes off Cannonball and the GRX. As we came back to level ground, I found myself right next to him.

"Did you hear the play-by-play?" I asked. He snorted.

"So then I guess you're not ready for me," I concluded. "Big mistake." I rammed him just like I had at Brittlerock. He Sweet Span me.

"She's been hammered!!!" yelled the commentator. I pressed the X button, came back down on the track, and went after him again. We came to the big drop, but instead of driving down like I was supposed to, I pressed the A button and fell down through the air.

"Remember what you're fighting for, Trixie," I whispered to myself as my helmet fought to come off my head and my visor slipped up.

I was fighting for Speed; for all those times we had together at Inspiration Point.

"Are you saying this doesn't make sense?"

"Okay, this makes sense too."

For all the hurdles we'd gone through together.

"This isn't a game, Trixie."

"I know. That's why I'm going with you."

For saving me from the father I never really knew.

"Your boyfriend is doomed."

"You monster!"

For that permanent optimism I could only hope to one day have.

"I promise it'll all be fine."

And for that agreement we had made.

"Never leave me."

"I won't."

I hit the ground. The wheels almost went inside the bottom of the car from the force of the collision, but it bounced back. I slapped the black-tinted visor back over my eyes and took off.

The GRX was only about a yard ahead of me. I screamed like and Amazon, pressed the A button, and jumped on top of it. He shook me off, and I hit his side once more. Then I Sweet Span him, and he tumbled off like I imagine Speed had watched him do countless times.

"You GO, girl!" said the announcer. "I mean, Trixie Shimura totally just ripped Cannonball Taylor apart! And now nothing seems to stand between her and the finish!"

I started crying. I had done it. I had taken Cannonball down, but what had it done? Speed was still being peeled off the end of a ramp by some paramedics. Who knew what might have happened while he was under that car?

"Oh Mom, Pops, Spritle, I'm so sorry!" I wept while still attempting to drive. "It's all my fault. I never should have left home. I should have … I should have …"

I stopped talking. Should haves didn't help anyone now. Sobbing, I rolled across the finish line.

Somewhere—It felt like miles away—a PA announced, "And the winner of the 92nd Annual Grand Prix is TRIXIE SHIMURA!!!"

Someone came at me with cold milk and a trophy. But I didn't care about that. I put my hands on my helmet, took it off, and threw it to the ground. The black visor smashed with a crunch.

"SPEED!" I yelled. I jumped out of the car, pushed all the fanfare out of my way, and bolted the other way.

"Trixie!" screamed a voice that sounded faintly like Mom Racer. "Trixie, come back!" But I ignored them completely. I continued to run up the track, dodging cars, disregarding the commentator shouting, "Has she gone insane?! She's running back up the track!"

Then I came to the end of a ramp. There it was. I couldn't go back. I stared down the track for a bit. The sheer emotion brought me to my knees. I began to weep harder, "Speed! Oh—oh, Speed!!"

Suddenly, there was this sound. It sounded a lot like … an engine. I looked up hopefully. The tears dried on my face as I saw a streak of white coming up the track. Anticipating its landing on the other side of the ramp, I took a few steps backward.

The Mach 6 flipped through the air and landed right in front of me.

"Sorry I'm late," said Speed. "Did I miss the after party?"

"You're okay!!" I exclaimed. He crawled out of the Mach 6 and assured me, "Of course I am." He pulled up his pant leg and said, "I always wear my lucky red socks."

Indeed, he was wearing red socks.

I put my arms around him and cried some more, but this time out of joy. I warned him, "If you ever scare me like that again, I'll have to kill you myself."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

The photographers and the family and reporters caught up with us just as we kissed. There were lovelorn sighs and "Awww's" and Spritle and Chim-Chim covering each other's eyes. Mom and Pops Racer looked touched and held each other's hands.

"I love you, Trixie" said Speed.

"What?" asked I.

"I love you," he repeated, laughing weakly. "I've been trying to tell you for weeks."

"And you still do?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"Everything's been just so messed up lately," I confessed. "I haven't been able to tell what's what. But I … I love you, too, Speed." I put my head in his chest.

"Um, Miss Shimura?" said a stranger.

"Yes?" asked I.

"Can you take this?" he asked, handing me a trophy. "It's very heavy." I took it, bewildered. I had no idea what was going on.

"Did … did I just win?" I asked stupidly.

"Yeah!" laughed Speed.

"Oh," I said. What else was there to say after not realizing something so significant? Someone held the bottle of cold milk to me again. I put the trophy down and took it, taking a quick sip. It needed strawberry syrup.

"What's next for you?!" asked a reporter.

"Will you continue to drive for Racer Motors?" asked another.

"Is a team up in the works for you two?"

I cleared my throat, snatched a microphone from someone, looked directly into his camera, and said, "I would like to take this opportunity to officially announce the end of my racing career." I gave the mike back to its owner and walked away, declaring, "I mean, it's fun and all, but," I put an arm on Speed's shoulder, "this is your forte. And my helicopter misses me."

"You can't stop now!" declared Speed.

"I just did," I replied with a shrug. I took his hand and led him back down to the finish line, "Come on, Speed, I still have my car on the end of the track." We pushed past the reporters. The family followed us. Behind our heads, the neon ticker said "Winner: Trixie Shimura."

I stared at my name for a while, crawling out of sight and back again on the small digital screen. Finally I could leave it behind. I had accomplished all I could have wanted from this sport, in only one year. People were going to remember the Pink Queen.

And I finally realized my heart was in the skies.

Later that night I was taking a walk. On my way home, I saw a yellow and black car. I stepped in front of him. As I suspected, Racer X climbed out of the vehicle and meandered up to me.

"Hello," I said.

"You raced well out there, kid," he confessed. He wouldn't apologize for telling Speed to 'keep the girlfriend at home.' I knew that. Somehow I didn't see Racer X as a person who ever said 'sorry.'

"Shame you won't go on," he said. "You could be as great as Speed … maybe even better."

"I doubt that," I snorted. "But it's nice to think about."

"He's okay?" asked Racer X.

"He's going to be fine," I replied.

"Good," he said. He turned to walk back to his car.

"Rex!" I yelled. He didn't stop. But I thought I heard a small chuckle. He got inside the Shooting Star and turned the key in the ignition. I put my hands on the hood to stop him. I shouted, "Rex! Stop this! Come home! I'm sure the family would forgive you if you told them the truth. And Speed … It would mean the world to him."

"No wonder he likes you," he said. "You both have active imaginations."

"ARRRRGH!" I yelled. "You know what?! I give up!" I took my hands off the head and started to walk away.

The car didn't move.

I went back over to him and said, "If it's whether I'm going to tell Speed or not that you're wondering in that helmet head of yours … you can stop worrying. I'm never going to breathe a word about any of this. So drive off into the night. The identity of Racer X will remain a secret."

He did.

"For the record, I don't know how Minx puts up with you!" I yelled after him.

"TRIXXXXXXIEEEEE!!!" yelled Speed's voice as he slammed on the brakes. His head jerked forward. He let out a deep breath and asked, "Jeez, Trix, what are you doing?!"

"Sorry," I said, turning my car to face the road again. "I was talking with Racer X."

"What about?"

"… He, uh … he admitted I could race."

Why take part in the lie? I'll put it this way. I'd known Speed for years. I was his best friend long before I was his girlfriend. I was one of his few friends that knew Rex before he "died." Now my job was to protect him. And to do so, if I had to keep the Masked Racer only known as X, I would. I knew that the only thing that would hurt him more than thinking his brother was dead would be to know he was alive all this time and lied about it.

"Oh," said Speed. "Well, I came out to get you." He opened the passenger side door, "It's pretty late. You should get home."

"I guess I should," I concurred. I crawled into the passenger seat, shut the door, and rested my head upon his shoulder. Together we took off down the trail, back home.