Within a few weeks the boys had picked up the gist of the sport that was still sweeping the nation. The energy of the track was contagious and the skeptical attitude had quickly turned to competition between the group over favorite drivers.
They stayed after races late in to the evenings in hopes of possibly bumping elbows with someone, anyone, who called the dirt of the southern U.S. home. They of course never admitted this to one another. They were too old to be star struck by roughnecks a few years older than them. Piston Cup was entertainment, and entertainment only, none of those drivers out there would really ever amount to anything else. Driving certainly wasn't that hard.
"Half of them are probably drop-outs." Will leaned back in the padded seat in the small box they'd splurged for. "Piston's probably the only one with any kind of schooling."
"And look what it gets him." Hershel gestured to the track. "A spot halfway back the lineup and a consistent 10th through 15th finish.
Will shrugged and kicked a foot up over the empty seat in front of him before looking either direction for the others. "Where is everyone?"
"Dean was going to see if he could put a bet in, they didn't ask his age last race, and Billy's still waiting for Tommy."
Will only raised his brows in acknowledgment before hunkering down in to the seat he had claimed.
"We're going to miss this someday."
Will checked his watch, confusing the other as he straightened his arm again roughly to straighten the cuff of his dress shirt over his wrist again. "I win."
"What? Win what?"
"Dean and I had a bet."
"Over what?"
Will shifted as the others piled in to their private box, forced to move as they squeezed past him to get to the seats on the other side of the two. "Hey Dean, you owe me a hundred bucks."
"Already?"
"Already what?"
Dean flopped in to the seat on his other side. "On when you'd get all sentimental over this trip."
"It's not sentimental." Hershel defended. "When we're all stuck in those brick walled prisons, we're going to miss being able to do anything like this."
"It's sentimental." Will argued, holding a hand out and gesturing for Dean to fork over his money.
"How about a new bet."
"Uh-uh. A hundred bucks Collins, you shook on it."
Hershel huffed in offense while the others all snickered and Will made a show of counting the bills he'd been handed. Leaning back in his seat, he glanced over his shoulder at a few girls they'd all taken notice of when they'd found their box. In a box above them, out of the sun, the girls were sitting near the lower petition. They could be heard discussing different drivers and he was a little surprised to realize they seemed to know more than he did, about everything, from cars to stats to driving styles...
Their conversation stalled after a moment as they realized he was listening in and Hershel only shook his head in silent embarrassment, staring at the track while Will winked and asked who they were there with.
"I wasn't aware I needed to be here with someone." One girl replied coolly, sunglasses hiding her eyes.
"Who are you with? Did your mother bring you?" The second girl asked innocently.
Will's smile faltered and Hershel continued to stare ahead with a sympathetic grin when the first girl laughed in surprise at the remark, along with the other boys of their own group.
When the girls' giggling had subsided and they continued with their conversation, ignoring Will's red ears, Hershel finally looked away from the track and toward him.
"That's Emily Piston, you realize...I'm not sure about her friend, but that means they're both probably around five years older than us..."
"Was just being nice."
"Yeah, I'm sure, and she's probably heard it all before from everyone else that sits around a track. Seventeen year old kid won't impress her."
Will fell silent, eyes on the track and hoping everyone would turn their attention elsewhere.
None of them could quite place exactly what it was that drew them in to the sport. In the stands, at least in the sections they had found themselves in, it was all glitz and Hollywood glamour. Below them on the track, it was rough and calculating, fighting for a position and not being afraid to scuff up the body of a car to get there. Cars that started the race in pristine condition were covered in layers of red dirt, the numbers barely discernible in some cases. Drivers alike, were not going to be winning any contests in tidiness. It was amazing that any of them did stick around after a race to indulge fans. It couldn't be comfortable.
They were disappointed to see that none of the drivers stayed after that particular race, not realizing there would be other events taking place in less than an hour.
"Where's the next race?" Billy asked, eyeing the last few teams that were preparing to leave, some of the most recognizable, but their group was too far up in the stands to make it down in time to even offer any congratulations.
"I dunno." Dean muttered, tearing his betting slip and tossing it in the bin as they passed. "It's in that mag you've got isn't it?"
"We might need to get another map." Tommy commented. "I don't remember where the next one is, but the next few are further south."
"Great." Will muttered, and Hershel clapped him on the back as they made it down the last few steps of the stands to ground level. "More heat."
Five boys in close quarters for any length of time could spell trouble, but by the current point of the season some tensions were running high.
"Billy, I swear, if you don't shut up about Hudson and that stunt he pulled at Thomasville."
"You're just sore you keep putting money on Heming."
"He'd been winning."
"The key word there is-"
"If you two and your crying cause me to miss my turn I'm kicking you out of my truck!"
There was a momentary pause before someone in the back muttered. "I'm pretty sure we can walk from here..."
The tense silence continued a few moments before one of them couldn't keep themselves from sputtering lowly in amusement, causing the mood to finally break as the other boys followed suit.
Hershel was impressed to realize it had been Tommy, quiet, unassuming, Tommy.
The race was the following morning, but most spectators and teams alike had arrived the night before. One of the newer tracks, without even a proper parking lot, was filled with other groups that had shared the boys' idea in following the circuit that summer. Some farmer's open field that Piston Cup had rented for the weekend was filled with people sleeping in the backs of their station wagons, some with campers and some incredibly adventurous individuals sleeping in the beds of their trucks.
Someone had thought ahead, and there were large stacks of firewood pockmarking the field. While none of them had yet been able to get a fire lit, one of their neighboring Piston fans had been more than happy to do so. They then instructed them on how to maintain it. If they couldn't figure it out from there, well...
Somehow the conversation had turned to moonshine. The screen to the camper stuck, and Billy was forced to kick it shut as he returned to their circle, listening to Hershel attempt to explain how the concept of running moonshine had helped shape the sport they'd all become so entranced with.
Billy, though, while trying to listen and possibly share what he knew, was distracted by different groups of young adults walking through the maze of fires. Some their age, some older, and surprisingly, some of them at least twice the age of the oldest in their group.
"Oh, come on." Dean poked at the fire with a small stick. "There's no way half of them-"
"I didn't say they still do. That's just how it started..."
"There's no way Goldenboy Hudson has ever-"
"Ever what?"
The group fell silent at the question posed by someone outside their circle. Billy paled considerably, having heard enough interviews on the radio to know who was standing just past the ring of light from their fire. As his eyes adjusted, he realized there were about five or six people standing in a group at the edge of the little area they'd claimed for the rest of the weekend.
"I think he was gunna say you've never touched shine, Hud."
"Well there goes my image, huh."
Dean attempted to puff up his chest, as if bravado would win him points. "You've never actually-"
He was cut off by Tommy, once more surprising everyone when he started asking questions while the rest of them sat there dumbfounded.
"Did moonshine really start it?"
"That's a little before our time." One of the others in the group replied, and when Dean tried to say they'd just proven his point, he spoke over him. "Doesn't mean we don't still make it."
"Well. You make it." Another chimed in. "We just deliver it."
"Junior Moon's got the best shine this side of the Mississippi."
"Wait, what side of the Mississippi are we on."
"Doesn't matter."
The younger boys felt their nerves ease at the chatter between the drivers. Still starstruck and afraid to speak, it took a while for them all to finally get around to introducing themselves, feeling ridiculous when they stumbled over their own names.
"No it's Hershel- but you know, no one ever calls me-"
"Hershey. Like the chocolate bar."
He blinked, unsure if he was being made fun of or if they were including him in their banter.
"Don't mention food, I haven't eaten in hours."
"For the love of- Jesse, shut up."
"Do you think Ruth has chocolate."
"What did I just-" There was an exasperated sigh in the dark. "Go. Just go."
"Well I wouldn't wanna wake her up."
"Make up your mind."
The younger group was a little stunned, but didn't miss the knowing look The Fabulous Hudson Hornet shot at the other drivers they recognized. It made more sense once introductions were continued, the #51 crew chief was more intimidating in stance than the driver was...
The high school graduates were surprised when the drivers stuck around, a few of them ducking out now and then and always returning with something they'd left in search of. Hudson returned with who everyone assumed must have been Ruth until introductions were made, and to Will's utter dismay, she just happened to be the girl who'd been with Emily Piston months before. She either didn't remember them, or had decided not to comment, either way was fine with him.
For all their talk of shine, a jar of Junior's last batch had found its way there, and as the night wore on, they'd somehow gained a crowd of at least twenty-five people.
"There's no moonshine where I'm from." Tommy commented while looking at the cup in his hand.
Junior was quick to remove that cup. "Just looking at you I can tell you're too young for that."
"But they-"
"Are under some very watchful eyes." He gestured to everyone from his own group, and how once pointed out, it was very obvious they were keeping an eye on things.
So much for clueless country rough necks, drivers knew the possible penalties involved with alcohol near a track.
Conversations shifted, starting on one topic and ending on an entirely different subject. It was as chaotic as a race at moments, comments being interjected out of nowhere, overheard statements being expanded upon, or questions being answered by someone other than who it had been intended for. It was camaraderie over a shared interest.
"Where are you all from anyway?" Someone finally asked.
"New York." Will replied around a mouthful of chocolate. Someone had finally had enough and hunted some down.
Jesse nearly dropped what he was doing. "Someone let these Yankees in my territory- where are we anyway."
"Alabama." Ruth replied patiently.
"Alabama."
"Isn't Georgia your territory." Billy asked in a moment of forced courage.
"Cheeky." Jesse glanced up at him dully from where he'd knelt beside the fire. Standing, he held out what he'd been holding. "It's been fun, kiddos, but the drivers need to leave if we expect to drive tomorrow."
The others had already begun to gather their things, thinking the same.
"Make sure you bet on the winner tomorrow."
Billy ignored their parting remarks, realizing exactly what he'd been handed. "Wait. What is this?"
Jesse had let Ruth in front of him as they had turned to leave the other direction. These northern kids and not knowing anything... "A Roman Candle."
"What?"
"Have fun."
Luckily he'd fished out the one with an incredibly long fuse, giving the poor kid more than enough time to figure it out before the thing went off.
River motioned to a pile of them on the far side of the camper, away from the fire. "Left you some."
While the drivers might have left to get a decent nights rest before the race, they were up until all hours carousing and sharing what they'd all just experienced in disbelief.
The next morning they paid for it. No one had woken early enough to purchase decent tickets and the race had sold out. Despite being stuck on the outside of the fence, they watched the race with as rapt attention as they ever had, shoulder to shoulder in front of the chain link fence, looking down over the bank at a field of cars and breathing the dust and grime kicked up every time they passed.
They didn't have seats in the stands, but they had a front row seat to the checkered flag waving over #51 with #34 only inches behind.
"What's this track again?" Will asked.
"It's so new it hasn't been officially named." Billy replied.
That was an odd thought, something being so new it was unnamed but obviously in use. "Then where are we exactly? Closest town I mean."
Hershel finally looked away from the track and down the line of boys.
"Talladega."