Chapter 21: Memorial

Her eyes didn't open, but she was awake. Melise stretched on her axles, and inhaled the comfy scent of the covers around her. These hotel beds were so different from her own bed. The duvet felt like a hefty warm wave of water hugging her. Her rims were warm and tingly as she reminisced the day. Her supervisor told her to relax as he delivered her breakfast. The deep purple curtains shielding all rays of sunlight from entering her suite as she slept, a long deep sleep, the kind that happens once in a lifetime...

She opened her lids spontaneously, seeing the blue curtains of her bedroom. The sunlight hardly streaming through the dimming fabric, and her comforters warm and blue in color. The room wasn't elegant and royal purple. It didn't blossom a foreign excitement and wonder with a skyline of Nashville out the window. There was no race to prepare for, only another day in the slow lane.

She straightened herself up on her tires, taking an easy wide-mouthed yawn, ignoring the protests of her bandaged fender. A draining feel— an almost depressing feeling of boredom wiped across her world. There wasn't much to expect today. There was no cruise with Shannon, no speeding race cars, no oil running, and it sucked.

After freshening up, Melise took a moment to look at herself in the mirror. The peachy fibreglass Her fender hadn't been much of a concern the past few days. In fact, she was certain it had healed up faster than the doctor speculated. Indefinitely, there was still some discomfort with certain movement, and sometimes there was pain, but her fender was the least of her worries, her life was spiraling down into a depressive state of boredom, and she couldn't bear it.

"Ready to go?" Vanda mused as she peeked under the bedroom garage door.

Melise jumped, reversing into her bed. Her cab jerking to a stop as her rear end hit the frame, "Ah, heh... yes!" She took a deep breath trying to make light of being caught off guard by her mother's invasion into her room. She had told her to knock first numerous times, but naturally, she didn't.

Vanda giggled at her little display. "Let's go, the cafe awaits!"

Melise put on a fake smile as she followed her mother out of their home. She just wanted to go back to sleep and dream about being an oil runner again.

The air had changed. Instead of burning rubber, gasoline and exhaust, A sweetened scent of popping corn, sweets and refreshing beverages filled the speedway and hotel. Annually, the Piston Cup series took a day off from the hustle and bustle of racing. Fast race cars, talented driving, loud engines, and hollering fans— it took a back seat to honor the late racing legend, The Fabulous Hudson Hornet, and all his humble glory. Racers, technicians, crews and reporters alike, took to spending the Tuesday like it was a Sunday evening. The speedway mellowed down to eager small groups of fans joyfully racing one another. Hudson Hornet themed treats and souvenirs florished the hotel and speedway.

Ray noticed the memorial was receiving a full tank of support this year. Beside many fuzzy Hudson toys, lay a stuffed, red, Rust-Eze race car, smiling his confident grin of life. Blue and Red ornaments coated the scenery, and Ray felt his engine warm in the atmosphere. There was no need to be busy today.

"Reverham! It's great seeing you again," A voice came from behind the crew chief. He turned swiftly, a surprised look on his grille.

"Stats?" Ray looked the bi-spectacle car up and down. He hadn't seen the data wrangler since Storm was merely a trainee at the academy.

"Pleasure seeing you," he grinned. Ray returned a smile.

"I've been keeping an eye on Storm and Treadless since they've 'graduated' racing school," he said, emphasizing his wording. "I see that Storm hasn't given up. He's still at the top of his scores."

"He doesn't quit." Ray replied, remembering Storm's very own words.

"He'd better not, there are more youngsters coming into the series quickly— some of the best in their hometowns."

"He trains diligently everyday. The simulator is like a drug to him, I don't think there's much of a worry. He's giving his all, that matters most." Ray said. He watched as some Piston Cup employees— one dressed similar to the late retiree, Bobby Swift, and another, a dark blue pick up truck, laughing hysterically as they popped balloons in each other's front end. The red and blue balloons bursting loudly under the weight of their tires.

"What do you say we catch up, Ray?" Stats asked. He began driving, Ray followed by his side. "I know a lounge you might like."

When Ray entered the professional setting lounge, he felt as if he was in his very own dream. The place was free of noise, free of children, and all around refreshing. Older coupes and sedans alike took it upon themselves to relax, sipping quarts of oil, and reading newspapers. Some conversed respectfully among each other, while others enjoyed the quiet atmosphere, as Ray and Stats parked in an empty booth.

"I still recall seeing him racing around a training track, free of IGNTR's sponsors," Stats said, a smile growing on his grille. "I have to say, I'm proud of Mister Storm."

"If he keeps up his streak, they'll award him a platinum Piston Cup." Ray stated, watching a waitress forklift pass by, giving him a sweet smile he returned kindly.

Stats began reading his menu with interest. "Or a sponsorship under Dinoco," he glanced up to the crew chief in front of him. Ray was lost in thought. If Stats knew the chief any better, he must've been imagining Jackson Storm painted light blue, and more gruff than usual. He looked haunted by the image.

"Well, I'll be having the meatball medley," the bi-spectacle car said, removing his eyes from the menu in front, and changing the subject.

"Let's not get get ahead of ourselves with Storm. His sportsmanship is still rough around the edges." Ray soon replied.

Stats breathed a sigh, giving no answer. Ray knew he had seen some of Jackson's less 'finer' days during his time at the academy. He didn't need to answer.

Ray was relaxing for once, and there was no reason to worry today. But he couldn't shake the dilemma that came with being Storm's crew chief. To put it simply, he was a talented jerk. Fast and foul, unique and unsettling, confident and crass. It was never a good mix, and Ray had gone up and down trying to break the distasteful traits before conflict began. He wasn't lucky in stopping the brash force of Storm from hurting some cars, but Ray considered Jackson to be fortunate either way. IGNTR had seemingly pushed it under the rug, and kept their cool with him, thankfully. Ray just wasn't sure how long they, or anyone would put up with him. There were no true obstacles standing in Storm's way, so it was seemingly impossible to straighten him out for a reason he could grasp.

"Relax, Chief," Stats said, breaking Ray from his thoughts. "You're a great trainer and mentor. If Mister Storm doesn't want to see a different perspective, he cannot be forced, perhaps due time is on your side with those wins of his."

Ray nodded once, thinking over Stats' words of wisdom. He was right. The time would come, and Ray was almost certain it was already happening. Nonetheless, if Jackson continued to keep a low profile with his taunts, fortune was likely on his side. His greater qualities could shine, like his confidence, his carefree obligation, and most importantly, his talent as the fastest car in the circuit.

Today was a good day, a relaxing day. And Ray wanted to keep things that way. The chief looked to see the same forklift from earlier park in front of their table, her warm smile returning.

"Hello, are you gentlemen ready to order?"

"I would rather you stayed at home, but..." Vanda began, trailing off as she studied Melise's bandages. The two cruised down the path, reaching the cafe as Melise gave her mother a reproachful look.

"I'm fine, I just... need to get out more often," Melise said, her voice bland and bored.

Vanda pushed open the twin glass doors of her cafe, noting Melise's surprised expression. The doors had never been glass.

Before Vanda could explain, or unhook her tow of oil pies, Melise was inside, taking a view of the dimmed and different interior. Her doe eyes lit up as she circled the dining room, staring in each direction with her mouth slightly agape.

When Vanda turned on the lights from the new designer chandeliers, the cafe presented itself with overwhelming beauty. Once barren tables were clothed with red, parking mats replaced to match. The walls— a new warm cream color, with red accents along the ceiling and floor edges. Windows were replaced and widened, giving an entire garage length of sunlight to awaken the diner.

Melise felt the familiar feeling once again. She could remember her tires tingling as she rolled across the Wheelsworth Inn's purple carpeted floors. She could feel the new, wholesome atmosphere returning.

"You look impressed," Vanda said, a smile on her front as she headed to the order counter.

"It... I... it's amazing," Melise cruised to back of the cafe, passing her prideful mother. She noticed a medium sized space, curtains pinned to each side.

"Is that a stage?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah, I remembered how you used to sing those cute little songs in pre-school, so I threw it in with everything else."

"Oh, Mom, I can't sing!" Melise gave Vanda a horrified look.

"Then maybe we'll find a customer who can!" Vanda joked, "I really hope you like the place, Hon'. I know how much you dreaded being here when you were younger."

Melise frowned. She could remember whining and crying some days after school out of boredom because Vanda was so busy. Her mother's RPM were skyrocketing whilst little Melise's tantrums in the staff room made the stress worse. One of the less fond memories she had of the cafe. Something she made up for as she blossomed into a mature young lady, ready to support her mother every step of the way.

"I love it. I mean it." Melise said, honesty in her tone. She could see her mother's eyes light up.

"Great! Because I love it too!" Vanda squealed.

"Okay, now we open in an hour. A shipment is also supposed to arrive, along with the forklifts for prep."

"Take it easy, okay?" Vanda pat her daughter's bandaged fender with her tire. "You're still injured."

Melise watched Vanda head into the storage room behind the front counter. She was alone on the dining room floor.

Things were going to be different, there were new expectations. For the first time since she let the Piston Cup Series, Melise was ready to start the day.

Several weeks prior, the high life of the fast lane as a rookie Piston Cup racer was an exhilarating, new experience. Now, it was an annoying fanfare with stuffed toys and balloons everywhere. It was now evening, and Jackson felt as if he were at a silly carnival. He glanced from his opened trailer among the crowds of fans, racers, families and Piston employees alike. Some officials noticed the rookie champion, and began snapping photos of him, congratulating Jackson on his several wins.

"Storm! Do you have any advice for the fans out there, hoping to make it to the big leagues?"

"Train hard, maybe you'll beat me one day. Maybe," he replied, boredom on his hood. He rolled from his trailer, towards the exit of the speedway, ignoring several glances. The training facility was the place to be. No annoying cars, no Chick Hicks prancing around in front of a camera. Just him, and his private simulator.

The facility was barren, not a car in sight. Jackson began his cruise towards the transparent room, inscribed with his intricate hurricane emblem on the door. The racer quickly braked, glancing towards the large showcased twin simulators in the opposite direction. He could hear an engine revving low, and soon realized he wasn't alone. Treadless was firmly transfixed on the game of Super Corsa 3, better known as SC3, and reeling in point after point on his laps.

"Wow, Treadless," Jackson said, sarcasm slightly evident in his confident tone, startling the racer, "looks like you finally got better on the sim."

Tim swerved, his virtual experience soon ending in turmoil as his points decreased with his spin out.

"Dammit!" he paused the machine, shooting a glare Storm's way.

"We could settle this," Storm said, hopping on the simulator beside.

"I beat you once, I'll do it again." Tim sneered, starting the race between the two.

Jackson hadn't played SC3 in nearly a month, but he was certain his skills were fine tuned. Treadless wasn't a threat, not on the race track and not a chance on the simulator.

As the virtual green flag waved, both racers revved their engines, speeding past their computer competitors. Storm found the game suddenly a feeble joke. When he was a fresh rookie, Super Corsa was still something of a fun challenge. Now, it was akin to taking a cruise down an empty freeway. Everything not only moved more smoothly than ever before, but the virtual racers were slower than McQueen. Jackson hardly raised his RPM's as he clocked in at 210 miles per hour, winning the race with ease.

"You don't have to be such a dick about it," Tim said, his tone resonating annoyance as he listened to Jackson hooting beside him as the virtual trophy enscribed his name on it.

"Relax, Treadless," Storm replied, sensing his opponent's defeat. "it's all in the talent on the track. Besides, these virtual cups aren't as awesome as the real thing."

"You know, when I heard you won at Copper Canyon, I figured you actually became a race car with sportsmanship, guess I was—"

Jackson began his joyful spells again, as Treadless glanced to the screen, hearing the simulator of SC3 emphasize Storm had broke his previous record of 202 miles per hour. The last record made when the two had first raced against one another at the training academy months prior. Storm was too estatic, engraved, and embezzled in the game to care about what Tim had to say. The Nitroade racer descended from his place on the simulator, and made his exit, a look of annoyance and defeat on his front.

"Time to take that victory lap!" Storm mused, a grin on his front as he revved his engine loudly, the empty facility trembling under its energy.

When Gale entered the facility, she wasn't surprised to find Storm hooting and hollering in joy. She watched the racer revving from a distance. A smile graze across her grille. She always felt her engine get a little bit warmer when she could see Jackson was visibly pleased, grinning from fender to fender. He spent so many days being stern and serious for the cameras that he looked like a happy little boy right now.

Jackson was in his own world as he celebrated, taking no notice of his hauler watching outside his private booth. Gale could have spent her time counting each lug nut and tire on his trailer, but instead she was more interested in seeing if Storm would take the opportunity she and Quincy gave him several days ago- to call the convertible, and ease his tension. Seemingly, tension wasn't an issue at all, as Jackson was as stress-free as he could be right now. That game was something else.

Gale didn't like to admit the inevitable, but it was all for the better, indefinitely. IGNTR didn't deserve another stunt of bad publicity to ward if anything happened again, neither did Ray. Jackson was maturing more each day, and with each new winning knot under his tire, came new opportunities and more challenges to take on.

"Wanted some fairy-tale for the two of them too, huh?"

Gale glanced behind in her mirrors to see Quincy approaching, and soon idling by her side. "They're going their separate ways, and it's the best for both of 'em. Gotta admit though, the guy is still hard to read, even after working with him for almost a month."

"And what made you switch gears so quickly?" Gale asked.

"Well, Storm's not up for giving his time to her, and she didn't want to continue her supscription for the Deal of A Lifetime." Quincy said simply. Gale chuckled beside him.

"She had to leave. Not willingly, Quincy," Gale replied, matter of factually.

"I like my version better," the forklift replied.

"Spying on me again?"

Both vehicles nearly jumped from their chassis', seeing Jackson Storm, and all his glory, idling in front of them. His grey eyes half closed and suspicious. After a moment of silence, he rolled past the two, keeping his eyes trained on them till he passed. He let free a deep yawn as he exited the training center, making it clear he didn't expect an answer. Gale and Quincy eased after the racer was gone.

"New plan," Gale said, clearing her throat to make an announcement "Why don't we forget everything that has happened— as in, no more plans, and go get some drinks?"

"Fine by me," Quincy replied with a grin leading the way out of the center.

The place was beaming. Cars filled the cafe like never before, many taking a bite of Vanda's special of the day, her homemade pies, placed on red plates to commemorate Mr. Lightning McQueen. Melise was smiling bright, keeping her distance behind the scenes in the closed off hall near the washrooms and staff room. She could remember being cooped up in the staff room years ago feeling comfort away from prying eyes, but lonely and boundless. Now, she was eager to get on the dining floor and see the bustling atmosphere for herself.

She watched her mother interact with each customer as if they were family. The smiles, the giggles, the compassion. It was amazing. Throughout the diner, cars enjoyed their meals and company alike. It was like all the dreams of success Vanda had mixed into one with Melise's very own missing adventure.

A young red car hopped on stage, a shy smile on her hood as her mother grinned and cheered her on from the small audience. She had a camera attached to her rim.

"Go on, Sweetie, give us your best! Oh, and smile for the camera!" the silver SUV said, as her daughter smiled back.

The young girl's confidence seemed to sky rocket back under the cheers of her family and on lookers. She smiled a toothy grin, and revved her engine as loud as she could.

"SPEED, I AM SPEED! QUICKER THAN QUICK FASTER THAN FAST, I AM MADDY!"

Melise giggled to herself, a bright smile on her fenders as the cafe cheered for the young fan, her shy smile returning as she huddled under her mother's treads.

"Are you, Miss Melise Rūūnes?" a sudden voice came, a slight posh accent to it. Melise turned on her wheels swiftly, facing a shimmering white Lexus, professional written all over her appearance.

The expensive-looking coupe could see the convertible hesitant to answer as she looked her over. She studeied the Honda's peach paintjob, the doeness of her eyes. It was definitely the car she was looking for.

"You can relax, I don't mean to intrude," the woman said, a smile grazing her glossy grille. "You can call me Reyna. I'm here representing business tycoon, Eddie Turo."

Melise returned the smile nervously, and soon, giving her a perplexed look. "Eddie Turo?" she repeated, inquiring to understand.

"Yes, Mr. Eddie Turo, owner of Element Sleek Rims, worldwide fashion icon for those looking to spice up their RPM." the worlds rolled of her tongue with such spunk and confidence that Melise could feel herself getting smaller.

"You have met Jackson Storm!?" she mused, reading the signature on her left fender, ignoring Melise's sudden embarrassment. "Oh! Mr. Turo is a fan too!"

"Well, i-it's nice to meet you, Reyna. Are you enjoying your time here at the diner?" Melise desperately tried to change the subject.

"Yes— oh my! You are just as cute as in the magazine!" Reyna replied suddenly. Melise could feel some guilt creeping back in. In a magazine? Was this about her 'harassing' Jackson Storm again?

"Okay, umm, I better go now—"

"Wait!"

Melise frowned and glanced at the Lexus once more. She looked so out of place in the casual lounge atmosphere of the cafe.

"Okay, listen," Reyna began, her expression becoming serious. "Mr. Turo has been scouting for a talent natural enough to represent his new line of rims and tires to match. He found you to be perfect for the opportunity through your interaction with racers."

Melise froze in place. She wasn't sure for a moment if she was dreaming or her engine shut off. Someone found her 'model material'?

"Wha-What?" her hushed voice was caught in her throat. Reyna studied her convertible frame without any shame on her hood.

"I know, it must be hard to believe, this different encounter and all. However, Mr. Turo has never been wrong in his choices." Reyna stamped a personal business card to Melise's inner tread, keeping it from the eyes of viewers.

"Now I hope this isn't much of a bad time," Reyna said, examining the convertible's bandages, "but that card has our personal number on it, we only give these to clients we are interested in meeting." She turned to examine the tray of snack size pies being towed by one of Vanda's employee forklifts, and elegantly slid one in front of her from the others. replacing the pie with several bills. The forklift's eyes lit up with gratitude as Reyna nodded a thank you. Melise seemed stunned.

"Give us a call, Mr. Turo would love to have you on his team," she gave her a sweet smile, reversing away with her pie in tread. "Oh, and, you make great pies here."

Melise listened to the soft hums of her V8 engine as she gracefully left the cafe. She was stunned, confused and amazed all at the same time. She reversed into the staff room, grateful it was empty.

Element Sleek Rims? Was that what the Lexus said? Wasn't that a brand name rim company known for it's luxurious and expensive rims? The CEO wanted her for his new line? Was this real? Was it some sort of joke?

Melise stared at her reflection in the long wall mirror. She look the same as always. Plain peach fibreglass on a Honda. Her tires were dainty and her hood was rosy, perhaps even rosier than usual. Her fender was still covered in bandages, and was steadily throbbing with the new discomfort.

'Me?' she thought, staring back. 'That can't be true.'

The staff room door swung open, and Vanda cruised in with glee. "Ah, today is a great day!" She spun on her tires as she caught sight of Melise's expression.

"Everything okay?"

Melise glanced to her mother, her doe eyes becoming inviting and content. "Everything is just... peachy."