author's note:
it's been over a month! Yes this story is still going and going! I hope I didn't keep you guys waiting too too long— I've run into some spells of writer's block, and it makes constructing the story this far more difficult. Rest assured, I have more chapters for you.
So, Melise is actually based off the S2000 2017/2018 concept. I hadn't realized the vehicle didn't actually exist yet past visual construction, because well, I don't exactly drive much in real life either. Kind of a shallow brain when it comes to vehicles, but I try!
Stay tuned, I'm going to try my best to update within days like I did when I first began this fiction, I owe you that much!
They called it "aerodynamic shape". Square lights that streaked the sides of a speeding car, and paved a path of status. Detailed design was in the engine, some of the fittest vehicles that drove the world. That standard beauty that swooned ladies with streamline, and beckoned men with curves. Sure, any car could get those Le Mans genes, but on the contrary, few could pack the horsepower that came with it.
That didn't really matter though, different cars had better qualities to take on, they didn't need to ride low and get chassis burn on hot asphalt. "Sporty" cars ideals were getting old. Why friction downforce drag with a lame spoiler when you could be the toughest on the road instead?
Tony flexed his jaw, revving his guttural Silverado engine. He wasn't breaking much of a sweat as he tugged a single hefty oil tank from the entrance of the pit road, to the runners' secluded corner. Steel metal grinded noisily on the pavement, disturbing the nearby Yaris completing his own task. His lower lid twitched as the pick-up's obnoxious duty showered annoyance.
Yarvis let his wheel do the work, tearing the plastic sealing brand new packs of oil cans. Beside him, several large boxes waited to be opened, a long and dissatisfying stock process throughout the day.
"Can you just load 'em on your bed!?" the sedan snarled nasally, catching Tony by surprise, "Holy Chevy that's irritating!"
Tony inserted his own glare, ready to hold his ground, "So? You're opening plastic cans and tossing it all over the road!" he glanced to some bubble wrapping caught in his left mud flap, attempting to shake it lose.
"Remember when Boss said to work smart?" Yarvis rebuffed, tossing a fresh unsealed container into the growing pile, "try that." he hissed imperiously.
"Oh, so suddenly you care about…" the navy truck narrowed his lids, thought crossing his mind as he searched for a fancy word to call Yarvis. One word in his simple vocabulary to make the Toyota in front of him feel stupider than stupid.
Yarvis watched him muddled in thought, pulling a quart of iced coolant fuel close and taking a sip, "I swear Pick-up trucks are the worst."
Tony gritted his teeth. His brilliance was making them money at some point, albeit, spend on knick- knacks and obsolete items that wouldn't last. He took a glance at the silver chipping away at the grooves of his new, Carson Vitrom rims. But to call his entire being a liability? Yeah right, that was another story.
"Who is the one carrying all the tanks down Pit road!? Who was the one that towed Kessler back to the tents when he ran out of gas and got heatstoke!?" Yarvis shook his hood with the roll of his eyes. Tony was rambling his superior gold-plated engine again.
"… I've been working the hardest here! You can't even tow with those weak four-cylinders you were built with!"
The Toyota pulled angrily around his messy work station, lining up head on with the truck. Tony curled his lip defiantly, "Back up or I'll run you off the road."
Yarvis hardly flinched, "For proving my point earlier!? All you do is cause problems!" He accelerated forward, catching Tony by surprise. Metal crushed together, and the sedan growled furiously as he pushed the truck into the tents. Canisters filled with fresh oil toppled, skidding both vehicles in the fuss.
Tony found himself pinned against one of his oil dispensaries. The tank creaked and wobbled as his rear made contact with it. His shiny new rims felt like they were coming loose again. He accelerated and forced Yarvis in reverse. The cloudy mess of friction rubber brought Tony to further agitation before Yarvis reversed quickly away from the garble of smoke.
"Why the hate all of a sudden?" Tony asked mid-pant. He glanced amongst his three coworkers, "You guys never heard of teamwork?"
Yarvis scoffed, "You're the last one who should be talking about teamwork! You can barely do the job!"
The truck kept his glance crossed, "Am I the one who got fired?"
"You should've been! At least she knew how to fill the cans properly!"
Tony gave Grid and Preston an expecting glance. The two vehicles weren't defending him like they should.
"Am I the only one that heard what Boss said!?" Yarvis reversed in a quick motion, turning to face the empty speedway. Tony squinted in confusion aimed at the whining Toyota. He exchanged a glance with Grid. The grey coupe wasn't his usual upbeat self, in fact, he was as lame as Preston idling beside him. The two looked like they were low on octane, and it made for a stab at Tony's pride.
"What are you even talking about?"
Yarvis turned to face the truck. The sedan felt about his grille with his treads, searching for another reason to be angry. When he found no damage, he glared once more, "It's because you just had nothing better to do, so you had to panhandle!"
The pick-up was clueless, "Quit driving around the bush," he retorted, "I never begged anyone for money. Why would I when I have a job!?"
"The pictures you six cylinder idiot!" Yarvis yelled back, "Remember—" he looked up trying to recall their former coworker. Preston and Grid, idling silently didn't seem to care for its subject matter. Yarvis continued, "Remember 'What's her hood?' You just had to invade and take pictures when we all knew we weren't supposed to be near the race cars."
Tony's grille crinkled in stupor, "She knew she wasn't supposed to bother them either! What difference does it make!?"
"That you decided to sell them!" the sedan sprawled his tires out as he enunciated. He rolled his eyes to the obvious statement.
"And you helped!" Tony shouted with a short acceleration forward, a shameless attempt to intimidate the car, "So how is this all my fault!?"
Grid watched the two stare down each other. Tony packed those heavy axles meant for punching, they couldn't all get in trouble again. He inched forward slowly, but didn't know what else to say.
"Everyone was in on it. Grid was the mastermind behind everything, even Preston and Kessler were in on it! You included!"
The commotion was enough to bring the RAM truck into the nearby vicinity. His expression wore a permanent look of contempt. The runners' contract ended in late February and training for replacement staff was lamented. His reputation was faltering too. The oil runners turned in unison to address him approaching, uncertainty on their hoods.
"What are you doing, chatting? Get back to work."
"Sir," Yarvis called, "We've been cleaning and doing maintenance all day—"
"And I did all the heavy duty stuff," Tony interrupted proudly.
The runners' supervisor took a glance about the speedway, finding it surprisingly up to par. The oil tanks were lined up properly for once down the crew lot of Pit Road. Still, there was sand scattered on the rubble strips, blown in from Daytona outside. That needed to be swept, and shrewd list of other menial tasks to buy the time. He would praise them, had they understood this was the expected standard of minimum wage crew months prior.
"Can we go on break now?" Grid nagged on. His usual Octane Gain fan decals were missing, leaving a barren grey paint job. If the odds weren't anymore likely, that melted plastic purple goo grudgingly thrown in the entrance waste bin was melted in the Floridian heatwave. The coupe himself waited impatient and uncomfortable for his dismissal. He blinked slowly under the beating sunlight.
"One hour and a half," the RAM lectured. He reversed to let the group pass. All but one left. The navy blue pick-up truck idled with an ignoble twist of his features. With a nonchalant glance, the RAM left though a tunnelling exit to the main road, leaving them to their merits. They'd known enough not to cause trouble, and he didn't have the energy to deal with it.
Tony's composure was gnawed at the edges. The dried gravel caked on his fenders was nothing a torque powered lineage couldn't handle. However, the nagging rust of these guys and their agitation was wearing thin.
They weren't far away, and regular maintenance vehicles were continuously prepping the track. Tony wasn't alone, save for Kessler being absent in the auto shop— but with the guys parked someplace else sparce of an invitation, the itch was getting too rusty.
Grid had on that sly grin, the one that suggested he was actually enjoying Yarvis and Preston's company. The Toyota's sentences were slow judging from his mouth movement, and Preston inched forward, then in a neutral reverse of repetition. He was chilling, buying the time, probably dreaming about Lightning McQueen.
Just like that, Grid was out. Tony settled in leisure, reversing under the closest empty tent he could find. Maybe the bromance was over, but he got the last punch. Take it or leave it, Tony would veer that sedan and all his friends off the road if they decided to challenge him again. Opting to ignore the building urge, the pick-up winded down, letting his engine cool off. He closed his lids, listening to a lone Boeing plane echoing through the sky.
Shiny new rims took some getting used to, but Tony was well prepared when he bought them, at least, so he planned. The truck opened his bored lid, raising his right tire and shaking it. As to be expected, the heavy hub fell to the pavement with a thud. He had gotten used to the noise, it happened everyday. Tony hadn't thought of the likelihood of an expensive piece of material being unable to do it's one job. He pushed the rim on its display side, catching a glare of sunlight and shimmering. Some scratches trimmed the spokes, and the lugnuts were always coming loose. He scoffed, maybe it was a waste of two hundred dollars, yet, he didn't really pay for it, so it didn't sway much guilt.
Grid was under the money spell too. He had a chunk of four hundred split his way, and likely spent a quarter of it on some high-grade octane. The rest likely on as much Octane Gain souvenirs he could grab. His decals were melted in the heatwave, so a good investment was imminent. The guy was sneaky— the kind that Tony needed to compliment his gruffness.
He took a half-open glance in the direction of his friends, finding the cars gone. Immediately, Tony straightened his cab, surveying the track for them. Amongst infield grass being cut, to a single sweeper engine beginning rounds on the track, the guys were nowhere.
It was a toss away of pride for the lone pick-up truck to finally give into his curiosity, and head where the trio once were. Raising high on his suspension was a good way to waver any fear his face showed. They ditched him, and Tony would be damned if they were messing with his belongings at the motel. His frown twined with malice of the thought. What was the problem all of a sudden? Didn't they like the extra bucks to drive around with? Sheesh.
Asphalt was gritty with a cream coating of sand patches. Tony's tires grated the grains to a soothing noise all off-road cars were accustomed to. Scaling tall beside several shaded awnings was the concrete wall, covered in aqua paper. Contingency sponsors lined its base, while a fence kept soon-to-be fans secure in the grandstands. The levels were huge. Each titanium rod held up another, and yet another several hundred rows of parking for spectators. The further up his eyes travelled, the larger it massed. Fortunately, his eyes couldn't roll under his roof, yet the emphasis beckoned enough.
That's when he heard that nervous, nasally tone again. The truck brought his attention to the tunnel adjacent. It's lights were off, boring an underpass that kept all natural light out. He didn't need to guess who was inside, their hushed voices and measly headlamps did enough. Tony narrowed his features in suspicion, he couldn't make out the words, let alone what they were doing. This was the track's maintenance exit, no car— let alone race team could open the steel fencing.
Well, a strong four-by-four could ram it down, but that was besides the point...
The closer Tony etched in, articulacy was clearer. Three rear-ends faced him, their mirror's too dusty to spy him. He kept even his mediocre day lights off. These guys were up to something, and based on the nonchalant tilt of Grid's cab, Tony almost felt a sense of fright when he saw those doe eyes all over again.
Parking to the left of the double yellow line, Tony kept his sights silently peeled.
"... you just look kinda," Yarvis trailed off unsure. his socially inept nerves acted up more than usual. That nasally air filter was doing him no good. At the least, he was concerned more than utterly disturbed. The sedan normally wore some out-dated glasses, it was a good thing he wasn't wearing them now, although he couldn't look anymore pinheaded than he normally did.
Maybe it was the lighting outside, or she really did look trashy. Tony found his expression becoming a grimace, that was too harsh. He took another glance as the quad of cars discussing matters without as little as a glance his way. She was behind the fence, treads pushed against as her dumply lips were slightly parted, free of that lip gloss thing girls loved. Her cheeks were flushed heavily, contrasting the gravelling loom of dissonance on her features to the comments on her appearance. She listened to Yarvis stumble to come up with words to a question. She blinked wearily, probably annoyed. Tony's late arrival would hardly have an explanation either. After all, they excluded him.
"Does it not sound fair?"
Chrysler! He almost forgot how soft her voice was. Like a drive on a brand new paved highway. The guilt was coming back, and coincidentally, his designer rim came loose again. It's heavy weight slid down his tread, shuddering on the asphalt. The noise didn't stir them, thankfully, yet Tony's horrified expression as he tucked the hub under his front end, holding it sheepishly in place with his now bland right tire.
"Uh," Grid looked amongst his pals, "we didn't make those pictures."
"Oh, you did," Melise deadpanned. Those doe eyes declared a vendetta. Smeared makeup that dried around peeling chrome-yellow polish. Black and grey sparkling liquid stained her inner hood, and fell in crescent down her round quarters. It all made for an unwavering, yet increasingly creepy antagonism.
"And you sold them to any vehicle whose lives were boring enough to buy it."
Based on his frozen position, Tony could've guessed Grid was stumped. The other two sedans kept quiet. Preston's back tires shook slightly, feverishly trying to mask his own pure guilt. He was good to her. However, he was also keen to follow the crowd.
Her sullen eyes scanned the three with an elegant edge of loath, "Tell me," she queried softly, "Why did you do it?"
When no one answered, she enumerated further, "Was the twenty dollars an hour to fix cans of oil too little for you? Perhaps you couldn't stand having someone around who took the silly little job seriously."
Tony nearly hit his gear to traverse back through the tunnel when Yarvis' white reverse lights came on. Saved by chance again, the Toyota only cleared a small stretch just short of a meter. Red halting lights replaced the white once the comfortable distance was made.
"Yeah, but, we weren't all over Jackson Storm like a gnat," Grid defended sharply.
"Wholesome retort," she interposed, "Yet you suckled on making money off me like a parched mosquito."
The grey coupe had nothing else to say, and Tony wished he could see his expression. Neither were wrong in the calm debacle, but the rusty itch of culpability was still one-sided. It was only easier to ignore when it wasn't idling in front of you.
"We really didn't mean to get you fired," Yarvis' voice was wobbly, "it was all Tony's idea."
He fought the urge to snort piercingly. They really were trying to make this a fight night. Funny how much sedans loved to talk smack until a four-by-four was head-on with them.
"If you want to apologize, save it for the track," Melise rejected, "you can take up my fair offer, or wait for a letter in the mail from a lawyer."
Tony's engine felt cold despite the heat. She was prepared to sue them all of a sudden? Weeks to months later? He already spent some of his share. Chevy...
"Please," Yavis protested, his voice still stuffy, "don't take this to court, we—"
"We've already stopped selling them," Preston squeezed in. He was practically jittering in fear, "the supervisor stopped it."
"YOU ONLY CARED WHEN YOU WERE CAUGHT, RED-BUMPERED!" she bellowed. The trio collectively shuddered at the resonance of her ortund tone.
"We can settle this fair and square," Melise's voice softened, "if I win, you give me all the money you made off of me, zero lawsuits," she pressed her treads to indent the fencing cubes, "or, if you win, you go into hiding off-road, and pray I don't find you."
Damn, the odds were all against them. She was razor-sharp in her challenge. If she really wanted to do this, she was nuts. Racing a convertible? A dainty coupe like her wasn't fast. No way.
"But we don't have racing tires," Yarvis scrambled to excuse.
"Then it will be absolutely fair, because neither do I," Melise answered, a cheerful blow in her voice sent another shiver through Tony's circuits.
"Fine," Grid answered confident, "I'll do it, no sweat."
She looked at the other two, awaiting their options. Yarvis sucked a deep breath through his grille, "Fine. Fine then."
Preston looked unsure before staying true to his nurture of being a follower. He nodded his hood, clear fright twisted his features, although, Tony was certain it was merely the mention of a lawsuit.
"Is six o'clock okay? I know they usually close the track at 7:30." she asked. The trio looked amongst one another in unison. In their greatest rivalry, she was still punctual.
"Six it is," Grid snarled, "and just so you know, this is a dumb idea."
She reversed from the confines, "Only because you'll lose."
Tony took the cue, using his mirrors to guide the way back into sunshine. They couldn't stick around moping in that tunnel forever.
Once he hit the nearest EXIT, main road traffic coursed off the ramp above. The only way out was via the freeway route. Chrysler did he need a breather. Where did she come from anyway? It didn't help that she resembled road kill. The last car he needed to see was Melise Rūūnes. On the contrary, he would actually pay to see Yarvis' face when she appeared. Dorks were their own comedy show when they were in the same vicinity.
Tony would have to come back after break was over. Right now, he needed to find a crafty hideout in the fish bowl to watch the duel.
The effort was fleeting, and the drive gave some time to do something foreign since the past two days, think.
Her right turn signal was blinking. She idled at the edge of the curb, hardly paying much attention to the cars with the right-of-way on the main road. If she wasn't mistaken, most of them gave her a quick once over as they passed, some adjusted their mirrors for a second glance. At this point, she wasn't sure if it was due to a rubbish magazine article, or indifference caution on the roads.
The traffic light down the street was now amber, and she pulled out, free of absent traffic. Following the road, her glazed over eyes bore no wonder to the scenery. Daytona had a peaceful sunset over the waters, something she didn't care for.
Her lips were dry, much like the polish around her chassis. Sure, she had spoiled herself with a hot car wash, the jelly ultra shine even made her smell of pomegranates, her favourite. The stripping of wrapping irritated her natural hue. The cab was clean of splotchy makeup, left ashen and lifeless. Nevertheless, a wash couldn't remove mischief that was twined through her circuits.
The approaching light was green, yet she hardly acknowledged the Tucson that cut in front of he on his right turn. Slowing down was as much as needed, the speed limit existed for a reason. He groaned impatient as the next light abruptly became amber to a quick red. The moment was enough to look about her space cushion. Intuition Rule of the Road: One, it was always awkward to look at the driver beside you. Staring? Above all, weird. The traffic light couldn't take any longer to change, and the Kia sedan to the left lane couldn't be anymore of a gawker. He zoned over her curled cab, shamelessly checking out her hood last. With several spaced out slow blinks, she ignored it.
At times like this, it became increasingly obvious she was exquisite, notably more than she let herself acknowledge. Regardless, there was more to a car than their curves and plump lips.
The traffic moved through. As fast as he appeared, the Kia was off to his destination in the fast lane. A lone ramp swiveled to the ominous glowing dome a reasonable distance away. The first time she pryed there was no need to venture inside. She didn't need more reason to scorn her name. This time, she had to travel along the main route, giving way to nostalgia she wished wasn't so vivid.
It pissed her off, more than she expected it to. Whatever, she could have her comeuppance in about an hour.
Normally, this avenue would be backed up to Route 1, stretching down the freeway and congesting. Right now, with the evening sunset on the horizon behind the blue glow, and an ocean breeze through the empty street, she could take a deep breath. No reminiscence, just breathing.
They left the gate open for her. How kind of them.
She rounded the lit tunnel, only slightly claustrophobic as it winded to the track's back lot. Near the cavernous end, a green arrow perched below a sign. It read: STAFF ONLY.
The voices hushed as her engine echoed the tunnel. After a moment of braking and looking about the huge empty speedway, the same Toyota from earlier poked his hood out. He pulled himself from the safety behind three empty utility trailers.
"We thought you were security," Grid's nervous laugh came from the grandstands just above her. Beside him, Preston smiled awkwardly.
"I didn't spot any security cars around," Melise made a wide left turn. Her tires stopped where her eyes could see the duo and Yaris approaching.
"We didn't think they were around either, then we got caught a few times," Grid replied. He followed the red sedan down the ramp, disappearing behind interconnected tunnels.
With some confusion, the two cars emerged through a tunnel labeled as 'TWO'. Preston's eyes searched about, trying to figure out the elaborate maze he just rushed through.
"Okay, we're all here now," Yarvis stated. He looked at her, "we decided on ten laps."
Melise giggled, somewhat, the burst fell into snickers. She followed the Yaris to the Pits.
"What's so funny?" Preston asked.
"I just figured you would choose like forty, or a hundred laps," she answered simply and sweetly.
Grid rolled his eyes. She was really reaching this time around.
"Oh, and I almost forgot to mention," the convertible looked at the racer's view of the dome, scaling her eyes up the thousands of lots, "Either one of you can race on my team, or sit out."
The trio looked like Deere in the headlights.
"Wha? Wait! You want one of us to help you rob us!?" Grid raised a lid, aghasted.
"Ahem, you robbed me, remember?" her tone sounded a girly revolt as the last of the sentence went up an octave.
The trio inspected one another, trying to pin the task on one unlucky car dumb enough to take it.
"... Just—" Grid's tire, attempting to blindly point at Yarvis, ended up punching the sedan's quarter panel, causing a grimace to surface his face.
"Uh, sorry," Grid said low. He turned to look at the Honda in front. She was hardly amused, although she still smiled at his attention, "Yeah, we don't wanna race with you, only against you. That's fair."
"Fair enough," she claimed. Her tires took her to the edge of the rumble strip, and she ignored the familiar feeling of being close to the track.
"Alright," Yarvis lined up beside her. Preston hesitated, soon following a boastful Grid.
"Ah, good luck?" the Toyota commented.
The quad of potential racers were still. Grid and Preston exchanged a series of glances. Evidently, the red sedan didn't think this challenge was going to be easy. The grey coupe seemed to be waiting along with the Honda beside him. Yarvis looked to the others for guidance.
"What… now…?" he asked slowly. They weren't race cars. The odds of establishing organization for a contest of speeding was lost in the clouds. Yarvis observed the three beside him collectively glance amongst each other before settling the sights back on him. Grid gave the Yaris a dumbfounded squint, while Melise shrugged her tires.
"I think we're supposed to start our engines," Preston explained.
"Yeah, I forgot about that… part…" Grid revved his engine as loud as he could. Some stray gravel blew in Melise's breathing space, and she squinted, blinking rapidly. She started her own engine, giving two revs. Despite her small frame, the sweet sound of each high-pitched spell satisfied her RPM's.
"Remember this is ten laps, the last one finishes at the end of the pits," the Yaris pointed to the stretch that curved onto the track. Melise nodded. Her nerves were in a small bundle, and she didn't need to imagine what the real experience was like. She just needed her pride back.
Grid and Preston continued to duel in revs. When "GO!" echoed the arena, Yarvis was perplexed in a haze of burning rubber as the three others sped down the road. He coughed, shaking it off as he hit the throttle, soon twisting in a swerve as he manuvered onto the immediate curve.
Things became a wide array of space he didn't know existed. Sure, the track was huge, they all were. But Chrysler, the regular roads weren't this wide, and it was all for himself to occupy.
Up ahead, the engines were mostly mute. They were already near the first— or second, he didn't know the logistics— turn. The shade made vision hazy, but they were all in close proximity. Sloping up the curve, Preston skidded, screaming in an array of squeals before regaining his messy line. He caught back up to the two leading. Grid barred his teeth, the wind blew into his cheeks for a humorous image. Only a few inches behind his rear was the Honda herself. She strained her eyes to keep open, looking in her mirror and in front every few seconds. Her bottom lip was sucked in.
It took eight laps before Yarvis reached the trio, still lagging behind in meters. Every turn consisted of Preston shrieking as he nearly spun out. The Toyota hated to admit it, but he wasn't going to be in first place if he only caught up to them when Preston slipped. The red sedan was pushing himself way to hard, and his engine was going to betray him soon enough.
The Pits were the place to finish after this last lap. She was exhausted, but she wasn't showing it. Grid's RPM's were sky-high, yet he didn't miss a beat. His engine shrilled as pushed himself, moving a foot ahead of her. His win was right around the corner. Sliding off the rumble strips, Grid braked into some spare oil cans. The noise didn't bother him much, he bounced in celebration. That win was all too easy.
Yet, the pale convertible zoomed past him at full speed. He caught sight of her bemused expression as she passed down the stretch of Pit road. Once she entered the track again, she exhaled loudly, falling on her suspension as she slowed down. The convertible slumped enervated on the grassy infield. Her cab rose and fell with panting.
"Dude!" Yarvis caught up, "What the hell are you doing!?"
"What'ya mean?" Grid accused, "I just won us keepsake."
Yarvis shook his hood breathless, "No! I said the race finishes… at the end of the Pits!"
Grid buried his hood in empty treads, "Seriously, you never said that!"
Preston dragged himself on walking tires, "G,G" he wobbled, "Good game."
"I did you numb hood, I said it while we were revving!"
"I never heard it! How was I supposed to know!"
Yarvis hollered in defeat. He threw his tires in the air, shaking his hood in disbelief at the dire mistake. That was such a bonehead move.
From the safety of the grandstands, hysterical laughter flooded in. Grid's embarrassment pulled him to glare in the direction first, expectant of the navy pick-up truck's presence.
Much to the boys' chagrin, there were some on-lookers who had snuck into the speedway too. Yarvis squinted, making out the chrome polish of each. They looked burly, confident and different. When one of them shifted in nonchalance, revealing decals with a boldly defined number, the Toyota's grille twisted to an expression of distress, fatigue and unprepared defeat.
They had a small audience of Next-Gens. The loss just became that much worse. And to a girl...
Grid couldn't look at them. His eyes followed the track to the short distance where she stopped. Her tires were sprawled out, lids fluttered closed. A gentle smile grazed her features.
Dammit...
The racers etched close to the edge of the second platforming. His deep green paintjob could be mistaken for black in evening light. Racer eighty-two, Conrad Camber was his name— Grid knew all the modern racers' names. He was sponsored under Shiny Wax. Based alone on the shimmer of his polished finish, the guy was all over the brand too.
"I think we found Dinoco's new racer!" Conrad joked. Beside him, Hollis and Barry chuckled.
Grid raised a lid, were they complimenting?
"I almost beat her," he replied with an exhale.
"That's why you can race with Rusteze!" Barry poked. Realizing what they meant, the grey coupe rolled his eyes, pouting again.
"Hey! Hey! No hard feelings," Barry continued, calming down, "We came down here to do a couple laps, didn't expect to find the track occupied."
"Still that was a bad run, bro!" Conrad called to Preston, "less screaming, more driving next time."
The red sedan was still trying to catch his breath, his eyes shifting amongst them.
Worst. Day. Ever.