Dora wiped her forehead, leaving behind an oily streak, and reached for some more lug nuts. This car had to be absolutely flawless. Even one missing bolt could ruin her chances of winning the race.
"Boots," she called out, "do you have that door secured on tightly?"
Boots, wearing a welding helmet and speckled with oil and grease, rose from behind the back of the vehicle and gave a thumbs-up. He pulled the helmet off, revealing bleary, red-ringed eyes underneath. "Dora, can we please take a break now? I haven't slept since we started work on this thing."
"We can't, Boots," replied the young girl. "We have to finish this car before the race tomorrow!" She thought she heard a faint quintet singing the phrase "mail time," but dismissed it as a sleep-deprived hallucination. Thankfully, the car was almost done, and she hoped that if they hurried, they'd have time to rest up before the race began.
Suddenly, a pink object burst through the trees at the far end of Dora's property and stretched across the yard to where Dora, Boots, and the vehicle were. Eyes blinked open on its door, and the whole thing seemed to be hooked to an extending scissor arm. No… no, it couldn't be.
"Mail's here, mail's here," declared Mailbox.
Boots squinted at the misplaced figure. "Uh… you're not supposed to be here," he deadpanned.
"Well, how else am I supposed to give you your mail?" replied the ebullient Mailbox, bouncing slightly on his extending arm.
Dora pointed toward the end of the property. "We already have a mailbox right ther—"
"Whatcha buildin'?" asked Mailbox, stretching toward the partially-finished vehicle for a closer look.
Dora took a few steps back. She blinked several times, but the second, talking Mailbox remained. Then, trying to be polite, she smiled and answered, "We're building a go-kart for a race that's coming up. My friends and I are racing all the way to Rainbow Canyon." She stretched her arms out wide in order to illustrate the distance between here and the canyon.
Mailbox nodded. "Ah, I see. You know, way back in 1999, I was in a drag race with my good friend Side Table Drawer…"
What.
The girl and monkey froze at this, their heads turning to look at each other. The logistics of sentient, limbless household items racing high-end sports cars were enough to make even God give up trying to make sense of it and take a week off sick. When they came back to, they realized Mailbox was still talking.
"…and then Steve waved the flag and the car just fell apart right there!" he chuckled heartily. "Anyway, he-e-e-e-ere's your letter!"
Mailbox's face then opened, revealing a hollow cavity where Dora presumed a brain would be if he had one. A human hand pushed an oversized envelope to the edge of the slot. Dora grabbed the letter, too tired to give this a second thought, and Mailbox closed shut. "Adios, Mailbox," she mumbled as Mailbox disappeared just as quickly as he had arrived.
Dora's head throbbed as it swam with questions she couldn't even begin to answer. She sat down on a nearby tree stump and looked at the envelope, her heavy eyes widening slightly as she read the name on the return address. She wasted no time opening it, and when she pulled out the piece of paper, she knew exactly what it was.
"Boots, look!" she shouted. "It's the team list!" She gasped. "And we're together!" Boots didn't respond. After a few seconds, she walked up to him to see what was wrong. "Boots…?" she asked softly.
Boots was still standing in the same spot he was in when Mailbox was talking to them, staring off into space. His glazed-over eyes were red and bloodshot and his entire body was rigid. Saliva pooled at the edges of his slightly agape mouth. Dora placed her hand on his shoulder, causing him to tip over backward. He began snoring as soon as his head hit the ground.
"Ay, chingada," murmured Dora, realizing she would have to finish the car on her own.
