Shift

6

The biggest perk of being a senior, other than almost being done with this school bullshit, is getting out early. I like the chance to make those last few tweaks to my car before the Straights, not that we ever change anything major. Normally, at least. I need those extra hours today. Tonight’s races are going to have higher stakes.

Tommy has no clue what’s going on. I didn’t mention the boys from Vegas to him. I don’t think he likes the side bets anymore, so it doesn’t really matter. He used to love the money, and he still makes bets sometimes, but not as often. For me, the side hustle is life.

Literal. Life.

I can usually pull down a solid two or three hundred bucks on a good Friday night, and that’s only off the locals and the people who come from the cities to race. You don’t find back roads like we have in the metro. And those Scottsdale kids are easy money with their daddy’s cars and engines they don’t understand. You can’t buy a car that wins. You build it. Fine by me, though; I like taking their money.

I’ve been trying to get the Vegas drivers I met last year out here for months. They worked me up pretty good on the track out in Henderson, but that was under strict rules—rules that I think played to their strengths. There aren’t rules out here in the high desert. I’m looking for a little revenge, but mostly I want their cash.

“We should head out there early, open this baby up a few times and see how the intake holds,” I say as I drop the hood and wipe my hands clean from my tinkering. I meet Tommy’s hard stare, and it takes me a couple seconds to decipher it. Ha

“Hey, can I come along for the test rides?” she asks, stepping closer to my car.

“We’ve got work to do. It’s not a joy ride,” Tommy says, clearly cutting her off to be an asshole.

I let my head fall to my shoulder and breathe out my nose before mouthing “sorry” to Ha

I won’t lose.

That’s the thing about me—when my back is against the wall, an acute awareness takes over my body. It’s like muscle memory, formed from years of taking Colt’s bullshit and abuse. I don’t take punches because I foresee them coming, and I don’t get into situations I won’t dominate. Tommy doesn’t understand it, and he thinks I take too many risks, both behind the wheel and with my cash. I know what I can handle though, and I drive myself right up to that line. I’ll never veer over it.

“Let’s go,” Tommy says, snapping me out of my head with a fat palm against the hood.

“Gentle with her,” I tease.

He grimaces and laughs out of the side of his mouth.

“Yeah, like you’re ever gentle with her,” he says.

I roll my eyes as I climb into the driver’s seat. I catch a glimpse of Ha

It takes us about ten minutes to clear the town limits, and the moment we do I open it up to get a feel for the road and adjust to the slight shift in speeds.

“It jumps,” Tommy says as I drop into the next gear. I feel the jerk too so I downshift to make the climb again. We burn a few extra miles going back and forth until I find the perfect sweet spots to punch it into the next gear, and by the time we’re ready for the Straights, I have this thing flying on the pavement.

I catch the grin on Tommy’s face as we round the corner onto the old highway where cars are already lined up, boys leaning on hoods with cash in their hands.

“What you smiling about over there, Tommy Judge?” I throw an elbow at him in jest.

He shakes his head with a short laugh.

“Nothin’, man. I just like going fast.”

I turn my head to meet his eyes and our wide smiles reflect one another. This has always been our space, where the bullshit falls to the sides and Tommy and I get to be two kids who like to race cars. When he smiles like that, I remember all the reasons we became friends in the first place. I hold out my fist and he drops his on top.

“Kick some ass tonight, brotha,” he says, unbuckling as I slow and pull to the side of the road to join the other gearheads out here to tear up the desert.

“Always,” I answer. My eyes lock on my friend’s frame as the passenger door closes behind him with a heavy clunk. He’s going to be so pissed when he realizes who’s here tonight. A few of the girls from town have already gathered in the back of a pickup truck though, and that’s where my friend is headed. He’s a grumpy asshole most of the time, but he’s also a ladies’ man.

I rev the engine lightly, just enough to feel the rumble vibrate around me and under the pad of my foot. The power makes its way around the nerves in my body. I coast my way a little deeper through the rows of cars until I find a good spot in the middle of the action to get out and size up the competition.

Keys clutched in my hand, I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the side of my car, taking in the scene before the last of the sunlight goes away in the next thirty minutes. I spot the Vegas guys fairly easily—typical Subaru next to a dropped Tahoe the rest of them probably rode here in. I nod at the familiar face in the crowd. His name’s Alex Offerman, and he’s never without the four guys—who are at least double my size—standing nearby. I have a pretty good hunch that Alex’s family is one of those that deals behind the scenes in Vegas, but I’d rather not confirm my suspicion. I don’t know why I feel plausible deniability is a good thing with him, but I do.

“Hey, Dustin, my man!” Alex crosses the street to meet me halfway. His blond hair is slicked back and his white long-sleeve shirt is tight enough to show off his nipples. It’s creepy. I smell his cologne from several feet away. I’m wearing my old black Thrasher skate shirt with a hole at the bottom, my lucky black jeans, and new Vans. I like the way they grip the pedal and I always get a new pair before a big race.

“Finally made it to my street. How was the trip?” I reach out and clasp his hand, noting the way he twists his wrist to make sure his is slightly on top. Headlight beams from the parked cars glint off his gold ring.

“The strip? Or the trip?” he jokes.

I give him a courtesy laugh for his dumb joke. Least I can do since I’m about to take his money.

“So this is the famous Straights you were telling me about, huh?” He spins slowly to take in the long strip of road that stretches far in both directions. Soon, it will lead to black nothingness to the north, away from town.

“This is my home turf, yeah.” I shove my hands back in my pockets and press the ridges of my key into my thumb to keep myself alert and sharp.

Alex spends a few more seconds glaring out onto the road before turning his focus back to me. I’m not sure whether he’s the one I’m racing tonight, or one of his guys. Doesn’t matter. I see the car they brought.