Overdrive (7 page)

TIM’S STOMACH CLENCHED
as soon as Tyson said, “Yeah?” on the other end of the phone. Tim had been calling every day and just getting a ring for so long that he was surprised to actually hear a voice.

The experience of living with Tyson and Vera flooded over him like a hurricane—the hum of the refrigerator, the smell of the trailer (like spoiled cheese), Tyson’s drinking and shouting, and the bad feeling Tim had every time he heard Tyson fire up his dad’s truck.

“That you, Timmy boy?” Tyson said, his voice raspy and a little slurred. It was Friday afternoon, and there was no reason for Tyson to be home. He should have been at work.

“Hey, Tyson,” Tim said in a choking kind of voice.

“How you doing up there? They treatin’ you okay?”

“Sure,” Tim said. “It’s a nice place. They even found me a job working in a garage.”

“Is that so? Well, that means you can pay me back for the room and board you owe me.” Tyson laughed and Tim could tell he was taking a swig of something. He didn’t have to guess what it was because a second later he heard the familiar clink of the beer can hitting the metal trash can in the kitchen. Tim could set his watch to that sound.

There was an awkward moment of silence before Tyson sighed. “So what can I do for you, little buddy?”

Tim’s dad had called him that, and every time anyone said it, especially somebody like Tyson, his flesh crawled. “I wanted to apologize for taking something of yours. I guess you’ve heard by now that I got the key to that safe-deposit box of my dad’s.”

“Yeah, somebody called. I don’t have any idea what’s in there, do you?”

“No.”

“You shouldn’t steal people’s mail. They put people in jail for stuff like that.”

Tim thought that if they had a game show where people had to know all the reasons you put people in jail, Tyson would be the all-time champion. “I’m sorry I took that key. I should have just asked you for it.”

“Yeah, you should have,” Tyson said quickly. Then a pause. “But we all make mistakes.” The top popped on another can. “Did you hear Vera left?”

“No.”

“Yeah, I guess she got tired of living in the lap of luxury. I got tired of paying her bills and watching her eat everything in sight. . . .”

Tyson continued but Tim tuned him out. It was just a sad-sack story of Tyson’s life, how somebody had done him wrong again. It was always somebody else’s fault that he got drunk or got arrested or was late for work. In the middle of his long rant about Vera, Tim heard words he never thought he’d hear.

“. . . but I don’t care anymore about what your loser of a dad stashed away in some bank. You can have the stupid key. Knowing him, it’s probably not worth anything anyway.”

“You mean it?” Tim said.

“Have those old boys up there in Carolina call me, and I’ll tell them to let you have the key.”

“Wow, thanks.” Tim wondered if Tyson would even remember this conversation. “I’ll have them call you right now.”

Tim hung up and dialed the bank, punching in the first three letters of the man’s last name who had handled his case. The man’s voice mail came on, and Tim left a message telling him what Tyson had said.
“So if you could call him and then call me back, I’d appreciate it.” Tim left the Maxwells’ number and hung up.

He let his mind run, thinking about what might be in that safe-deposit box. Maybe it was money. Maybe it was the keys to some car Tim had never seen. Or something he couldn’t even imagine.

He sat and stared at the phone for a few moments, wondering how long it took somebody to get a voice mail. It was silly to think he could will the phone to ring, but he sat there anyway.

JAMIE ROLLED TO A STOP
at the end of pit road and watched the official. The #11 car passed on its first lap, and she saw Kurt run high on the turn.
Don’t want to do that,
she thought.

“All right, #1,” the track manager said in her headset, “when you see the signal, take off.”

She gave a thumbs-up outside the window net, then stretched her gloves tight and put the car in neutral. She shook her hands to get loose and stretched her feet, trying to stop shaking.

Come on. I’ve done this a thousand times. No big deal.

The car was hot and the smell of the racing fuel was like perfume to her. There was no breeze to speak of—the flags on the stand were limp—so she wouldn’t have to worry about wind against her on the back straightaway.
She pushed in the clutch, jimmied the gearshift back and forth in neutral, and finally pushed it into first. The last thing she did was flip the visor down, blocking a bit of the sun and giving her a tinted view of the track.

As the #11 car screamed past the start/finish line and slowed going into the first turn, Jamie focused on the official. He held up a hand, then pointed to the track.

“Let’s see what you can do,” the track manager said.

Jamie didn’t pay attention to him because she was focused. The engine roared to life, and she felt that initial rush of power that threw her back in the seat. The tachometer jumped. It was all feel now, and when the engine reached its peak, she pushed the clutch in and slammed the gearshift down like lightning. Three seconds later she was in third and off the apron and up onto the track. She was in fourth gear before turn three and finding the groove low around the turn, then accelerating into the front stretch.

She caught sight of the green flag at the flag stand and mashed the accelerator to the floor. Blocking out everything, she leaned forward and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. She crossed the start/finish line and moved slightly lower, finding the quickest line into the first turn. She kept the throttle down and
sped through it, creeping up a little and feeling her back end shift, getting loose, but she held it and shot out of turn two.

Good, but I can do that better next time,
she thought.

The backstretch ride made her whoop for joy. The car felt solid and fast, and she could sense the speed. In turn three she kept the accelerator as far down as she could, but the rear end got loose again and she fought it into turn four.

Okay, that didn’t work as well as I’d hoped. I’ll make that up in the next lap.

Jamie flew past the flag stand knowing she had to make this lap a good one. Her fastest time would be used, and her first lap was less than her best. The first turn was perfect—the right speed, a good line, and no movement from behind. Unfortunately when she accelerated out of turn two, she heard an explosion that sounded like her entire car was falling apart. On instinct she gripped the steering wheel, took her foot off the accelerator and jammed it on the brake, and struggled to keep the car off the wall.

“Hold it. Hold it. Hold it,” the track manager said.

A plume of white rolled over the car, and Jamie smelled acrid smoke. She came to a stop, then rolled toward the infield.

“Get out of there,” the man said in her headset.

Her heart pounding, she popped the steering wheel off, released the harness and HANS device, and scooted out onto the track. She moved away from the smoke before she took off her helmet. There was debris behind the car and a huge hunk of rubber along the wall.

Two safety vehicles rolled up along with a track ambulance that looked older than she was. She waved it away.

The track manager was saying something in her headset, but she just kept walking around and around, trying to make sense of what happened.

“What was my time on the first lap?” she said to no one in particular.

“We need you to come to the ambulance, miss,” the emergency medical tech said.

“No, I’m not hurt,” Jamie said. “Did you see what happened?”

“Blew a tire just out of the turn,” he said, his white-gloved hands taking her arm and leading her to the ambulance. “Everybody thought you were going into the wall, but you held on to it.”

“The car was pulling to the right something awful,” she said.

Bud jumped off another pickup and ran to her. “She okay?” he said to the tech.

“You can talk to
me
, you know,” Jamie said.

Bud gave her a look.

“I’m fine. But what happens now? Do I keep my first lap time?”

“Just get in the ambulance,” Bud said.

“You’re not taking that first lap away from me,” Jamie said.

THE PHONE RANG
and Tim grabbed it on the first ring. He tried to give his deepest voice for the bank guy, but it was Jamie calling for her mom or dad.

“They aren’t here, Jamie.”

“I’ll try their cell phones,” Jamie said.

“How did qualifying go?” Tim said before she could hang up.

She sighed. “Remember what happened to Devalon in Chicago last weekend?”

“Yeah.”

“Ditto for me. On the back straightaway, second lap of qualifying.”

“You hit the wall?”

“No. But I left a lot of rubber out there.”

“That’s good. Saved the car for the competition tomorrow.”

“Yeah, they’re all excited I was able to save it, but my first lap wasn’t as good
because I got loose a couple of times. I swear I could have gotten the pole on that second one.”

“Where did you finish?”

“I’m in the seventh spot of the second heat,” Jamie said. “I have to finish in the top four of the heat to make it in the finals.”

“Piece of cake,” Tim said. “You can do that in your sleep.”

“There are some pretty good drivers here. I hope I can bounce back and don’t get either of the two slower cars. Both the 2 and the 8 were sucking wind.”

“Well, your dad said I’m on your team tomorrow,” Tim said. “We’ll be there to help out.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing everybody.” She paused, obviously distracted by something.

“I’ll let you get back to whatever you gotta get back to,” Tim said.

“No, hang on,” Jamie said. “What about you? Anything going on?”

“Got the go-ahead from that guy in Florida to look in my dad’s safe-deposit box. Now I just need to get ahold of the bank guy.”

“That’s great,” she said, and it sounded like she really meant it. “Wonder what’s in there.”

“I’ve been wondering that for a long time.” He wanted to keep the conversation going, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Well, I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Jamie said.

“Yeah, get some good sleep.” Tim hung up and kicked himself. “Get some good sleep,” he said, mimicking himself. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
How dumb can I get?

JAMIE REACHED HER MOM’S
cell and told her and her dad the news about qualifying. They tried to encourage her, her dad ending with “Hang in there and we’ll see you tomorrow.” It wasn’t what she was looking for. She thought she’d get some sage advice about racing, something that had happened to him when he was young, something his father had said. Maybe something she could write down on a napkin and put on her desk so she could look at it when things got tough.

Her stomach growled as she ordered her food and found an empty table. Chad sat down by her with a smirk. He had qualified second just behind a guy named Thor, but everybody called him Thunder (as if Thor wasn’t unique enough). Jamie called him Lead Foot because his shoes looked like
Frankenstein’s, and he always smoked his tires on the pits. Thor was another guy with a racing pedigree. His dad had driven Formula One, and his uncle had raced for the cup.

“Good job hanging on to the #1 out there,” Chad said.

“Go ahead and crow about your qualifying time,” Jamie said.

“Didn’t hurt that you and the others warmed up the track for me. Going last helps.”

Thor passed the table carrying his tray and raised a finger to say hello. She guessed he was conserving his energy for the final race on Sunday.

Jamie bit into a piece of corn on the cob, but the kernels got caught between her teeth. She worked on it as she and Chad talked, putting a hand over her mouth.

“Your dad coming up tomorrow?” Chad said. “Giving you help in the pits?”

She nodded. “What about yours?”

“He said he’d be here to watch me win on Sunday.”

“Do you do that on purpose, or does it just come naturally?”

“Do what?” Chad said.

“Puff up like a big fish in a little pond, making people think you’re important?” Jamie wished she
hadn’t said it when she saw the look on his face, so she tried to recover. “I mean, just a little humility would be so much more becoming.”

Chad grabbed his tray and lifted it with one hand.

Jamie called after him as he walked away, but he was gone. Long gone.

Her cell phone buzzed, and since she suddenly didn’t feel much like eating, she dumped the rest in the trash and walked back to her room talking to Cassie Strower. She had a laugh that made Jamie smile every time she heard it, even if things weren’t going very well. They’d grown up together—Cassie’s dad was an engineer with a popular race team in town. They were both pepperoni pizza people. They liked some of the same music (though Cassie listened only to Christian bands), and they’d spent loads of time together having sleepovers and campouts.

However, there was one thing Cassie and Jamie didn’t have in common. Cassie was a thoroughly devoted follower of Jesus. She had told Jamie recently that she wanted to be a medical missionary to some foreign land where little kids were starving and needed help. Her ideas of what to do changed every few weeks, but there was no doubt Cassie wanted to follow God. She knew just about every verse in the Bible backward. Jamie joked that you couldn’t see her
halo because she wouldn’t stand still long enough—she was always volunteering at the church or the food pantry for the homeless.

Jamie had made a deal with God:
You don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.
That was how she lived mostly, though there were times when God seemed real and almost broke through the clouds. But her mind was usually on racing, not church stuff and reading her Bible.

Jamie was back in her room and sitting on the bed, flipping through the channels on TV, telling Cassie what had happened at the track. Cassie said she wanted to come watch the heats tomorrow, but she was tied up Sunday afternoon.

“Don’t tell me,” Jamie said. “You’re going to be over at the church making meals for a bunch of refugees.”

“I didn’t hear about any refugees,” Cassie said, deadpan. “Did they come from the other side of Lake Norman?”

Jamie chuckled. “Seriously, what are you doing Sunday afternoon?”

“Oh, it’s the greatest thing ever. You know about Camp Left Turn, right?”

“Who doesn’t?” Jamie said. It was a camp put together by churches and Christian drivers that gave sick kids a chance to go to camp for a week.

“Well, I’m going to be a camp counselor, and the orientation meeting is Sunday.”

“What do you have to know?” Jamie said.

“With these kids, you have to have some medical knowledge about their disease or be able to give them support. I fit both. I’ve been giving myself insulin shots for years.”

“Is diabetes what the kids have during your week?”

“It’s why I signed up. My mom heard about a couple of people who had to back out and told me about it. I’m really excited. You should come! It would be so much fun.”

“I’ve seen the videos of those kids going down water slides and climbing rope ladders. It does look like fun.”

“I’ve heard their faces just light up when a real driver comes and talks to them. I can get you a form to fill out—and since your dad’s a driver, I’ll bet they’d let you help.”

“Let me consider it,” Jamie said. “I can hardly think past this weekend with the end of the school.”

“With that license in your pocket, you’ll be able to think a lot better,” Cassie said. “You’ve always dreamed of this.”

“It’s going to be tougher than I thought. Plus, the license doesn’t really let me do anything. I still have to go through the process—”

“That’s my Jamie,” Cassie said. “Always seeing the glass half empty. Listen, girl, do you know how many drivers would love to have that license? Some big team sees your potential, you sign a contract, get a bunch of seat time in a car, and you’re off to your dreams.”

Jamie smiled. It was Cassie who always saw the glass as half full. When they were little, she’d pray for dead animals on the side of the road even though they’d been there for days. The eternal optimist. “I’ll think about the camp,” she said, changing the subject.

“Good. I’ll talk with the people Sunday and tell them about you.”

Jamie talked until her cell phone ran out of battery. Then she called Cassie with the room phone, and they talked some more. It was like old times. Except Jamie had a feeling that her life was about to change. Whether it was for good or bad, she didn’t know.