Overdrive (8 page)

TIM HAD KEPT THE DVD
of the Talladega accident to himself but he still couldn’t get it out of his mind. Who had given it to him? And for what purpose? Was it someone on the Maxwell race team? Could it have been Dale?

Dale drove up to the racetrack, and the family got out of the Suburban.

Kellen was his usual chipper self, trying to get Tim to laugh. “I’ll bet those guys have no idea what they’re up against with Jamie. She can be all pretty with perfect nails and silky hair, and the next thing they’ll know, they’ll be staring at the decals on her bumper as she pulls away.”

“That’s enough, Kellen,” Mrs. Maxwell said. “We don’t want to give the other racers a
reason
to beat her. Like her bragging little brother.”

The family checked in at the entrance
to the track, which was no Lowe’s Motor Speedway, but it wasn’t bad. The stands held several thousand fans, and the garage area was big compared with other tracks. They received their garage and pit passes that hung on lanyards around their necks and found Jamie. Tim had a hard time not staring at her because she was so pretty. Her hair
was
soft and silky, like Kellen had said, but her fingernails were short and her hands greasy, as if she’d been working on an engine. He couldn’t believe a girl who looked like this wanted to race, but here she was in her fire suit and sunglasses, smiling at her family and hugging her mom. She punched Kellen on the shoulder when he made a comment about her muscles and called them guns. She nodded at Tim and he nodded back.

“Which heat is yours?” Dale said.

“Second,” Jamie said. “And I’ll be in the #7 car. There were a couple of complaints about it yesterday, but the mechanics looked it over and gave it a pass for races today.”

Tim and Dale wouldn’t be able to inspect it until after the first heat, so Tim and Kellen took a walk around the garage area while Dale and Mrs. Maxwell talked with Jamie.

“Should have brought a football or a Frisbee to toss,” Kellen said.

Tim studied the line of cars. The school had control
of all the cars, so they didn’t have to worry about people making illegal modifications, but they still watched the drivers and their crews checking out the engines. The tires were new—looked like they’d just been put on. The cars in the first heat would use two sets, if Tim gauged it correctly, and the second would use the same. The race on Sunday was a little longer.

When they came out on the other side of the garage, someone said Kellen’s name. It was a dark-haired guy with expensive sunglasses. Everything about him said money.
This is the type of guy Jamie would go for,
Tim thought.

Kellen said hello and introduced Tim. “This is Chad Devalon. You should see his family’s motor home. It’s bigger than this whole garage.”

The name cut Tim’s heart like a knife. He saw the resemblance of junior to senior, though he could only see his own reflection in the sunglasses. By the way Chad kept his arms folded and didn’t extend his hand to shake, Tim figured he wasn’t a Christian. Every other person in the Maxwells’ church insisted on shaking hands like they were about to subdue an alligator—a nice, firm grip that squeezed the blood out of him.

“I didn’t know you had a big brother,” Chad said.

“No, Tim’s not my brother. I wish he was, but he’s not. He’s kind of adopted—but not really . . .”

“It’s okay,” Tim said to Kellen. “I’m just staying with the family for a while.”

“Really? What for? You related?”

“No. My dad died, and they’re letting me stay with them.”

“How are you doing over there at the Maxwells’?” Chad said, lifting his head.

“Good.” Tim looked around the garage. “You’re not racing today?”

“Got a bye for the finals. You here to watch Jamie?”

“Actually working on her pit crew.”

“I thought you were the spotter,” Kellen said.

“No, your dad decided it would be better for him to do that.”

“How much experience have you had in the pits?” Chad said with a smirk.

Tim was tight-lipped. “I’ve been around racing all my life. I know a thing or two.”

Someone called Tim’s name outside the garage.

Chad smiled and patted Kellen’s head. “Make sure he gets those lug nuts on tight. See you kids around.”

Tim sneered as Chad walked away. He couldn’t stand people who thought they were better than others. Tim didn’t care how many RVs the guy had or how much money or how big of a house—he wasn’t better than Tim.

“Phone call for you,” Mrs. Maxwell said as she ran toward them. She handed the cell phone to Tim. “It’s the bank.”

Tim took the phone. Weird that the guy from the bank was calling on Saturday. Maybe this one thing would go right for him.

“Tim, I received your message, and since I respect the Maxwells and we’ve agreed to give you another chance, I contacted Mr. Slade in Florida. I actually didn’t reach him until this afternoon, and his version of the story about the safe-deposit box is different from yours.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Tyson told me he didn’t give you permission. He denied that he even talked with you.”

“What?” Tim shouted. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Look, I talked with him yesterday, and he said it would be fine. Maybe he’s been drinking, though, because his wife left. That’s probably why he doesn’t rem—”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I can’t let you lie to us and get away with it. Now if you want to go through legal channels to remedy this, that’s fine, but we won’t be taking any more requests from you at this office.”

Tim tried to compute what the man had just said. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good. “So you’re saying that even though Tyson told me—?”

“I’m saying don’t call here again. Period. Unless you have some legal document that allows you to see the contents, you’re not welcome here.”

“Okay,” Tim said. He hung up the phone.

Mrs. Maxwell pursed her lips. “Bad news?”

Tim nodded. “I guess Tyson has a shorter memory than I thought. Either that or he’s just plain mean. Or maybe both.”

JAMIE GAVE HER MOM
a high five, punched Kellen on the shoulder (which was her only prerace ritual), nodded at Tim, then looked at Rosa ahead of her and gave her a thumbs-up.

“Enough of the niceties,” her dad said in her headset. “Just get in the car and let’s boogity.”

“Boogie-woogie boogity.” Jamie flashed a thumb to her dad high above the stands and did a quick swivel of the hips. Then she climbed in and pulled the harness tight, snapping on the steering wheel that Tim handed her. To anyone watching she probably looked loose and relaxed, but her stomach churned like she’d had a double half-pounder with cheese at the Pit Stop—what they referred to as their Heart Attack Special. She was already sweating in the 85 degree heat, and that didn’t help her nerves.

The first heat had been a good race, though Jamie was surprised to see how timid most drivers ran the track. It was almost as if they were trying not to lose rather than trying to win. In the end, Kurt had finished fifth, just missing Sunday’s race.

“Let’s not let that happen to us,” Rosa had said.

Jamie fired the engine to life and followed the other cars onto the track. It was a single-file start behind a red Corvette pace car. Jamie liked the look of the car, but it wasn’t anything compared to Maxie, her 1965 Mustang. Just thinking about it made her want to get behind the wheel and go for a drive. Maybe if she got a big, fat contract with some racing team she could buy a second car and fix it up.

She swiveled the wheel, sending the #7 car back and forth along the hot track, cleaning any debris from the new tires and warming them. The sun was high in the sky, and there were only a few lazy clouds rolling past.

“All right, put all the stuff you’re thinking out of your head,” her dad said as if he could read her mind. “Nobody out there cares how many races you’ve won, and nobody knows how good you are but you, so let’s just show them how fast a clean driver can go.”

“Are you going to do the motivational junk the whole race?” Jamie said, almost cracking up at the end.

“Looks like we’re gonna do one more lap before the flag drops,” he said, ignoring her.

The car felt good—not as good as the one Butch Devalon had let her drive but still fast. She let off the accelerator a little and put some distance between her and the car in front of her. She sped up into the first turn to gauge if the car was loose, and she couldn’t tell. She got a surprised and mean look from the #8 driver, and she moved back into place.

The red Corvette peeled off from the line, and the cars accelerated. Jamie caught sight of a few fans in the stands. The people stood and cheered as the group came to the line. There was a rumor that a crew from a racing channel was going to be there the next day, but Jamie shut that thought out.

“Green flag. Green flag,” her dad said. “Let’s see that boogie-woogie boogity of yours.”

Jamie smiled and shifted into fourth gear. She passed the start line behind #6 and went high in the first turn. It was there that she knew something was wrong with her wedge.

“Whoa, I’m tighter than a drum in that turn, Dad,” she said. “Somebody’s got the wedge way off.”

She accelerated into the straightaway but had to slow before she came to the third turn. By then #8 was past her on the inside.

“We won’t have a pit until halfway through unless somebody cracks up.”

“Well, that somebody’s gonna be me if I try to
keep up with the others and the car’s this tight.” She cursed. “I can’t believe this.”

Her dad didn’t say anything, which meant he was upset and she was on her own. If she pitted before the halfway point, she would be at least a lap down. Making up that kind of distance would be nearly impossible during such a short race. But if she didn’t pit, she’d fall farther behind the leader, who was already half a lap ahead.

She floored the accelerator in the straightaway and tried to make up ground, but by the fifth lap it was clear she had to come in. “Gotta pit, Dad. Get Tim ready to turn the wedge.”

“He’s on it,” her dad said. “I’ve notified Bud. He says come in on your next lap.”

/////

Tim grabbed the track bar wrench and stood on the wall. He knew how important it was to make the adjustment as quickly as possible so Jamie wouldn’t go more than a lap down. If he did it perfectly, she could make it out before the lead car went by again. If not, she’d be in an almost impossible situation.

“Give it two full turns out,” Dale said.

Tim lifted his thumb in the air as Jamie roared down pit road and slid to a perfect stop in the pit
box. Tim was over the wall before she stopped, but he missed the fitting and fumbled with it—almost dropping the tool. Jamie revved her engine, and Tim felt the race leaders heading for turn three.

He hadn’t worked any signals out with Jamie, but he’d seen enough races to know that when he was finished he needed to be on the inside of the car. A school official watched him like a hawk, and some of the other parents and friends crowded around the pit area to see what was happening.

Two quick turns and he threw his hands in the air. Before he even took a step to the inside, Dale yelled, “Go! Go! Go!”

Jamie shot out of the box and made it onto the track just ahead of the leader. “Oh, baby, this feels a lot better,” she said as she flew out of turn four. “Tim did a good job. Got a little nervous there for a minute.”

Tim put the track bar wrench away and couldn’t help but smile.

JAMIE KNEW SHE’D DODGED
a bullet, but making up an entire lap with the #4 car on her back bumper was a tall order. If she could put some distance between her and the rest of the field, she had a chance, but it would take the best ride of her life.

With no one in front of her, she focused on the fastest line on the track and put her foot down.

In turn one, her dad’s voice came on the headset. “He’s coming on the outside. At your bumper. At your door.”

When her dad paused, she clicked the mic. “But not for long.”

She shot out of turn two and hit the straightaway perfectly, pulling away so that #4 had to back down and follow. Out of turn four she had a two-car-length lead and the engine was humming. “Feels really good, Dad.”

“All right, let’s go with it. Pretend this is the start and you’re in the lead. Everybody’s chasing you. See if you can pull away.”

And pull away she did. With the window net flapping, she hardly slowed in the turns. Six laps later, she’d made it a good :06 ahead of the nearest car.

“Caution’s out!” her dad said as a plume of white smoke rose behind her.

Jamie slowed and looked across the infield to see #5 rolling toward the apron. “What happened?”

“Looks like #5 got into the wall out of turn two. A little damage on the right side, but I don’t think it’s serious.”

“That’s Rosa’s car.”

“Hang on. Bud’s calling,” her dad said.

The cars drove single file and bunched together behind the pace car.

Finally her dad came back on the radio. “Okay, pull low and let everybody pass. You’re going to the back.”

Jamie smiled. “Still on the lead lap, right?”

“You got it. The boogie-woogie boogity’s rolling along.”

She let everybody pass, and when Rosa went by she gave a thumbs-up.
I wonder if she did that on purpose to help me,
Jamie thought.

When the restart came, they were only four laps from the competition time-out. Jamie pulled ahead
of two cars to put her in the seventh position at the halfway point.

/////

Tim let Kellen take the squeeze bottle of Gatorade to Jamie while he and Kurt went to work with the jack and the air wrenches. Jamie’s mom rolled the new tires to the wall, and Tim put them on while she rolled the old ones away.

It wasn’t the pressure of a NASCAR pit stop, but Tim wanted to make sure he did a good job and everything was fine. He moved to the left-side tires while Kellen peeled the windshield tear off and wiped the front grille. When Tim finished, he let the car down and moved to the window net. “You doing okay?”

Jamie nodded and handed him the bottle. “Good job on the wedge.”

“We make a good team,” he said. “Your dad’s not half bad either.”

“He hasn’t had much to do yet.”

Tim looked at the line of cars and people working. “You’ve got the best car out there. Show them.”

Jamie smiled, and Tim thought it looked like something he wished he could take a picture of and show to his dad.
Pure joy
, he thought.
Sure is great watching somebody do what they’re meant to do.

“You forget something?” Jamie motioned to the gas tank.

“Oh, sorry. Yeah, I’ll get that filled up.”

/////

“Get back on track,” Jamie’s dad said to her. “You’re in the seventh position, so we need to move up three spots before the end. Single-file restart.”

The pace car pulled out when everyone was in place, and Jamie felt a lot better. She saw a number of teams working on their own wedge issues, and she hoped the adjustment they had made would be exactly what she needed to finish in the top four. Chad Devalon was behind the wall, arms folded, watching as she left the pits.

“Green flag,” her dad said. “Let’s see what kind of second half you’ve got.”

She pulled even on the outside with the car in front of her in the first turn. Inches from the wall, she surged ahead and moved into sixth place when she got to the straightaway.

“Dangerous move to the top, but you survived,” her dad said. “Settle down. There’s plenty of time. And you don’t have to win this thing. You just need to get near the front.”

“I know,” Jamie said. “Just showing you what I
have in me. Plus, why race if you’re not in it to win, right?”

He clicked his mic and laughed.

There were moments in Jamie’s life when things became clearer than others. Once in a classroom spelling bee, she had been given a word she had never heard before. From the way her stomach felt and how red her face became, it was obvious that she would never become a spelling champion. She didn’t even care about being one.

Then there was the time Bobby Sizemore kissed her. A defining moment in her life because Bobby had done it on a dare from his friends, other third-grade boys, and he ran past the swing sets and into the field as soon as he’d done it. At that moment she promised herself that she was never going to let a boy kiss her again unless he really meant it.

But the big moment in her life came at Brickyard, otherwise known as the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Any kid who had ever been exposed to racing dreamed of winning at Indy. The place hosted the biggest sporting event in the world, and even though it wasn’t a NASCAR race, it captured Jamie’s imagination.

Jamie’s dad had taken her to the Brickyard 400 one year on a special trip—just the two of them—and he walked her to the starting line and showed her the actual bricks that were still there from the original track
built in 1909. He took her to the museum to see the old cars and cases filled with trophies, along with the pictures of all those drivers kissing the bricks. At the top of the Pagoda, they looked out on a vast area her dad said could hold Vatican City, Yankee Stadium, the racetrack at Churchill Downs, the Roman Coliseum, the Rose Bowl Stadium, and the Wimbledon tennis complex at the same time.

“It’s incredible,” Jamie had said, trying to take in how big it was.

“Wait till all those people get here,” her dad said. “More than 250,000 in the seats. Another 150,000 in the infield. The biggest football stadium holds about 100,000.”

Now Jamie moved up another spot behind #2, who was in fifth place. Rosa was running fourth, and the two had made a pact to help each other, but what if they were running neck and neck for the fourth spot? Jamie hoped that wouldn’t happen.

“Ten laps to go,” her dad said. “It’s time to make your move.”

On the straightaway, Jamie passed the #2 car. She went low in turn two and shot into fifth place.

But the #2 car wasn’t giving up easy. He accelerated in the straightaway and pulled beside her.

“Come on, Rosa. Move to the right,” she said, wishing she had access to Rosa’s headset.

Rosa remained inside and Jamie stayed behind her, actually bumping her just before they went into turn three.

“Watch outside,” her dad said. “Number 2 is at your door.” There was disgust in his voice. “Better move past #5. She’s slowing you down.”

Jamie roared down the frontstretch as the #10 car moved up behind her.

“Clear right,” her dad said.

She moved right and pulled up to Rosa. Going this fast meant she couldn’t take a long look, but she did catch sight of her friend for a split second. Rosa’s face was tight, and she was up on the steering wheel.

Jamie kept the accelerator to the floor and only let up slightly in the turn, shooting past Rosa on the back straightaway and getting behind the #2 car.

“Fifth place,” her dad said. “Two laps to go.”

“Who’s behind me?”

“Nobody that can overtake you if you keep your speed. You’re clear high and low.”

She had a choice of going low or high on #2 in turn one. She chose high, and it was almost a disaster because #2 moved high with her for the block and nearly clipped her left front.

“You’re good. You’re okay. Just back off and take another run at him,” her dad said.

Jamie gritted her teeth and followed #2 through
the third and fourth turns. The top three cars had a good lead on them, but Jamie concentrated on #2. She saw the white flag and pulled closer, right on the #2 bumper, making them both faster.

“Take him,” her dad said. “Clear high and low.”

She backed off a smidge and moved slightly higher. When #2 took the bait and tried to block her, she swerved low, passing him in a blur. Number 2 tried valiantly to catch up, but Jamie crossed the finish line just ahead of him in fourth place.

“Thatagirl,” her dad said. “You’re going to the big dance tomorrow.”