Page 28 of Trading Paint
The World of Outlaw series, being a premier division, drew in a hefty crowd. It wasn’t unusual to see at least five thousand fans at the track on nights like this.
Looking over at my dad, he was hardly paying attention, having heard this a million times by now. Instead, he watched the water truck as it made continuous laps. The smells of the wet clay surrounded us mixing with sweet methanol.
Justin was yawning. Shey was glaring at Bucky who took his last cigarette and I was irritable with my leg bouncing obsessively against the metal bleachers.
I told myself I’d be getting away from Chelsea and her self-indulgent attitude as soon as possible but I wasn’t sure I could.
She’s exactly why I found Sway’s company so refreshing. She never acted like that. Sure, she was my friend and had no claim as to who I kissed or flirted with but even if she did,Swaywas above that, never juvenile. Chelsea was your typical high school girl.
My thoughts were focused once I slid inside my car. I qualified ninth for the main so that wasn’t exactly positive but the track was exactly the way I liked it. After a few final adjustments, my car was perfect.
“Do you want to set back the timing?” Tommy asked twirling a wrench in his hands prior to the main.
I shook my head. “No...itdoesn’t seem to be changing out there. Just leave it.”
Usually if we thought the track was going to turn dry-slick, meaning the moisture had dried up, we would adjust the timing for less horsepower. If we had too much horsepower when the track changed that’s when these monsters start with the wheel stands.
Sway,whoI hadn’t seen since I handed her my credentials, threw a bottle of water my direction and then walked inside the hauler.
“You need to sign the release form again before the feature. They can’t read your writing. You’re lining up behind Cody in the feature.”
Visibly angry, I followed her.
“You okay?” I asked leaning against a stack of tires propped against the wall.
I watched her closely as she fumbled with a spare torsion bar lying on the counter. She was definitely angry but about what?
“Chelsea?” I asked resignedly assuming they exchanged a few words. This wouldn’t be the first time.
Sway nodded with her back still turned. “She’s just a bitch. Don’t worry about it.”
I flipped out and punched the side of the hauler.
It was one thing to beleaguer me. It was something else entirely to involve Sway. While anger clouded my judgment, I didn’t look at what I punched until it was too late. Instead of punching the plywood, my fist hit a metal beam.
Naturally, this pissed me off even more and I did the only thing I knew to do being seventeen; I threw a childish fit and started throwing shit in an attempt to ease my frustration.
It didn’t. It only made me appear like more of an ass along with destroying about five-thousand dollars in race car parts.
Dad, visibly angry, caught me before I climbed in the car for the heat race. His face was a few shades lighter than his red racing suit.
“Get your shit together asshole,” he went on furiously. “And you’re paying for everything you destroyed.” His eyebrow arched as his voice rose nearly to a shout. “Do you understand me?”
“Whatever,” I replied. I was still fucking angry and didn’t care. I had a quick fuse and it didn’t cool off immediately.
He slammed me against the car and my head knocked against the top wing. His hands fisted roughly in my driver’s suit before he pulled me closer.
“You will show me respect, Jameson.” His usual bright blue eyes darkened as he glared. “I don’t care if you think you’re better than everyone out here...you may be but if you don’t get that smug fucking attitude of yours under control, it will all be gone before you know it!”
I pushed back against him as pain shot up my wrist from my hand that had punched the wall. I knew it was broken but I refused to acknowledge it.
Jimi pushed me back again. “I don’t know what’s going on with you but if you want this,” he motioned toward the track. “Stop acting like a goddamn child!”
His hands dropped and he walked away without another glance.
I knew he was right but then again, I was seventeen. Like most seventeen-year old males, I didn’t care what anyone thought.
I was black flagged four times in a matter of six laps before I finally wrecked myself and Justin coming out of turn three when I tried to pass him four-wide.
