“About what?”
“Something’s wrong with the engine.”
“What are you talking about, Son?” he scoffed. “You just won your first checkered flag. The engine is perfect.”
Shaking my head, I grabbed his arm and pulled him off to the side. “No, Dad. I felt it on the last lap. The engine sounded off, almost as if it was overworked.”
His eyes narrowed, his smile fading as the weight of my words sank in. “Are you serious?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.
“Yeah, I’m sure. I could feel the gear slipping. It’s a miracle I managed to keep it together and cross the finish line.” I ran my hands through my hair, the adrenaline from the race now giving way to a nagging worry. “We need to take a look at it before the next race. Can’t risk it giving out and causing an accident.”
My mind raced with the implications.
I knew engines like the back of my hand, and something felt off about this one.
My dad, ever the pragmatist, cut through the celebration, his voice steady and firm. “Let’s get it back to the garage, then. No point in delaying the inevitable.”
I nodded, grateful for his no-nonsense approach.
We knew each other well; no grandstanding or false bravado was needed between us. My mom, my emotional anchor, placed a hand on my shoulder, her eyes shining with a mix of pride and concern. “We’ll get it sorted, Calvin. You did an incredible job out there today. Trust your instincts.”
Later that night, while everyone was celebrating, Dad and I headed for the garage.
“Are you sure about this, Son?” my dad asked as we walked inside. “Could have been anything. It was the last lap of the race.”
“I’m in that car every day, Dad. I’ve had my hands in the engine. Trust me. Something wasn’t right.”
Flipping on the lights, we both stopped and looked at the car.
Its sleek frame gleamed under the harsh fluorescent light, the scars of the day’s race evident in the grime streaked along its sides. The smell of burned rubber and oil still clung to it, a testament to the battle it had just endured. I approached cautiously, my eyes scanning for any outward sign of damage.
Its glossy paint reflected the overhead lights, but to me, it was more than just a car—it was a puzzle waiting to be solved. I grabbed my toolbox and crouched by the hood, my fingers brushing over its warm surface. Without a word, Dad joined me, his expression unreadable but his presence steady.
We worked in silence for a while, the only sounds being the clink of tools and the faint hum of the cooling engine. It didn’t take long to find the source of my unease. A gritty substance, almost like granules of sand in the oil. Holding my fingers up tothe light, I rubbed my thumb and index fingers together, feeling the coarse grit that had almost cost me everything.
“Feels like sand,” I muttered as my dad dipped his finger in the oil.
He stood beside me, frowning as he looked at the engine.
His voice was low, tinged with both frustration and relief. “Residual debris from the race, maybe?”
I rolled the grit between my fingers, its edges sharp enough to make me wary. “Maybe, but I’ve never heard of anything like this before. Have you?” I asked, my voice was steadier now but laced with worry, even suspicion.
Dad’s eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing as he shook his head. “A first for me. I’m gonna go run the car around the track and kick out anything else that might be floating around. Tomorrow, we take this baby apart and clean her real good.”
I nodded, the determination in his words grounding me.
“Thought I’d find you two in here,” my mom murmured, walking in all smiles. “You know you both are missing a party, right?”
“Hey, sweetheart,” my dad said, walking over to her and kissing her forehead. “Feel like a moonlit ride around the track.”
“With you?” She smiled warmly up at him. “Always.”
I stood back and watched as Dad started the car. The engine sounded great, as if nothing was wrong. Looking over at my mom, he smiled, easing the car out of the garage. Watching as Dad maneuvered the car onto the track, I grinned when he stuck his arm out and gave me a thumbs-up right before he gunned the engine.
The car roared to life as it streaked across the track under a blanket of stars, its headlights slicing through the night. I stood at the edge of the pit, the wind carrying the faint scent of oil and rubber. Mom and Dad looked like silhouettes against theglow of the headlights. Their laughter carried over the hum of the engine.
As the car disappeared into the evening haze, its headlights casting long shadows on the track, I stood in a comfortable silence. The rhythmic hum of the engine in the distance was like a heartbeat, steady and reassuring. I lingered for a moment before the distant roar of the engine grew louder, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood. I slowly turned, stepping out of the pit. I could clearly hear the whine, followed by the revving of the engine as it worked too hard.
