Disclaimer: The following chapter contains depictions of self-harm that may be triggering for some readers. If you or someone you know is struggling with self-harm or mental health issues, please seek help from a professional. Your well-being is important, and support is available.I'll place this red flag '🚩' on the scene that contains the above so if you're not comfortable reading it, feel free to skip when you see the red flag<3
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Monday 13th August, 2040.
Mansion- Section 1, Quarter 1.
3:00pm
________________________As promised, Knockout picks me up from school in Spitfire and instead of heading home immediately, we drive twenty minutes to the race car track. As is his custom now, Knockout asks about my day at school and how classes went. I reply with a shrug of my shoulder and say it was fine. I fail to mention Rory A.K.A, rude boy from Section 2, suddenly showing up at my school and how my suspicions about who he is still lingers in my mind.
"Your dad is home." I turn away from Knockout and glance through the passenger seat window because I am unable to contain my smile. The mission. "I told him I was taking you for a drive but he said to make sure I get you home by six this evening. Something about a dinner and guests coming over that he wants you to meet."
I don't know if words can accurately express everything I feel in this moment. Dad kept his word! He's actually going through with this. He's introducing me to other spies and sending me on a mission. My fists clench, gripping my skirt in my hands, fearing that my excitement might make me burst. We pull up to the racetrack just as a few cars speed past. Without stopping, Knockout joins them, merging seamlessly into the frenzied, high-speed chase around the track.
"Drifting." He raises his voice over the wind blowing into the car due to sheer speed. "To put it simply, it is sliding the backside of the car and then regaining full control of the whole car, understand?" I nod. "The downside of this, it's more difficult to drift in an automatic car than in a manual car. I guess what I'm saying is when you do loose to me, you can lay the blame on ol' spit here for being an automatic." Knockout never misses an opportunity to throw insults my way and I've gotten so used to it that I don't hesitate to do it back.
"Can you drift in an automatic car?" I ask innocently.
He spares me a disbelieving glance. "Of course I can. I had to learn because the new car company doesn't produce manual cars anymore. And If I didn't know how to drift in an automatic, I wouldn't be able to teach you how to do it."
"Well if you're so great at it, it can't be that hard. I'll probably be able to do it too." I decide to take my teasing a little further. "Maybe even better." He lets out a laugh.
Knockout explains to me in detail the technique of drifting. I commit everything he says to memory. After a few minutes of explanation, banter and more snarky comments, Knockout hits the accelerator and the usual dopamine rush I feel whenever we drive in Spitfire comes roaring to life. It doesn't hit as much as when I'm the one in the driver's seat but it is definitely still there. I try not to focus too much on the feeling as I watch his next moves closely.
He shifts the gear to rev then proceeds to push in the lock-up clutch of the torque converter then moves the steering wheel to the inside of the turn. At the same time, he keeps pulling the handbrake. I watch him press the pedal, release the clutch and for the final move, he flicks the steering wheel to the right. My whole body swerves to the right as Spitfire drifts. My heart hammers in my chest but not out of fear. "The more throttle you use, the better!" He shouts over the wind as the car spins from the back to the front. "The car turns and drifts more from the center with more throttle!"
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