Different

chapter 7 Off to the Races

Chapter 7

Off to the Races

A few days have passed and it’s now Friday night and I’m sneaking out. Technically I’m not sneaking out, just leaving without telling anyone. Two or three days ago while I was just out around town I just happened to park next ’67 SS Camaro. It was still there as I was leaving the convenient store and I stopped to check it out. The black paint wasn’t perfect, you can tell the owner actually used it frequently. That being said it definitely wasn’t a cheap paint job. The back tires where obviously racing tires, I can tell because of width. I had street raced a few times with my dad before and I know my dad raced his ’67 Camaro as well. As I examine it further I hear, “Like what you see, good lookin’?” I turn to see an attractive blonde haired blue eyed boy come walk my way. I say boy but really he looks like 18 or 19. “She’s a beauty, she yours?” I ask referring to the car. He nods crossing his muscular arms as he leans against it. “uhh….Yea.” He said. “What do ya have under the hood?” I ask as I walk toward the front of the car. “I..uh..it’s a...28z” I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion there’s a Z/28 package you could have gotten in ’69 but that’s not the engine. If I’m not mistaken the most common engines in the SS package deal is a 350 or 396 cubic inch V8. As I open my mouth to state my confusion when I’m interrupted, “Bro, you are such an idiot there’s not even a “28z” or anything remotely close to what you just said.” I see a brown eyed brown haired boy walking up and sticking the key into the driver’s side door. He’s a little smaller than the blonde boy, but much bigger than the guys I used to live with. He didn’t even glance at me as he stuck his few groceries in his back set. He mumbled something about using his car to pick up chicks. “So is it the 350 or 396? My guess is the 396. The tires are obviously for racing so the more cubic inches the better right? Unless it’s not stock, then anything could really be under there.” The brown haired boy looked up at me with eyebrows raised. “Yea, it’s the 96,” He said now fully taking me in. “I prefer the RS, but it’s not too bad for and SS I guess.” I reply walking back around so I’m in between my car and his. Before he can reply I start again, “at least it’s a ’67 though.” “You really know your stuff huh?” He said smiling slightly. I nodded as I began to unlock my car; this bag of groceries is starting to get heavy. “I’d like to think so.” He stuck his hand out to shake mine as he said, “Cameron” I walked over and shook it slightly amused. “Cameron with the Camaro? Cute.” He let out one of those snort laughs. “So, did you get those tires somewhere close by? Mine are gone.” I asked pointing back to mine. It was obvious to any racer that it would be seriously dangerous to race with such little grip left. The only reason I haven’t gotten them done is because one I didn’t know a place over here and two, I didn’t know there was any track around. I also didn’t know any street racers around here to race against. After he told me about the shop where he gets his done I nodded and thanked him while I started to get into my car. “Hey! There’s a track that’s open on Friday nights down by the creek, you should come check it out.” “Definitely.” So here I am, Friday night on my way to the track with new tires from the shop Cameron told me about. I wasn’t planning on racing, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t and I wanted to have them just in case. I pulled into the track entrance and made my way into the bleachers surrounding the 1/8th of a mile speedway. The track wasn’t for professionals as much as guys racing with they’re buddies. Most of the cars were classics, but obviously weren’t stock. Some were expensive, some were more common every day cars, while some had nitrous. Basically it was a melting pot of cars. I watched as guys would roll up, do a burn out, wait for the tree (A/N the lights that tell the drivers to go is the tree) and race off. The burn outs, if they were good, were my favorite part. I might be the only girl in the world who loves the smell of burning rubber. I watched for a good hour or so all alone separated from the others scattered in the crowd. I made all kinds of comments in my head about the drivers and their cars. If they wobbled around the track and hesitated they were probably just teenagers with daddy’s money. If they went straight, hard, and fast they were probably experienced but they’re wives had no idea. I made up all kind of scenarios about the drivers lives. As my stomach began to growl I walked out of the bleachers to the small concession stand. There was only one person in front of me and they received their food almost as soon as I got there. Before I could order a black haired boy walked into the concession stand saying, “Tommo they’re lookin’ for you in the pits bro.” The statement appearing to be directed toward the guy taking peoples orders in the stand. “Go. I gotcha covered,” the black haired boy said again as he started to wash his hands. While they discussed I took in the black haired boy. His short sleeved shirt exposed his tattoos that covered his arms. He had no noticeable piercings in, but you could tell his right ear had been pierced before. His hair was shorter along the sides of his head and fuller on the top, styled into a quiff. The quiff looked as if he had had a helmet on, but judging by the way he spoke about coming from the pits it was probably because of a helmet. “What can I get for ya newbie?” He said breaking me of my own little world. I wanted to make a comment on the ‘newbie’ thing but nothing came to mind. “Can I get a burger with some fries? Oh and a Sprite!” He nods and takes my money and turns and put the already patted ball of meat onto the skillet. Then puts some fries in the deep fryer and hands me my drink. He leans against the back counter, looking at me and having the food in his peripheral. I take a sip and just look around to anywhere but the concession stand. The pits aren’t too far from here and seem to open for anyone to walk into; I’ll check them out later. When I look back at the boy inside I take in a few more details about his appearance. “What do you race?” I ask him trying to start conservation. “How do you know I race?” he asked. The way he said didn’t sound creeped out but amused. “Well the oil stains on your jeans, you smell like burnt rubber, and you can still see the layer of smoke that only a really good burn out can give you.” When you do a good burn out your car will fill up with smoke and you have to open your door to air it back out. It takes a good minute to get the majority of it out. By then, a lot of it has stuck to your skin making your skin look dusty. This guy’s arms are covered in it along with his neck. His face looks pretty clear from the layer of filth, probably because of a helmet. The guy seemed a little shocked at my answer but, mostly amused. “So the newbie knows her stuff,” he said flipping my burger and looking back at me. “I still don’t know which one you drive.” I state. “You seem rather interested, don’t ya think?” he counters pulling my fries out of the hot oil. “I wasn’t too impressed by the majority of the burn outs I’ve seen here.” I said looking back toward the track. “There were a few though, that were rather impressive. And like I said that much dust means you did a good one. That, or you can’t take care of your car and it overheated all over you.” I doubted it was the second option, but I wanted to see if it would get a rise out of him. He came to ledge of the concession stand by where I was standing and leaned against it, coming a few inches from my face. “Newbie, I’m sure you know that the smoke from a car over heating wouldn’t do this,” he nods towards his skin and I did. “but, you’ve intrigued me which doesn’t happen often around these parts for me. Especially towards girls. So I will answer your question if you answer mine.” I nod ignoring ‘towards girls’ comment. “A ’91 Firebird” he said quickly and before I could even ask him on his extremely vague answer he asked, “You wanna come to the pits with me?” I figured what the heck, I wanted to go anyway and he seemed to know the track really well so it’d be better than aimlessly walking. “Sure” I shrugged, “But you owe me another burger.” I smirked pointing the now smoking burger. He cursed under his breath and through the patty in the trash. The fries weren’t in bad shape so he put them in a cup and handed them to me. “Yea I’ll tell Tommo he’s a better cook,” he chuckled as left the stand. We started walking toward the pits when I realized I didn’t even know this guy’s name. Almost as soon as we walked I heard someone yell “Zayn!” and wave him over to which Burger Boy changed his direction of walking to walk toward the yelling. So Burger Boy’s name is Zayn. Mhm. I followed Zayn towards a group of five or six guys and watched as they all did they’re weird little hand shake when I heard, “Hey you made it!” I see the brown haired boy from the parking lot. I smiled at him, “Cameron with the Camaro.” He nods, “that’s me!” Seeing him with this group of guys you can tell he’s older than them. He’s probably 21 or 22, while everyone else looks between 18 and 20. “You racing tonight?” Cameron asks. I shrug, “Depends on if anyone has big enough balls to ask.” He smirks but before he says anything Zayn asks, “Whoa whoa, y’all know each other?” I nod. “And you race?” I nod again. Zayn’s only reply was a shocked face and a quiet ‘mhm’. Cameron then introduced me to all the guys in their little group. “That’s Mack.” Cameron points to a familiar blonde who solutes back to me. “Oh, 28z guy.” Cameron laughs, then points to a taller man. “That’s Jeff over there,” it takes me a minute but I realize he was with Mason that day at Mama’s Pizza. “The pizza girl right?” Jeff asks. I smirk and Jeff says laughing, “Guys this is the chick that hit Mas in the face with a slice of pizza!” Everyone chuckles and Cameron continues introducing me to a guy named John. Finally he points to the guy leaning against a flat black 2014 Camaro. “And that’s Cole,” Cameron said and Cole just smirks back at me. The fact he’s leaning on the car and smirking helps me place him. He’s that guy that saw me singing in my car when I first got here. Stupid smirk. “Motley Crew girl,” Cole says. I swear I’m not even sure if anyone here actually knows my real name, they all just have weird nick names for me. Even Mason doesn’t call me by name. “You know our names but I’m afraid we don’t know yours sweets,” Jeff says to me. “Y’all can call me Alli,” I reply with a small smile. For another hour or two the guys hang out by their cars, which are parked in the pits with a good view of the track. We would bet which car would win, but didn’t put any money down just kind of a bragging rights thing. “Anybody seen Mason?” Zayn asked the group. I didn’t even know he was here or into this kind of thing. A looked around the group and saw the guys shaking their heads no. “Brent challenged him a while back, I’m sure he’s went to get his car ready and comin’ up soon” Cole says. Mason races? The intercom came on announcing the line for the track was closed. Meaning whoever is in line for the track now will be the last ones to go.

 About ten minutes later the boys jumped up to the fence separating the track from onlookers to watch the last race. Everyone in pits and bleachers did the same. I’m guessing this is Mason’s race since he has yet to go. Mack explained that Mason and whoever this Brent was brought a lot of entertainment to on lookers. They apparently hated each other and fought whenever they both ended up in the same place. One of the guys in the group turned so I get on the fence. I look down the track to the tree. We’re right at the finish line so it’s a little fuzzy but you can see the two cars. In the far lane was a silver 1970-something Corvette. In the near lane was a red 1970 Chevelle with white racing stripes. The Corvette sounded nice, but the Chevelle’s burn out won my vote. The guys were all discussing back in forth about modifications each car had. “I don’t know who drives what, but I’m betting near lane. Cole smirked while he looked down at me while everyone else didn’t bother to reply. I watched the tree light up. The Corvettes’ yellow. The Chevelles’ yellow. Both yellow. Both yellow. Both yellow. Green. The Corvette had a slightly better start but it didn’t seem to bother the Chevelle as he caught up quickly. It stayed close until it got closer to me and the gang by the finish line. The Chevelle had started to pull forward and crossed the line first. I looked at the boys with an ‘I told ya so’ kind of expression. As the crowd began to walk toward their cars the gang stayed and I stayed with them. I watched the Corvette serve around people trying to get out of here in hurry. He was pissed. The Chevelle rolled its way toward us calmly. I heard the engine shut off and could slightly see a figure moving around inside the car. The door opened and out stepped Mason King.

A/N

I know it’s been like a week and I’m sorry! School started and I’m taking a lot of challenging classes as well as playing basketball. I’ll get better at updating as the year goes on I promise! Okay so whaddya think? If y’all have questions on cars or anything comment and I’ll try to post links to pictures of them. Or you could just hit up that Google bar. I’m gonna do some homework (FML) but if I finish early I’ll update again!

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Thank lovelies

~Lou