The Drag Racer

Chapter Two- Grease Dogs

Laying in the lounge, I was hummin' along to the record player. Didn't know who sang it, since the record was blank. No name or anything. That was the issue with a lot of our records, Pa's records never had names. But I grew up on these songs, and they're really close to my heart. Rex came down in his denim jacket, combing back his golden hair out of his hazel eyes. We were completely opposites, appearance-wise. My hair was the colour of engine oil and my eyes were bright green, whilst Rex was the opposite. I was pale, he was tan. I don't mind much, looks aren't everything to me.

I got up and walked out to the car. We had a garage that we kept Missy in, but we also have Pa's old station wagon that we use to get around. If we crashed Missy, I'd go crazy! And there's no telling what Rex'd do! I got in and waited for Rex. He just had to finish messing with his hair and then we'd be off.

Rex showed up a few moments after, still messing around with his hair before getting in.
"No one's gonna be looking at your hair, why're you doing it all up?"
"The chicks'll dig it after the race."
"If it still looks like that."
"Huh?"
"Nevermind. Just drive."
"What's with you, you seem so strained." He said, starting up the car.
"I've been working too hard, that's all. You sure put a lot of work on the aesthetics, but you don't give a damn if it actually works or not!"
"Well obviously I care if it works. But people are drawn to looks too. I'm just trying to get us money."
"What, by people bettin' and gamblin' on you?"
"Well, yeah. I know that it's not ideal, but how else are we gonna make money? No one'll hire me because of my police record and you're a minor."
"You got that damn police record from racing! If you just quit it then-"
"Then we'd have to sell Missy."

The car went silent. Rex wouldn't have the balls to sell Missy. She was my baby just as much as she was his. We had poured our souls into her. He was trying to scare me, that's all. Why does he gotta be so doggone mean? I didn't feel like talking no more than I had to. That simple phrase shook me up something awful. Rex wasn't usually like that. It was probably just the stress before the race, that's all.

We finally got to the race, Rex went off to the garage to get Missy whilst I hung around the riverbed. He was racing two other cars. Ours was the only one made up to look like a race car. I bought a coke off of another crew. That crew were my friends. Since I'm the only one that works on Rex's car, I don't talk to many people that are as car-mad as I am. That's where the other crews come in. See, there's a strange thing with us. The drivers are all bitter and all act like they're superior to each other, Rex included. But with us, we all are kind of buddy-buddy to each other. Mainly me and one crew. There was 4 people, and they all worked for their pal Switch (as he was known, I don't know his real name or if he had one at all). We call ourselves the 'Grease Dogs', because of car grease and junk. You had Davey, Steve, Mike and Alessandro. We just call Alessandro Sandro. He doesn't mind. His family's from Italy, so that's probably why his name is pretty unique. Hell, he stands out like a sore thumb when he's next to all of us. We love him to bits, though. He's just part of the family to me.

We were all sitting around, passing around Coca-Colas and talking to each other about this and that. Then, the roar of the engines came along and we all focused on that. Rex started waving at the chicks over at the other side and giving filthy looks to the other racers. But he doesn't even glance at me. I felt a bit nervous. Rex always looked over to me whenever he was about to race. And I always whistled back to give him luck. I prayed again. And after that, I don't think I'm gonna pray anymore.