Blind Spot (6 page)

JAMIE’S STOMACH CHURNED
as she pulled into the parking lot of the Pit Stop, a tiny restaurant and lunch counter near the center of Velocity. Her 1965 Mustang chugged and sputtered after she turned off the engine. She’d have to put some additive in the gas tank to see if she could clean it out.

Jamie had bought the car from Mrs. Willits, one of her mother’s friends, whose husband had died. She’d babysat for the family since she was 12. She spotted the car on cinder blocks in the Willits garage when she was 13. The youngest Willits boy had disappeared—something that happened at least once during each of her sitting jobs there. She’d run into the garage, looking for his hiding place, when she noticed a car covered with a gray tarp. She pulled it back, and it was love at first sight. She’d
seen the model in magazines and at vintage car shows around town, but she’d never been this close to one. She opened the door, took one look at the black interior, and knew it would be her first car.

Jamie had made a deal with Mrs. Willits, trading a full year of babysitting along with $500 she had saved. She took possession of the car at 14 and began restoring the engine. Her dad helped in the evenings when he could and let her use his tools. She had to replace some upholstery and install a whole new brake system, but the main work was under the hood. With some help from a mechanic on the Maxwell team and a few volunteers from church, Jamie finished the car. When she got her driver’s license, she’d driven away from the North Carolina Division of Motor Vehicles in Maxie, the name she had chosen for it.

Now, sitting in the parking lot, she couldn’t believe how much money it took to keep a car going. Her dad paid the insurance, and she changed the oil herself, but she took care of all repairs, gasoline, tires, and registration. That, along with racing expenses, was why she accepted as many babysitting and house-sitting jobs as she could, along with her part-time job at the car-parts place.

But it wasn’t the chugging of the car or the bills she was trying to pay that had her stomach churning. It was the sight of Chad Devalon’s red Corvette
in the parking lot, only a few months old and sparkling like a diamond. His dad had bought it for him. She’d heard it was because of his grades, but she had a friend who went to the same private school he attended and claimed Chad wasn’t the brightest bulb in the lighthouse.

Jamie had left a message on his cell phone and asked for a meeting. She’d rehearsed what she was going to say a dozen times, but seeing that car brought up the anger she felt.

Her other problem, of course, was that Chad was undeniably cute. He was a jerk. He was despicable. He wasn’t a Christian. He was everything she didn’t want to be as a racer, but if you put all that aside, he was hotter than the intake manifold on the 499th mile at the Indy 500.

Jamie looked in her rearview mirror and took a deep breath. She had to keep her head. She was on a mission.

She spotted Chad sitting in the back as soon as she walked inside. He wore a black jacket with
Devalon Racing
in yellow letters, his back to the door. His jet-black hair was squared in the back, and he sat ramrod straight, though he occasionally bobbed his head and tapped his foot to a country song on the speakers.

“Hey, Jamie,” the waitress said. It was Trace’s
mother. “We’re not very busy—you want a table or the counter?”

“I’m meeting someone, Mrs. Flattery,” Jamie said.

The woman raised her eyebrows and looked at Chad. “You be careful now, you hear?”

Jamie nodded and walked to the booth. If Chad had been a gentleman, he would have taken off his hat and stood when she arrived. He did neither. All he did was look up at her with the straw of his strawberry milk shake sticking out of his mouth.

“Want one?” Chad said. “It’s on me.”

She shook her head. “I’m good.”

“How’d you get my cell number?”

“I have connections, Chad. I’m not stupid.”

“Nobody said you were stupid. What did you want to talk about?”

Mrs. Flattery walked by. “Can I get you something, Jamie? Shake? Bottle of Yoo-hoo?”

“Just a glass of water,” Jamie said. Her mouth felt cottony, and she was having a hard time not being distracted by the song—it was one of her favorites.

“She’s got to keep that figure of hers,” Chad said. “Can’t mess it up with sugary stuff.”

“Give me that bottle of Yoo-hoo after all,” Jamie said.

“Be right back,” Mrs. Flattery said, winking.

“Listen, before you get started,” Chad said, “about that Alabama race . . . I know you think I was being a jerk, trying to wreck you to get ahead. . . .”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I was just trying to win. Wasn’t personal.”

“Chad, every race we’ve run together has been personal. You’ve either been in front of me cutting me off or at my tail trying to bump me.” She felt her blood pressure rising, her face getting hot. She grabbed the edge of the table, then let go when she saw he was watching her. “Why wouldn’t I take it personally?”

Mrs. Flattery returned with a Yoo-hoo and a straw, scowling at Chad. “Here you go, honey.”

“Well, I want you to know, it won’t happen again,” Chad said.

“Right,” Jamie said. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’m serious. I’m never running into you again. I’ll never block you. You’ll be safe on the track from now on.”

Jamie shook the Yoo-hoo bottle and unscrewed the cap until it popped. As she stared at Chad, the song changed from bouncy to plaintive—a sad song about somebody crying and sitting by a fire, missing someone who had just walked out.

“So what is it
you
wanted to talk about?” Chad said.

“No, back up. Start over. Why are you saying this? You get religion or something?”

Chad laughed, and Jamie felt a jolt she hoped was the effects of the Yoo-hoo. His smile flashed like a missile on a radar screen. “I’m just saying I won’t be a problem for you anymore.”

“And how can you make that promise?”

“I’m moving up.”

She almost choked, and she was just glad the Yoo-hoo didn’t come out her nose. “You’re what?”

“After that last race Dad thought I was ready to move up to Grand Nationals. We’ve been talking about it for a while. So he bought me a new car. But instead I’m going into a new division with better sponsors and tracks. Bigger purses too. I’m practicing next week if you want to come watch.”

Jamie’s heart sank. It was bad enough racing against Chad. The only thing worse would be watching him move up to another class and leave her in the dust. She’d talked with her dad about the possibility of moving up, but he said it was expensive and that she could learn all she needed where she was. She felt like tossing her drink on Chad’s black jacket. Especially with that smarmy smile of his.

“He bought you a car?” Jamie said.

“One of the Devalon team members had one. Dad surprised me with it.”

“Must be nice,” she muttered.

“It’s in perfect condition. It’s in the shop now getting a fresh coat of paint. We’ll need a backup, of course, but that can wait.”

“If it was perfect, why paint it? Let me guess. Black?”

“You got it.”

“Wait a minute. You smack into me and ruin my chances to win, and your dad says you’re ready to move up?”

“That and what happened afterward. He said if I could keep my cool when a girl started throwing punches, I was ready.”

“I never threw a punch. And you didn’t keep your cool.”

“I did enough for him.”

“Don’t you have to qualify?”

“With my record and the fact that I have a sponsor, Dad says I’m in. Plus, he knows some people.”

Of course.
Jamie’s mind swirled. She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “How much does it cost? I mean, other than the car. What kind of fees do you have to pay?”

Chad told her, and her heart sank even further. She wanted to scream. Since she’d seen her first NASCAR race, she’d dreamed about becoming a driver. At 10 she’d set a goal but hadn’t told a living soul about it.
It was her dad who had nailed it when he asked why she wanted to spend all her time at the kart track. She’d hemmed and hawed until he pressed her again. “Because I’m going to be the first girl to win the cup, Dad,” she’d said.

Her dad had smiled and patted her head. “I just bet you’ll do it.”

Jamie drained her Yoo-hoo and dropped two dollars onto the table.

“So, no hard feelings?” Chad said, putting out a hand.

She shook his hand and left without saying a word.

TIM DIDN’T HAVE WHAT
he would call a real friend
in high school. The past few years, when he lived on the road, his only friends had been the crew guys who actually talked to him. And his dad.

There were a few guys he knew from classes who would say hello to him, plus Kimberly, a girl on the student council ambassador program. On his first day, she’d showed him to his locker and given him a tour of the school. She’d asked what groups he was interested in joining.

Tim just shrugged. “You got a NASCAR club?”

“I know there’re a lot of people who watch it,” she said. “There are a bunch of them in my youth group. You ought to come to our church—the group meets on Tuesday nights.”

Tim scratched his head. “I’m not really into religious stuff.”

“Well, keep it in mind. It’s a good way to meet new people.”

He’d seen Kimberly in the hall a few times after that. She’d waved and smiled, asking if he’d settled in okay and if he was having any problems with his teachers. Always remembering his name. She told him to sit in front in English and he’d get a better grade.

Who was he kidding? He hadn’t been to school since his dad had taken him on the road with him. He didn’t have any idea what most of the teachers were talking about. He’d done some workbooks in math and reading, but he’d basically fallen through the cracks after his dad sold their house.

He carried his father’s notebook to class and read sections of it when he was supposed to be listening or taking notes. It wasn’t as though his dad had been William Faulkner or Herman Melville, a couple of guys his English teacher had talked about. The stuff his dad wrote was often just scribbled notes or thoughts about the team or his frustration with his life, but it was intensely personal to Tim. It was like living alone on an island and suddenly finding a pen pal. Although he couldn’t write to this pen pal.

I’m worried about Lexy. Today she called and sounded really sad. Said she felt like she couldn’t care for Tim anymore. Needed some space.
I made some joke she didn’t laugh at, then told her we’d talk when I got home. She just started crying. Tears my heart out when I hear that. Worst feeling in the world. I wish I could bring them both out here with me, but I can’t.

The bell rang and Tim piled his stuff in his backpack. When he got to the hall, he saw Kimberly and caught up to her. She smiled and asked a billion questions about his classes and if he’d made friends and all that.

When he could get a word in, he said, “You said you know some people who are interested in NASCAR. Can you think of anybody who might want to go to Daytona in a couple of weeks?”

“That’s a big race, isn’t it?”

Tim nodded.

“Let me make a phone call or two. Or you could just come to our outing tonight. We’re going bowling.”

Tim recognized the bowling alley’s name. It was about a mile from his house. “Okay, I’ll meet you there tonight.”

“YOU DID WHAT?”
Jamie’s dad said. His hands were dirty, and he had his hat pushed back on his head so it was sticking straight up at the ceiling. Jamie couldn’t help noticing that his hair had grown grayer around the edges, and she wondered if that was from the racing or if part of it was her fault.

“I wrote an ad about my Legend car and put it in the paper.”

“How’d you do that?”

“I did it online. And I’m thinking about advertising Maxie too.”

“Wait, if you’re giving up racing, why are you—?”

“I’m not
giving
it up. I’m
moving
up. There’s a new division with better sponsors and tracks. Bigger purses too.”

“Jamie, we’ve talked about this. I don’t think you’re ready. And there’s no way we can afford—”

“Dad, the only race you’ve been to lately was Alabama. How would you know if I’m ready?”

“You know this is a busy time when we’re getting ready for the season.”

“Chad’s moving up, and he’s—”

“Is that what this is about? Chad and his dad? We don’t live our lives or make decisions based on the Devalons. And to be honest, I’m glad to see you get away from him. He’s dangerous.”

“I’m not doing this because of Chad. I’m ready, Dad. I know it. You won’t stop me from selling my car, will you?”

“Maxie is part of you, Jamie. Why would you want to sell her?”

“Because there’s no way I can get enough money for the fees and a new car. Maxie will get me enough for the fees, and then if I can get a sponsor . . .”

He sighed heavily and walked into the kitchen.

Jamie followed him and found her mother listening to the conversation but staying out of it. She was busy with something on the stove, and Kellen sat at the kitchen table, bouncing his pencil on his math book.

“She’s ready, Dad,” Kellen mumbled. “I hate to admit it, but she is. You ought to let her move up.”

“I don’t need your input right now,” he snapped.

“Keep working on him,” Jamie whispered to Kellen.

Her dad washed his hands and ripped a paper towel from the dispenser. He just kept walking away, and usually Jamie would let him go, but for once she followed.

“Why do you have a problem with this?” Jamie said. “You’ve always told me to go after my dreams. To take chances when they come my way. I want to do this, but instead of being behind me, you’re the one in the way.”

“That’s not fair and you know it.” His face was red. “I’ve been behind you every step, but I can’t just put my problems on a shelf and forget them.” He walked into the pantry, then back into the kitchen and pulled out a chair. “One of my problems is how fast this came up. You’ve been fine right where you are. Learning, going faster, winning more. You seemed content racing your Legend car. What changed?”

“I’ve learned a lot, but I want to learn more.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he said. “But it feels like you want to move up because Chad is.”

“Okay, when I heard it, some feelings got triggered, sure. But you know what I’ve wanted to do since I was little, Dad.”

“And I want to help you get there.”

“You want to block me! You want to bang my bumper and spin me out.”

“Nice metaphor,” Kellen said.

They both looked at him like he was a boll weevil in a cotton field.

“There’s nothing I’d like better than to help you reach your goal,” her dad continued. “But I don’t want you in a situation where you’ll get hurt and have all your dreams crash.”

Jamie hung her head. The old you’ll-hurt- yourself-and-I-care-too-much-for-you-to-let-that-happen answer. She hated that answer. “If I were a boy, you wouldn’t be saying this.”

“True,” Kellen said.

“All right, you are out of here,” her dad said, picking up Kellen’s book and tossing it onto the couch in the living room. “Go. Now.”

Kellen walked away like a dog that had just had an accident on the carpet. “I’m just trying to be a good brother.”

Her dad leaned against the island, where her mother was still stirring. Why wasn’t she getting into this?

“Jamie, you have great reflexes—you’re a natural at driving. I couldn’t be any prouder of you for what you’ve done. I just want you to be ready.”

“Is this what your dad said to you?”

He took off his hat and held it in front of him, chuckling. “My dad was old school. He’d hop in a car and hope. Just mash the pedal to the floor and see
how fast and how far he could go. Racing’s a lot different today—you know that.”

“Yeah, but he encouraged you, didn’t he? He let you move up when you wanted.”

The phone rang before he could answer.

Kellen raced them to it and answered. He handed the phone to Jamie. “It’s somebody asking about your car.”