Chapter Fifteen

The day after our "heist," if you want to call it that, El and I pull up in the Hornet at Benton Creek Airfield, a small, regional abandoned stretch of runways and rusting hangars half an hour away from Riley's apartment building.

"Holy shit," El mutters in the seat beside me. "Is this really the place?"

The Hornet's headlights illuminate a stretch of tall chain-link fence that's been cut open wide enough to let a car pull through. Kudzu vines cover the fence with a leafy curtain, making the open section look like a portal to another world. Beyond the vines, the airfield stretches into the night, the central runway lined by dozens of other cars who have their headlights on to light up the stretch of pavement. Neon underlighting colors the ground pink, green, and blue, and music pumps out of many of the cars, the bass thumping into the night. Clumps of people stand around, laughing, drinking, and making bets and side bets like something out of Fast Furious.

A thrill of excitement electrifies my nerves, and I sit up straighter. We're really doing this. I'm really staking Mom's car. I'm finally—finally—back on the track and racing again. It's going to be so goddamn amazing.

Even as I have that thought, it's immediately chased by another: What if I lose and Riley takes Mom's car? How am I ever going to explain that to Dad? I grip the steering wheel as my stomach flips. I absolutely cannot think that way. There's no way I'm losing this race. Not even an option.

I turn back to El and her question. "Yup, looks like the place."

She frowns. "It looks like somewhere one goes to get killed."

I shift in my seat, gunning the Hornet's engine and cocooning us momentarily in the loud, hungry purr of a V-8 engine. I can't keep a smug grin off my face. I love that sound. "It looks like a place where one goes to win a race and get back a bitchin' motorcycle jacket."

That earns me a small, tight smile from El. "Are you sure the car is ready?"

"Betty is in fighting shape, trust me." I run a hand along the steering wheel affectionately, infusing as much confidence as possible into the words.

Late last night, after we'd gotten the keys and said goodbye to CJ and James, who were headed back home to Charleston this morning, I'd biked back to Jolene's garage and taken the Hornet out for a test drive. It had run beautifully—and quickly, as it should. But would it be quick enough to beat Riley's bike?

It has to be.

The twilight sky is deep purple and orange, though the night is creeping in at the edges. Fireflies dance along the fence line in front of us, helped along by a slight breeze. I'll have to consider that breeze as I'm racing tonight. The night smells like exhaust, summertime, and El. A heady mix that's going right to my blood.

Racing.

My heart kicks at the thought.

That's all well and good, whispers a voice in my head, but what's the plan, JoJo?

Be fearless and drive fast enough to not get caught, as my mother would say.

I still don't have my license, but that didn't stop me from picking up El. And it won't stop me from driving tonight. El had given the Hornet one look and insisted on driving us to the airfield, but I'd refused to leave the driver's seat and she'd begrudgingly climbed into the passenger seat.

"Why are you dressed like Letty Ortiz?" she'd asked me the minute she'd slammed her door shut. Her eyes had run over my leather jacket, white tank top, and tight low-rise jeans.

"Good luck. Also, don't you like Letty?"

El's voice came out a little choked. "I love Letty Ortiz with the collective burning passion of all the queer girls out there. But isn't that a little warm for summer?"

"It's not even July yet."

She hadn't replied—merely raised an eyebrow.

"Fine," I'd said, shrugging out of my jacket so I was just in the tank top and jeans. "Better?"

El gave a little squeak beside me, and leaned so close that I thought she was going to kiss me, but she just wiped at a smudge of grease on my cheek. "It's fine. Perfect. Whatever."

And then, she'd pulled away again. I didn't know if it's due to the F1 Academy application form we'd still not talked about and I'd still not sent in, or her nerves about tonight, but I didn't have time to focus on it.

We didn't have time to kiss or talk much, but I had promised her I'd get Max's jacket back, and that was a promise I meant to keep.

I pull the Hornet through the hole in the fence and we drive along a service road that approaches the main runway. The tarmac is overgrown in parts with weeds. There are at least fifty people here, but it's a world away from the big-city illegal street races in the FF movies, where there are girls in teeny-tiny skirts and sky-high boots and whole streets in LA that are cleared by legions of racers.

"Real world versus the movies," I say, as we roll past a lime-green Nissan and two muscle cars. On the main stretch, a Dodge Charger and a souped-up Civic line up at the starting line and tear away, neck and neck as someone drops the starting flag. My heart is going faster than the cars as I pull into an empty spot, close to where Riley has parked his bike. The heat, the roar of engines, the crowd—all of it is so familiar and simultaneously terrifying.

You can do this, JoJo. You are not going to lose your mom's car.

Rather than addressing my own fears, I nudge El with my elbow and raise an eyebrow at the crew Riley has brought along. They're a mixed group of twenty-something guys and girls in motorcycle jackets, with a few older Harley riders thrown into the mix. All of them are drinking, and the smell of weed drifts into our open window.

"I can't believe these were Max's friends," El says.

I don't know what to say to that, so I just keep quiet.

As I park the car, I gun the engine again. My heart thrums with the electric energy that comes before a race. A burst of laughter and lots of hoots and whistles rise from the crowd. El scowls and Riley strides over to the Hornet.

He leans down, putting his forearms on my open window. He's got Max's jacket tucked over his arm. His warm, beer-laced breath washes over me as he says, "Can't believe you showed up tonight, little Max and little Max's girlfriend. You sure this sedan can make it to the end of the runway?"

El's scowl deepens and her hands curl into fists in her lap.

"Well, I borrowed it from my grandma," I deadpan. "But my mama and daddy told me this was a real fast car, so I'm hoping it'll be good in a race." I bat my eyes at him, feigning wide-eyed innocence. Really, it's all I can do not to snatch Max's jacket from his arm and tear out of there. But, in addition to the jacket, we also need Max's address. I gun the engine again, letting my annoyance sing through the car.

"Maybe it was fast in the seventies," Riley quips, with a snorted laugh. "But now I doubt it'd make it to the senior center without falling apart." He straightens up. "Welp, might as well get the ass-kicking over with. You're not the only race tonight."

"See you at the finish line," I call to his retreating back.

"If you make it there," he hollers over his shoulder.

This draws another laugh from the crowd, and I feel the smallest smile creep onto my lips. It's going to be so, so good to beat Riley in front of his friends.

I look over at El, who's gripping her seat belt with white knuckles. Touching one of her hands, I uncurl her fingers. "You should get out for this part," I say gently.

She glances at me, a vaguely wild look in her eyes. "Are you sure you can do this?" The concern that laces her voice makes me think she cares about me, and not the jacket or getting Max's address.

"Not to sound like a conceited ass, but I could beat Riley in the Oatmobile."

That surprises a laugh from El. "We should've brought that. What was I thinking?"

"That you trust me, just a little."

A conflicted look crosses her face and then she leans across the space between us and plants a soft kiss on my cheek. "Destroy him for me, will you?"

The kiss warms my cheek and sends a jolt of hope through me. "Happily."

El gets out of the car, and, after flashing her a wink, I drive the Hornet to the starting line. The other cars finish up—the Civic stomping the Charger, and then Riley's there, sitting on a red and white crotch rocket. I'm not a Bike Girl?, but even I can tell the bike has seen better days. The Hornet is going to obliterate him. Or at least I hope it does. I mean, it shouldn't, as his bike is definitely faster, but this is where driving skill, reckless confidence, and luck come in. Pulling my picture of Jamie Chadwick from my pocket—which I'd not placed on the dash as usual when El was in the car because I didn't want to talk about the F1 Academy or my application or any of that—I put her on the dashboard. There's no room for self-doubt here.

"I believe in you, Betty," I murmur to the car. "I believe in us."

Beside me, Riley says something, but I ignore him. My fingers curl around the steering wheel, all my focus on the stretch of runway in front of me.

There's a difference between race car drivers who are good enough, pretty good, really good, and elite. Some of it's training, some of it's luck, and a lot of it's pure, unbroken focus. That's one of my greatest strengths on the track, and it's led me to countless victories over the last few years.

"Still can back out," Riley says, as he settles onto the bike.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I call back. "See you in thirteen seconds."

He snorts and drops his helmet visor.

In front of us, a girl in short jean shorts and a Guns N' Roses T-shirt holds a checkered flag. Out of the corner of my eye, I see El press her hands over her mouth. Then, my gaze snaps forward.

Three, two, one …

The flag drops.

My foot slams into the gas.