Racehead Read online

  The chica who doesn’t know how to change a fucking tire.

  Biting my bottom lip, I hum a little.

  It’s going to be an interesting rest of the morning.

  Vashti

  I BREATHE IN THE hot highway breeze.

  Traffic whizzes by.

  It’s already past eleven o’clock which means I’m currently an hour behind schedule.

  This morning couldn’t be going any worse…

  I’m likely already fired.

  With the luck I’ve been having lately, I’m assured I’m going to be on the pole soon, bouncing my naked ass for coins. I truly wonder if I’d get anything for my “phat ass” as my sleezeball manager at the fast food joint I work at two days a week had told me just last night. I majorly rolled my eyes and just kept bagging up those fries like a machine.

  I huff.

  I’m sweaty. My hair is everywhere. And I’m just frankly in a bad mood.

  Everything is so different about this place.

  The weather. The people. The women.

  When I scoped Riverside on TV three months ago, I couldn’t believe my eyes at how beautiful it was, like something out of the movies. The perfect beaches. The busy city. The fancy cars. The laid-back attitude of almost every soul who lives in this state. While a little excited, lots of parts of me sank down to my toes because I knew California just seemed like a place too magical to be real.

  And I think I was right about that.

  My vibe doesn’t exactly fit in here.

  I’m different.

  It didn’t take me long to realize that.

  As soon as my sandals hit the tarmac at LAX I knew I was in the wrong place.

  Even though I belong here.

  That was almost six months ago, and my feelings haven’t changed.

  Still though, if you ask me, everything about the way I look screams California girl. From my wild hair, weird taste in music and henna tatts to my never-ending love for the ocean which I feel like I haven’t seen in a century.

  But…

  I don’t party. I don’t hang out. I don’t make time to have any fun. I couldn’t be more different in that department from all the folks I’ve met since I arrived here.

  In between school where I slave with my now summer classes and textbooks, I work. And in between that I don’t have a minute to pee since I’ve been bogged down with a living, breathing “responsibility.”

  You see, someone, somewhere believes that one day I will be a mechanical engineer.

  Moi.

  Can you believe it?

  A mountain of school loans that I’ll be diving in my grave before I can pay back says just that. Currently, I owe La Sierra University, fifty-three thousand dollars and seventy-five cents. And that outstanding amount accrues six and a half percent interest every month no funds are applied to it, which is hella interesting considering I still have a way to go before I’m done!

  And that’s if I make it…

  So just like the US deficit, my college debt just keeps growing and growing and fucking growing.

  A little sigh leaves me.

  I’ve always been great at math. I’ve always enjoyed solving problems. I love working with others as a team and I love nothing more than to make something work more efficiently than it already does.

  But the truth is, I suck!

  Far worse than Tara Reid’s acting.

  More excruciating than Britney Spears’ singing without auto tune.

  Way more ridiculous than when Taylor Swift busts a move.

  In fact, I will be the worst engineer the universe has ever seen!

  I will be the one idiot responsible for airplanes crashing, bridges collapsing, cars blowing up and trains derailing. I’d be responsible for a shit-ton of deaths!

  At twenty-one years old, I’m much too young for responsibility.

  Rolling my eyes at nothing when I glance at my watch, I discover the time ticking away like a goddamn bomb.

  It’s useless to get upset.

  Believe it or not, my excuse for having gotten a flat tire this morning wouldn’t be acceptable. The only justifications for being late to this particular job would be if I’m bleeding from the neck and dying, or, I’m already dead. Nothing else would qualify and exempt me from the chopping block. Just rotten luck. Because it’s my favorite shitty job out of all of them. And believe me, they’re all shitty.

  The best view. The best hours. And I get to take home the leftover fries when my shift is over which I always eat cold, stretched out in front of the TV before I fall asleep almost every night.

  More vehicles pass by.

  The sun beats down on my shoulders, cooking me, but the sky is blue and I’m still breathing.

  I brush my hair away from my face and gaze out at the mountains in the distance which remind me that we are in The Valley. The jagged brown peaks which are covered in sand, rocks, dirt and lots and lots and lots of cactus are beautiful beneath the sunlight and must look even more breathtaking at night.

  One day, I’m going to drive out to the mountains for more reasons than just the beauty.

  But first, I suppose I’ll need to learn how to change a flat before I vow to venture off the beaten path. Getting stranded way out there subjects one to rattlesnakes, UFOs and friendly drifters who turn out to be serial killers.

  “You really should make sure you have water in your radiator.” The nameless woman tosses me a gray-eyed glare. They’re remarkable eyes. Serious but entrancing. And her voice is soft and sweet. She’s currently in a squat spinning a lug wrench that’s wrapped around a bolt like she’s done it a million times before. She drops her hand once, twice, three times and the tool just spins and spins and spins.

  I fold my arms tighter across my chest. “Yeah, um, well—”

  The car is already jacked up and leaning on its side.

  “If you don’t put water or coolant in the radiator it’s going to overheat and cause all sorts of other problems, like with the engine, and that isn’t good. All this steam…” She looks at the last clouds of it that still float up to the sky. “It means the engine is running hot and you don’t want that.” She shakes her head.

  Shouldn’t I know that?

  With a nod, I bite my lip.

  I knew help was on its way after I’d gotten off the phone this morning with a shop who specializes in roadside help and towing. Never in my dreams did I think this woman would arrive. As soon as she got here she found the spare tire in the trunk, lifted it out and rolled it right on over to the right side of the car with no help at all.

  I gnaw on my index finger unable to cease staring at her, still in shock since I’m up close.

  She’s my height with naturally platinum-blonde hair. And I only know that because I see no dark roots showing. Interesting. That pretty mop of hair is cut short in an edgy pixie style. Sweat drips from her forehead and trickles down the line of her throat and disappears somewhere in the white tank she has on. The outfit is complete with loose and fraying overalls cut off mid-thigh which give the viewer a glimpse of her taut belly. My eyes travel down, down, down the rest of her body and over her California tan and to the oil-soaked leather boots she’s wearing.

  She certainly has my attention.

  She’d already checked out whatever is beneath the hood of this old monstrosity. She said everything else seems to be working fine “for now” but did point out that it all might not last much longer.

  That I knew.

  A breeze rushes by when a huge tractor trailer barrels down the highway.

  She stops all movement and holds her head low. Then she gifts me with a tight-lipped smile. “I’m sorry, I’m being a bit rude, aren’t I?”

  “No, no, no—”

  “No, I am.” She pushes up to stand and gets in my space as she offers me her greasy hand. “I’m Nevada.” She smiles.

  I take her stained hand in mine. “I’m Vashti.”

  She cocks her head to the side. “That’s a pretty nam
e.”

  “Yeah, so is yours.”

  We’re locked in some weird stare for a second too long. Nevada lifts a shoulder and gets back to the tire. I want to slap myself in the face for being so awkward, but the moment is gone. My chance to ask her any questions floats away with the hot air around here.

  The clank of tools and the grinding of metal against metal fills the air.

  Nevada rolls the tire away and positions the new one in place.

  I inch closer to where she squats, peek in the car window, get deeply depressed about the books stacked high in the back seat and everything else in there then ogle her. Shifting against the smooth side door, I wonder exactly how on earth I’m going to pay for this assistance.

  I guess I’ll just have to find another job.

  I’ll find a way. I always do.

  I sigh.

  “Hey, you should really know how to change a tire.” Nevada inhales sharply. “It’s just that you’re driving around and all in this car and I wouldn’t want you to get a flat in some place where you can’t get any help.”

  Some place where I could be abducted by extra-terrestrials…

  Nevada frowns. “And you’d be waiting around like this.” She gestures with her hand to the busy highway and doesn’t look at me since her head is buried in the wheel well. “So, you should really learn how to change a tire.”

  Something about her having to give me advice and the realization that I have no clue how to change this tire clearly annoys her.

  I fiddle with a lock of my hair. “I just got my license last week.”

  Laughable, right?

  “And I’ve only had this second. No, third. No, I think…maybe fourth or fifth-hand car for about the same amount of time.”

  I wait for the hot woman’s reaction.

  Nevada refrains from asking the very question her expression already does.

  I force a soft laugh. “We don’t drive cars where I come from. We, um, sort of walk everywhere or take the bus.” The bus that’s always crowded and the streets which are so dusty you’d think you’re in the middle of a sandstorm as soon as you step out of your front door. I keep that to myself.

  Nevada’s face is scrunched as she searches my eyes then she gets back to work with the tire, using that trusty lug wrench again. “Are you a legal?”

  My brows crash together. “A what?”

  Grunting with her effort, she tightens the bolts with the wrench then tosses it down. “A legal.” With a huff, she stands. “Are you here in this big old United States of America legally?” She points to her mouth with the tool. “Your accent.”

  “Oh.” I laugh a little and touch my lips.

  “I like the accent. It’s subtle.” She gathers up her tools. “What is it?”

  I blink twice exactly, unsure if she’s trying to be funny.

  Most people take one look at me and assume I can probably make the best curry chicken and Basmati rice they’ll ever taste.

  “I’m from Assam. It’s in the northeast part of India.”

  “You’re far from home then, huh?”

  Yeah.

  “Yes, we’re very far from home!” Banks’ head pops out the window.

  “Oh fuck.” Nevada jumps back a foot and drops the lug wrench.

  CLANK.

  Wide gray eyes stare back at mine as Nevada inches up to the side of the car and peeks in the window like she fears a rabid animal will jump out.

  I thumb in the direction of Banks. “Please don’t be bothered by this boy.”

  Nevada smiles then reaches out a hand and shoves her fingers into Banks’ hair. “Hey, little dude. I didn’t realize you were in there.” She laughs.

  I smile.

  “Yep, I’ve been in here all morning taking a nap, reading comic books, munching on onion rings. I’m getting real tired of waiting for the car to start moving again.” He makes a funny face. “I’m Bankebihari.” He grins big and silly.

  Nevada’s brows arch high. “Uh, I’m working on that, and the name…I think I’ll just call you ‘little dude.’” She glances at me. “Or shall I just call you ‘Banks?’”

  Banks’ shakes his head. “Whatever.”

  “I’d say you’re what?” Nevada’s left eye almost shuts. “Nine years old?”

  Banks shrugs. “Ten and a piece.”

  I roll my eyes.

  Nevada cracks up laughing. “Ten and a piece?”

  “Yeah, my birthday is coming up soon.” Banks makes a face.

  “Oh, I see.” Nevada smiles.

  “Yeah, so I’m expecting lots of gifts.” Banks winks.

  Out of what money? A laugh rips from me.

  Nevada’s gaze swings between Banks and me, me and Banks. “Well, Vashti, I’d say you’re a little young to have a kid that’s almost old enough to vote.”

  “Did you know that the voting age in the state of California is seventeen. You can vote at the age of seventeen in a primary election as long as you’ll be eighteen years old by the next general election!” Banks points to the sky.

  Know-it-all.

  Nevada smirks. “I’m just making sure you know the law, Banks.”

  Banks giggles.

  Nevada messes up his hair more.

  They laugh like crazy, like they’ve known each other for eons, making me laugh.

  The two-way radio on Nevada’s hip goes off. Something about a van on the west side of the city that won’t start.

  “Yeah, Roger that. I’m on it. Just finishing up a job.” Nevada hooks the two-way radio back on her waist, then pierces me with her beautiful eyes as she plucks up the tool from the ground.

  I gulp a little air.

  She’s incredible standing there looking pissed off, holding her lug wrench like a warrior princess which glints against the sun. Hard. Delicate. Serious. Yet, playful. The warm breeze moves through her platinum strands. She drags her tongue across her pouty pink bottom lip that’s covered in gloss, then wipes the sweat from her face with her forearm.

  I must look like I’ve been hit in the face with a bird.

  My hand trembles when I place it on the car.

  “Okay then. Let me get back to work so you two can be on your way.” She tosses me an odd look before she saunters over to the tow truck, her slow gait as sexy as everything else about her.

  I exhale so hard that I don’t think my lungs will be able to fill up with any more air. My thighs are sheened with sweat and my flip flops are stuck to the asphalt.

  Banks pokes me in the side.

  I jump.

  With narrowed eyes, his voice is a whisper. “Isn’t that—”

  I slap a hand over his mouth. “Be quiet, please.”

  He giggles. “Okay, fine.” He bangs on the side door. “Do you know how you’re going to pay for all this, V?”

  I drag my fingers through his hair. “Nope, but I’ll figure it out.”

  “Says the brokest girl in America right now?” Laughing, he disappears back into the car before I can tickle him once more.

  Nevada saunters back still holding her wrench. She fixes her boot on the jack and lets the car down.

  I keep my eyes on her every move wondering if a woman like this one—the warrior holding the wrench—would accept an I.O.U from a gal such as me.

  It’s just a flat and an overheated radiator.

  Still, something tells me her response would be hell-fucking-no.

  But, stranger things have happened, wouldn’t ya say?

  The car is finally level with the road.

  I pull open the driver’s side door and slip into the seat.

  Nevada shuts it behind me and bangs on the roof twice. “Please give it a turn.”

  “Banks, buckle up.” I glance at him over my shoulder.

  “Yep, all ready.” He grins big and cheesy.

  I spear the key into the ignition. The car comes alive—all the non-essential parts of it—and the radio assaults my ears with the tune of Fake Blood’s “I Think I Like It.”


  Christ.

  I scoff at the massive contradiction between the tune and my current situation.

  I push down on the gas.

  More pain. The engine cries. It’s pure agony.

  It doesn’t kick over.

  I lower my head, attempting to hide the tears that gather in my eyes.

  I turn the key again.

  Sputtering. Spitting. Backfiring.

  Crap. Crap. Crap. Come on, you piece of crap!

  Nevada shifts her weight to one hip, twisting her lips, waiting.

  I try to start this piece of shit for a third time!

  It doesn’t kick over.

  Silently, I say a prayer and wait.

  The traffic whizzes by. Banks is singing a song only he knows. Nevada’s two-way radio goes off once more. The car groans when I attempt to start it again and then nothing.

  “Fuck,” I mutter.

  “I heard that, V.” Banks laughs. “It looks like I’m not going to school today.” He folds his arms across his chest and his big smile fills the rear-review mirror.

  “It’s not even real school, Banks. It’s a summer program for the mathletes,” I hiss.

  “Yeah, for all the smart kids and there aren’t that many of us so getting to summer school on time is important.” He makes a face.

  “Whatever, Banks.” I roll my eyes.

  Nevada bangs on the roof of the car. “Come on, I’ll tow the car and give you guys a lift to wherever you need to go.”

  I lift my head. “Thank you.”

  “No problem, V.” She winks.

  “I’m going to be the dumbest kid in the class, Vashti.” Banks huffs.

  As if that could ever happen…

  “No, you won’t be, Banks. Come on, let’s go.” I pull the key out of the ignition and grab our crap.

  Can anything else go wrong on such a fine day?

  Nevada

  “I JUST WANT TO say…” Banks leans across Vashti who muffles his speech by softly placing a hand over his mouth.

  I giggle at the two of them and their rather odd interactions.

  Vashti opens the door, shoves Banks out, then tosses him his book bag. The weight of it when it collides with the kid almost takes him out.

  “You have a nice day, V!” Banks sticks out his tongue.