Racehead Read online

  “Yeah, you too.” Vashti gestures with her hand.

  “Thanks so much, stranger, for the ride to school in this really cool truck!” Banks yells.

  “Yeah, no problem.” Smiling, I give Banks a wave.

  He struts across the manicured lawn and disappears through the double doors of San Jacinto Elementary. Checking my watch, I realize it’s getting up to lunch time which means the kid has missed like half a fucking day of genius school.

  Vashti brushes her hair away from her eyes and keeps them on the road ahead.

  We get a few strange looks.

  People come out of their houses.

  Drivers exit their cars to get a better vantage point of all the excitement.

  I laugh a little loving the reaction this thing gets in semi-residential areas.

  The wrecker rumbles.

  I’m shocked that the vibration doesn’t set off a few car alarms.

  And then…one goes off.

  I chuckle.

  “This thing is loud.” Vashti’s chest shakes with laughter when she looks at me.

  I love her eyes.

  Obsidian. Big. Wide.

  Perfect circles of wonder.

  They’re in permanent startle mode.

  Like she just saw a ghost or Blac Chyna without makeup on.

  The car alarm in the distance is still whirring. People are still staring. I’m waiting for some asshole to call the cops and submit a noise complaint.

  “We should get out of here.” I shift gears and pull away from the curb.

  Vashti covers her face with her hands when we pass a line of residents who have come out to watch the show. “Oh, my god. As if the people around here don’t already have the worst things to say about me.”

  I smile.

  “I’m sure you can see Banks is already like five hours late for school.” She huffs.

  The wrecker rolls down the road.

  “Yeah, I noticed that.” I shift gears, loving how they grind. “It’s nice that he loves school so much and that he’s even willing to be there when most kids are in camp.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Banks is really smart. He lives for school even when most of the kids are out having fun. The teachers recommended he be a part of this elite math program since he’s at the top of his class already since starting school here.”

  “That’s cool.”

  Vashti quiets when we hit the highway.

  It’s always my favorite part.

  I punch the gas.

  The monster roars as we pick up speed and I change gears.

  “I can get the car fixed maybe today if the problem is simple. If there are major issues, then it may take a little longer. I can drop you off somewhere if that’s better or you can wait at the garage.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my job so I’m more than just free today. I can wait at the garage. At least I’ll just be able to drive home straight from there.”

  I glance over at where Vashti sits, leaning out the window. Her dark hair flows around her shoulders and her expression is soft.

  She’s pretty.

  Pretty fucking stressed.

  The stack of books on the floor near her flip flops have fallen over. They’re thick books too, like she’s headed to the supreme court or somewhere.

  My arm falls out the window and catches the breeze. “You’re a student?”

  “Yeah.” She laughs a little and glances down at her books. “How could you tell?”

  I smile. “How’s that going for ya?”

  “Well, aside from not knowing what the hell I’m doing, working too much and taking care of Banks. Not too great.”

  I love her honesty.

  Straight up.

  No bullshit.

  Just wonderful.

  “Banks is your…” I start to say.

  “Little brother.”

  I see.

  “Okay.” I nod. “That makes a lot of sense.” I laugh a bit. “I thought the dynamic was a bit odd. Honestly, I was wondering if I’d have to call CPS on you. Kid in a hot car and all. The whole toss the book bag at this head sort of thing.” I chuckle.

  Vashti giggles. “I’m not that bad. Besides, the windows were down. It was either stay in the car or stand out in the heat.” Her face scrunches up, offended.

  “I’m just fucking with you, V.” I glance her way.

  She lets out a deep breath. “It’s not easy.”

  “I bet.”

  “The-struggle-is-real.”

  This time I really do crack up laughing.

  Vashti doesn’t smile and that’s when I realize she’s completely serious.

  She gazes out the window at the mountains in the distance. “I haven’t been here long, only a few months even though I was born here. Mom died sort of thing while Banks and I were living back in Assam, so I was sent here to live under the ‘guardianship’ of my aunt Matilda. She’s my dad’s sister. At least guardianship is what they had called it back then before we left Assam.

  “Matilda just kind of watches over us. She babysits Banks too when I have to work. She’s old and honestly I never really knew her until now, so the relationship is super weird.” She chuckles. “I decided that Banks and I wouldn’t live with her since I’m legal and old enough be independent. So, just Banks and I live together. I take care of him.” Vashti tells her story with ease as if I’m not a stranger.

  I appreciate the casual chat, even though the words flowing from her are anything but. She looks as if she’s full of them. Like she’s been dying to just talk to someone for a while.

  “I’m sorry about your mom.” I frown.

  “Yeah, it was real shit, but thanks.”

  “I’m sorry about you having to move too, so far away from home. I think if that were me, I’d be pissed.”

  “I was. Banks was too, but he likes it here now, and so do I.”

  I bob my head a few times. “I’m glad. This place is my home. It’s picturesque even though most of it sits in the middle of the fucking desert.” I laugh. “But, I wouldn’t live anywhere else.”

  “I haven’t seen much of it yet. At least not all the places I want to go.”

  “Well, you just got a license sooo…” I swallow down my laugh.

  It’s quiet for a while as we both focus on the road and the scenery ahead.

  I inhale the fresh air blasting through the cab of the wrecker appreciating the scent of the diesel fumes as they burn off the faster this thing goes.

  I get lost in a visceral moment.

  Thinking about all the work which awaits me at the garage.

  Thinking about all the money I need to come up with to restore the orange 1966 Chevy Nova that I plan to murder out before the next big race out in The Badlands.

  Then, I think about my fucking car.

  The one I lost.

  The one I intend to get back.

  When I snap out of my daydream, I find Vashti already looking at me. Slowly, she turns away and I find my eyes following her, staying on her, wondering what that look was about, except I already know.

  There’s curiosity in her big eyeballs.

  “Do you like cars?” I dip my head in her direction.

  Vashti grins.

  And that pearly white smile tells me everything her provocative mouth won’t say.

  Vashti

  THE CALI BREEZE WASHES over me and for just a second, I forget I’m in the wrecker even though the engine is kicking me in the eardrums, especially when Nevada shifts gears.

  The traffic whizzes by.

  The world disappears and all my problems in it and we just drive.

  “Yes, of course, I like cars.” I brush my hair out of my eyes. “I’m majoring in mechanical engineering.”

  Nevada’s thin brows arch. “Wow, that’s really cool.”

  “Yeah, thanks. It’s just weird but…”

  “What?”

  I shake the thought away. “I love cars, I do. I guess I sort of enjoy everything I’m
learning too but it’s like I can’t match everything up. Like there’s no connection. I’m just not doing too well with it all even though I’m doing okay on the tests.” She sighs. “I’m trying, but honestly, I’m lost.”

  Nevada seems to be thinking on my words. “I’ll have to say I do find it a bit off that’s you’re majoring in mechanical engineering, yet you just got a frickin’ license to drive not too long ago.” She laughs.

  I exhale. “It’s sort of a long story.”

  “So, technically you just started driving cars, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  She hums.

  “What?” I sit up straighter, desperate to know what she’s thinking.

  “Well, it’s a bit like jumping on a 747 with a pilot who’s only passed the written tests. I mean we all want a smart pilot, right? But we also need a guy who knows how to fly the frickin’ airplane.” She laughs out loud.

  I smirk. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” I fiddle with my fingers. “So, right now, I’m the girl who’s learning all about engines, yet I’ve never taken one apart, only have watched someone else do it.” I throw my arms up in the air. “What can I say?” My eyes linger for far too long on the woman next to me.

  She glances at me for a beat then focuses back on the road and takes the exit on the right which leads back into the city.

  “I follow your street racing career, Nevada Cassia Cruz.”

  Nevada freezes, then her gray orbs slowly find mine.

  “Or shall I call you ‘Racehead?’” I say the moniker with reverence because I truly think she’s hella cool. A woman around The Valley who scares even the boys around here once they get behind the wheel of their souped-up cars. She’s a tyrant on the roads. This chica’s face should be on posters! “Banks knows about you too.” I laugh a little.

  Nevada’s eyes morph into slits. “I feel a stalker alert coming on.” She laughs.

  I do a bit too. “No, it’s nothing like that, I swear it.” I lift my hands in surrender. “I had no idea you worked in a garage.” I choke back a laugh. “It’s quite funny how the woman who showed up to save me is the infamous Racehead.”

  “Good luck?” She tosses me a cute smile.

  “Yeah, yes definitely, I’d say it’s good luck.”

  She focuses back on the road. “I’m definitely not famous.”

  “No, you are.” I chuckle. “You’re kinda the reason I haven’t dropped out of this stupid mechanical degree program that I chose.” I ruffle my hair. “You know, woman-behind-the-wheel, kick ass car, blasting all the sorry asses of all the dudes around here on the road. Pushing them out of their spots. Taking their cars.” I laugh. “Making a scary reputation for yourself.” Grinning, I nod like a fool, feeling my insides getting all warm with my words.

  Nevada’s brows are bent as she focuses on the road.

  Not sure if I’ve shocked her with everything I’m saying but I believe I have.

  I might be a newbie around The Valley but when it comes to the street racing which takes place on these streets, I’m more up to date than the six o’clock news.

  “The job I used to have is right on the corner of Main Street. On Friday nights, the ground would shake like this city was facing The Big One, and all the cheering and laughter would catch my attention. I’d gaze out the window wishing I could be a part of the cool crowd.” I laugh at myself. “There I was working every Friday night like a loser…”

  “You’re not a loser if you’re working, Vashti. It doesn’t matter what the job is.” She doesn’t look at me when she says the words.

  “Well, anyways, all the other kids were driving around The Valley having fun.” I sigh. “And all I could do was watch them pass by before they headed out to The Badlands.”

  “How do you know about that?” Nevada’s voice lifts twenty octaves.

  “I told you I like cars.” I sigh. “I love anything to do with racing, and around The Valley, the races out in The Badlands are what the kids around here kind of live for every week.”

  Nevada laughs. “This is quite funny because I’ve never seen you out there.”

  “I’ve never been out there.” I smile. “A girl can only dream…”

  Nevada makes her hair messier than the wind already has. “I know street racing is what I’m known around The Valley for. I won’t lie and say I don’t enjoy it because I do.” She sighs. “But, my real love is the racetrack. It doesn’t matter where. You can find me at the speedway in a car or on the drag strip in a dragster. Or at Adam’s Motor Sport Park drifting. I’m not particular. As long as I’m going fast. But, street racing I do strictly for money, and for the cars.” She laughs.

  The street racers around The Valley compete for pink slips quite a lot, which means that the winner gets to keep the other driver’s car. A driver could be cruising in a fancy Audi RS 5 Coupe on Friday night and by Saturday morning they’re catching the fucking bus. It happens like that when street racers have no cash to put down. So, instead they stupidly, crazily, bet their own wheels. But, if they win, they’re walking away with someone else’s car which they can either sell for cash or keep.

  “That’s cool. I get that. If I could race for money I probably would too.” I tip my head forward a few times, realizing Nevada’s gig is way better than mine taking fast food orders and making sure the French fries don’t burn.

  “Yeah.” She chuckles. “I wish everyone looked at it that way but unfortunately they don’t.”

  I’d done enough research to know enough about the strict penalties a human will pay if they’re ever caught on these streets racing for money. They range from having your vehicle impounded to your license being revoked. You could be facing insane fines and a major amount of years in the slammer, especially if you’ve been involved in or have been the cause of an accident.

  The woman sitting in the driver’s seat next to me—Racehead—is reckless.

  I know that Nevada has been in a crash or two and she’d likely, willingly be involved in another again, especially if it’s what stands between her winning or losing.

  “You’ve never been arrested?” I smile, almost proud that a woman like this one could pull off a feat like that considering the amount of cop cars on the streets which patrol The Valley like all-the-time.

  “No.” Nevada bangs on the steering wheel three times. “Never.”

  “If you are…”

  “If I do get arrested, I’m finished. And everything I’ve ever dreamed about will go in the shitter with it too.” She frowns. “I try my best to make sure that never happens.”

  We past a block of buildings and continue farther on—past a car wash and a thrift store. The wrecker pulls up to decent-sized plot of land that’s pretty far from the edge of the neighborhood in Mission Grove close by. When we get to the second block, Nevada makes a sharp left then stops in front of a heavy metal gate.

  The sun beats down on my arm. Dogs bark. Sirens in the distance scream.

  In less than a few seconds, the gate clicks then slides across, allowing us to drive in.

  “This is the junkyard.” Nevada eases the wrecker into the dusty space and focuses on parking it and backing the old jalopy hooked to the back right into the garage before releasing the hook.

  The wrecker shuts off.

  Nevada jumps out, leaving the door open.

  I look around fascinated at everything in this junkyard. It’s a mixture of old cars and new trucks and every vehicle in between. There’s even a monster truck a few feet away and a tractor machine—the type farmer’s use out in their fields to harvest corn.

  I glance out the window at the walls in here which I think used to be white. Now they’re a dirty beige and covered in graffiti—or notes—and oil stains and paint. The place is littered with business cards which have been pinned to the wall and old photographs. There’s a big racing slick tire in the corner of the place that’s been signed by Courtney Force—the professional drag racer.

  Interesting.

  I
step out of the wrecker and walk around.

  A waist-high desk is in the far corner and on top of it sits a new iMac. Papers cover the top of the desk notes are stuck computer’s screen and the walls around it.

  This place has soul.

  It tells you that everything in here is loved and cared for.

  It’s a mechanic’s utopia.

  A five-cylinder engine rests on top of a table. Sauntering over to it, I run my fingers over the cool metal. I know this thing is rare and has likely been yanked out of a Volvo since they’re the only manufacturer that regularly uses them. Or, it’s been pulled out of some other car.

  My fingers twitch to tear it all apart. Only I’d likely have little to no clue as to how to put it all back together.

  Ha!

  I touch my lip with a finger, thinking, while I stare at the intake system where the air flows into the engine. The first part of the process for this bad girl to get to its full magic. I imagine it’s a living, breathing thing—like a person. Warm-blooded and real.

  “This is where I work when you don’t see me out on the streets at night.” She wipes the sweat away from her brow with a rag. “It’s pretty cool here.” She nudges her chin in the direction of the machines. “There’s a lot of metal in this place for one to tinker with.” She grins. “And this is where I live too, so.”

  The one-story house to the left of the garage is modest. Parked in front of the house with its gray roof is yellow 1987 Jeep Wrangler without doors.

  “Okay, I see. This place looks really cool.” I lean against the wall.

  Nevada bites her bottom lip then gives me a weird look. “Syd isn’t very friendly.”

  “Okkkkkay.”

  “Just don’t take it personal.”

  I follow her back over to the truck to stand in the open door on the passenger side. Nevada fiddles with all the shit on the floor in here and gathers some of it up in her arms.

  I lean forward across the seat. “Nevada.”

  “Yeah.” She twists around to face me.

  “Did you ever get your car back?”

  I can tell that just the mention of the loss of her baby—a silver 1964 Pontiac GTO—makes her sad.

  She purses her lips. “No, but I’m gonna, real fuckin’ soon.”