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Potential - S01 E256

Story 7 months ago

Potential - S01 E256

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 256

Hey, Deana said go fast and don't crash. She loves you."

Evan smiled, picturing his sister at home with Rebecca, talking to Cindy on the phone. It made him feel good, knowing she was thinking about him. The guy next to Evan gave him the thumbs up. He didn't return it because his hands wouldn't release the steering wheel. He pulled up close to the car in front. Shit, this is getting real.

"Evan, next time around the dragon's tail will be on fire," Cindy said.

From on top of the grass hill, Jason had seen Evan looking, so he waved, but Evan didn't take his hands off the wheel. Cindy said he couldn't tell one person from another from inside the car. Next time around, the green flag would wave. Cindy looked calm, but Jason figured nobody other than Evan was as nervous as he was.

The lead cars were entering the back straight away, but in twentieth place, Evan was all the way back in turn one. Billy Joe grabbed Jason's right hand, KK grabbed his left. The pressure was building. The pitch of the engines had changed, and the two-by- two line of cars was jammed together, touching bumpers.

The announcers squawked something from a speaker above their heads about Dale winning last week. Jason strained his ears but couldn't understand the guy. He spoke in Billy Joe's ear, 'What did he say?"

"Not sure, maybe something about a driver change," she said and squeezed his hand. "Here they come."

The two lead cars reached turn three side-by-side. The flagman held the green flag straight up. Jason held his breath.

It's just a Sunday drive. Evan wasn't thinking about any of the pointers he'd received or anything else. He approached tum three with one foot on the brake and the other on the launch pedal, applying pressure to both. The engine groaned, pushing against the brake pads. He had to watch the cars in turn four, the one directly in front of him and still see the flagman out of the comer of his eye. It was like holding a lit M-80; any second it would blow his hand off, but he couldn't throw it yet. There wasn't time to think. Evan had to rely on instinct.

A flash of movement in Evan's peripheral vision, the roar of engines and Cindy yelling, 'Green, green, green," all happened in the blink of an eye. It was go time.

A Sunday drive it wasn't. Dale's car was fast and normally started closer to the front. Evan reached turn four with such a run that he either had to jam on the brakes or dive out of line. If he wanted to be careful, he should slow down and wait, not drive up to the wall and take a shot. Cindy's favorite expression was, be smart, not careful because being careful doesn't win races. Evan held his foot on the floor. The ten-foot concrete wall closed in as he screamed onto the front stretch, three wide. He took Dale's car all the way up to the wall and drove into the dark cloud of swirling dirt that chased the pack of cars.

Evan was wide open, rocketing past cars. Then, like a lighthouse. on a foggy night, there was a dim yellow light flashing in the dust storm. Cindy shouted, "Yellow, yellow, yellow," and a car appeared in front of him. It was stuffed head-on into the wall in turn one. Shit, nowhere to go. There were cars to the left, concrete on his right, and no way to stop before-Whether it was instinct or dumb luck, nobody could be sure, but Evan veered right and skidded up the pit entrance road.

"Come around, go left and come around. Get back on the track," Cindy said. "Great move, great move."

Evan turned left and drove behind all those people lining the fence. Harry was there, waving him around toward the entrance lane above turn two. Cindy said, "Complete restart. Get back in line for a complete restart."

Jason finally took a breath. "Mother fucker." All the girls looked at him. "Sorry, but that was close." Billy Joe's arms came around from behind him and hugged his waist.

After a few slow loops around the track, the wadded up car was hauled off. It was time to do it again. No laps had been counted; it was a complete restart. Evan was still in last place, but there was one less car on the track. Twenty laps, he thought, and only eighteen cars to pass. Evan laughed, feeling like someone had removed one feather from the ton on his back. The second time will be better, right?

Evan watched the flagman. On green, he planned to get another jump on the cars ahead of him. As long as one didn't come up and slam him into the wall, he knew he could get around at least three or four. The flag cut through the air. The roar of engines and dust rose. Evan launched out of turn four and shot down the front straightaway into the fog. Pebbles clinked off his helmet. The bright lights above the pits weren't glaring anymore. They were more like stars obscured by clouds.

This time, the lead cars made it through turn one. Evan passed

three cars on the straightaway and dove down to the bottom of the track. Dale's blue and gold number sixteen stuck. Evan leaned hard to his left and stiffened his back and arms. The centrifugal force made his helmet as heavy as an anvil. He thought his head might unhook from his neck and fly out the window. The car reached tum two. Evan eased into the gas, entered the back straightaway in the middle lane and floored it. He was pushed back in the seat.

After what felt like a second, Evan slammed on the brake and was thrown forward against the belts. His neck and arm strained as he rounded turns three and four, again. The flag stand flashed above his head as Evan blasted by a slower car. Then he hammered the brake, turned left and found a groove that held his car through the curve, and the backstretch was there again.

Evan had found a rhythm, and he rode it for two laps. It was a Sunday drive. Nobody would fault him if he stayed in that comfortable flow, following the lead pack, and Cindy might have even been saying that in his ear, but Evan pushed harder, searching for more speed. He made mental notes and hit his marks, alming for the perfect arch through the turns. His ribs pressed against the seat support and his head grew painfully heavy from the increasing centrifugal force.

His stomach told him what happened a split second after the tires lost grip. He was in a four-wheel slide, pushing up the hill. The steering wheel was as useful as a deflated life preserver. All that seemed logical demanded he smash the brake pedal, but experience told Evan that was the express train headed toward the sound of metal crunching and the smell of concrete dust. He hit the accelerator. The rear wheels spun, and the ass end of the car took the lead. The right rear hooked up on the berm and catapulted him onto the backstretch. He came up to speed and got back in front of the guy who got past while he was sliding. There wasn't a worse feeling than giving back a hard-earned position.

When a reasonable person has a brush with calamity, it inspires a more cautious approach, but Evan was a race car driver. The adrenaline rush heightened his sense of focus, and he barreled off into turn three with a new degree of invincibility. He would know better next time he got to turn one.

Another crash put the race under caution and took two more cars

off Evan's pass list. The restart had him in the middle of the pack.

Now there were cars behind him, trying to jump him on green.

Evan was nervous, yet excited about another opportunity to pick up a few more spots. Cindy said restarts were like shooting fish in a barrel.

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Potential - S01 E255

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Potential - S01 E257

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