Pitbabe S2, Chapter 28 pg 7

 Pitbabe S2, Chapter 28 pg 7

   I came out of the latest corner ahead of Willy, but he followed so closely it felt like he was breathing down my neck. We hit a straight stretch that could’ve given me a moment to catch my breath, but Willy wasn’t about to let me have even a second’s rest. He forced his way up beside me, even though I was blocking the middle of the road. The ugly nose of his car scraped against the sleek rear of mine, dragging along the side. I was pushed so close to the inner curb that I nearly hit it. The sound of our cars grinding against each other at nearly 200 kilometers per hour was deafening, nerve-racking. Street racing made him this reckless. Honestly, it’s not just Willy—almost every racer out here seemed to leave their fear of death at home. We drove fragile supercars like they were NASCAR tanks. Like what Willy was doing now. He knew that by the end of this race, both his car and mine could be reduced to overpriced scrap metal, but he did it anyway, driven by a hunger for victory no less intense than mine.

   Bang!

   Willy rammed my car, and my right side mirror smashed against some roadside pole, disappearing into the darkness.

   “That bastard…”

   I clenched my teeth, taking a deep breath to rein in the simmering rage in my chest. Today was probably one of the days my anger worked the hardest in my life. That jerk should write this record in his dog-eared diary.

   We reached the turnaround point, requiring a drift sharper than 180 degrees. I heard a loud crash from behind—probably the three cars tailing us failing to sort themselves out. But I didn’t have time to care about them, because this eye-searing red shark louse was still glued to me. Willy drove like our cars were conjoined twins. He wasn’t just keeping pace; he was deliberately crowding me. Even though the road widened in this straight section, he stuck to me like his goal was to win while simultaneously driving me to a heart attack.

   I had to shake him off here, because if he stayed this close until the final straight, I’d be at a disadvantage. Not only was he better on straights, but it was undeniable that his ugly beast was as light as my car, with a noticeably higher top speed. And that’s assuming his car hadn’t been modified, which was practically impossible for a racer. Even my car had been fully tuned by Phii Alan. There was no way Willy was running factory specs in a race like this. Plus, ETA, Willy’s team, was renowned for having a garage full of young but seasoned mechanics. Underestimating his car would be like crossing a busy street blindfolded.

   I needed another way.

   I absolutely couldn’t play Willy’s game.

   My brain worked double-time, pressure and pride forcing me to process in mere seconds. Suddenly, a memory from nearly three years ago replayed in my head. I saw myself, clumsily handling the car, not even knowing its strengths and weaknesses. I didn’t know the braking distance for corners, my focus was scattered, my eyes darting around, constantly looking for Babe, who was riding his motorcycle alongside me the whole way. But more importantly, I remembered what Babe said back then.

   His voice echoed in my mind, over and over, as clear as if he were right here. It felt like Babe was surging forward with me, thrilled and dizzy together. He was shouting at the top of his lungs, telling me exactly what I needed to do to shake off the obstacle.

   Three more turns, and we’d break free from the downhill. As I approached the next curve, I took a deep breath, eased off the throttle, and slammed the brakes hard. My arms tensed, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, fighting to keep the wildly spinning car on the road. Willy’s car, which had been neck-and-neck with mine the whole way, swung just as violently. His rear end spun, nearly sliding off the curve. As much as I hate to admit it, his skills weren’t half-bad. At the very least, Willy managed to wrestle his off-balance car back from plummeting over the cliff, even if his rear bumper kissed the guardrail.

   While Willy was catching his breath, heart pounding behind the wheel, that was my golden moment. I steadied my car back to normal, then floored the accelerator to pull ahead. Even if it was just a few seconds, those are the units of life and death on the track. No way I’d let a single one go to waste.

   I hit the final straight, with every remaining car chasing behind. The closest, of course, was still Willy’s ugly beast. I couldn’t see his face, but I could feel his frantic, furious energy through his driving. My little trick back there must’ve pissed off the foreign kid something fierce. Personally, I don’t think he has any right to be mad at me about it.

   Not after he’s been driving like a jackass, messing with everyone since the start.

   The roadside lights flared up. I spotted the crowd not far off. The sound of shouts and cheers reached my ears, my heart pounding like a drum as the finish line drew near. The one remaining side mirror reflected the fiery red 911 tearing after me. Willy’s speed was no joke. Even after I cost him minutes, he still caught up. If I wanted to win, the only thing I could do now was block every path that’d let him inch toward the finish line.

   Every move he made, I stayed one step ahead. I swerved left when Willy tried to pass on the left, right when he aimed for the right. Babe’s instincts made reading my rival’s moves easier, but that wasn’t the whole story. Experience was what narrowed the gaps Willy could exploit. His beast’s speed became a useless gift when he couldn’t carve out his own lane.

   My heart, which had been racing and easing in frantic bursts, started to calm as the finish line loomed close. That’s not a racer’s nature. Normally, as long as the wheels haven’t crossed the line, our hearts stay thrilled and alert with every tire rotation. But mine was beating steadily, calmly now. Because my eyes found him in the crowd.

   Among the roaring, craning, jumping mass of people, Babe was the only one sitting with his arms crossed on the hood of his car. His face was blank, his gaze locked steady on my car… no, on me.

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