The Lovely Reckless(39)
“What about Abel?” I try again. “Do you know why he left?”
She pulls into the rec center parking lot. “No. And I don’t care.” The pain in her voice says otherwise.
“Yes, you do.”
“But I wish I didn’t,” she says softly.
*
Cruz chose a parking garage for our first lesson, which seemed like a strange place to practice street racing. But she insisted it was perfect. Her cousin worked the evening shift, so he could play lookout.
When we arrive at the garage later that night, Cruz’s cousin raises the electric arm and waves us through. Ava grinds the gears, and Cruz cringes. “Easy. You’re going to wear out the transmission.”
Ava glares at her. “Guess you should’ve given me driving lessons when I asked last year.”
“Just stop on the second level and let Frankie take over before you give me a heart attack.”
Ava hops out on level 2 and sits on the trunk of a stranger’s Lincoln Town Car with her legs crossed. “I’ll watch from here. I value my life.”
Not encouraging. “So what’s the plan? How do you race in a parking garage?”
Cruz laughs. “You don’t. I’m teaching you how to get off the line when the flagger gives the signal. If you can’t do that, there’s no race.” She points at the ramp. “Stop halfway up.”
“I’ll never get the car out of first gear fast enough without stalling or rolling backward.”
“Are you saying you can’t drive stick?” she asks.
“It’s been a while. Am I racing uphill?”
“Getting off the line fast is all about the bite point. If you can’t tell when the clutch engages, you’ll stall on the line and the rest won’t matter.” She points at the ramp. “Let’s do this.”
I drive halfway up and stop.
Cruz runs her hand along the dash and takes a deep breath. “Try to go easy on her. Technically, she isn’t mine. If we screw anything up, I have to fix it or cough up the money to pay someone else to do it. And if we total the car, I have to replace it. A Nissan GT-R in this condition isn’t easy to find.”
Great. No pressure.
“Who owns the car?”
“A guy named Kong. He owns King Kong Bodyworks. He lends us his cars, and he gets a cut of whatever we win racing. It’s like a lease.”
“Does he own Marco’s car, too?”
“Yep. Mine, Marco’s, Deacon’s, and a few others. It works out for everyone. We’re the only people on V Street with top-of-the-line cars who aren’t dealers. Everyone else buys a piece of shit and puts their money under the hood.” Cruz’s expression turns serious. “This stays between us, right? Kong is a good guy, but the cops won’t see it that way.”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Are you ready to do this?”
“I think so.” I have no idea.
I press the clutch to the floor and shift into first gear. I let up on the clutch and give the Nissan some gas, trying to synchronize the two movements. The engine revs along with my pulse, and the car starts rolling backward.
“Brake!” Cruz shouts. “Don’t hit the wall!”
I slam my foot against the brake pedal, and the Nissan jerks to a stop.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get it.”
“If my clutch survives.” Cruz rubs her temples and exhales slowly. “Straighten out the wheel and try again.”
After thirty minutes of stalling and sliding backward, I’m ready to give up.
“Stop overthinking it, Frankie. Trust your instincts.”
In theory, it sounds easy. But after all the wrong turns I’ve taken—the choices I let other people make for me and the bad ones I made on my own—trusting myself feels impossible.
With the clutch pinned to the floor, I shift into first again.
I can do this.
One foot is on the clutch, the other on the brake. I picture the pedals on a piano, the way my feet controlled them as my fingers danced across the keys. Playing the piano requires a firm but delicate touch … and timing. Getting up this ramp can’t be harder than playing Mozart’s Concerto no. 19 in F Major.
I release the clutch, balancing the weight between the pedals, easing up on the brake and pressing down on the gas. The car starts rolling backward, and my first instinct is to hit the brake again. But I feel the clutch catch.
A little more gas …
The car springs forward, and the engine revs higher than it should. I shift into second gear, and the GT-R launches up the ramp.
Cruz smiles. “See. Piece of cake. Now let’s do it a couple more times.”
“Okay.” I don’t move. “This is just a ramp, Cruz. I’m guessing a race will be a lot harder. Maybe we need to come up with a plan B?”
“You are plan B.”
CHAPTER 18
PERFECT PITCH
It’s only eight o’clock in the morning, and I need a nap. Practicing on the ramp last night was nerve-racking. I lean against my locker and zone out. I don’t see Marco until he reaches over my shoulder and puts his hand on the door above me. He angles his body, caging me in on the other side, and looks down at me.
My mind flashes back to the kiss, the way his lips felt against mine. Without thinking, I touch my mouth. Marco sucks in a sharp breath.