Free Titans by Victoria Scott Page A

joysticks to the left, leaning away from the turn like Rags taught me to do.
    The Titan leans too.
    Tears sting my eyes when I see the ground racing past, so close it’s as if I could reach down and touch it. Feel the skin rip away from my palm. But I hold tight and lean, lean, lean . Then we’re upright, and the Titan is off again. We race down a long straightaway and take two more turns. Each time, I accelerate into them, though it’s the opposite of what I’ve seen on the cyclonetrack.com replay videos.
    The Titan rolls with my punches, lapping up each degree in acceleration with an eagerness I envy. As for me, my hands are sweating, and I can barely keep a grip on the bars. This wouldn’t bode well in an actual race. I need my hands to switch gears, to turn the Titan with precision. But the only thing I bring to the table now is my mind.
    Each new twist I discover in the track is a calculation waiting to be solved.
    Thirty-five-degree turn.
    One sixteenth of a mile.
    Traveling at twenty-nine miles an hour.
    Wait … wait … Now! I accelerate and lean, and the Titan leans against me. We arch toward the track in a dangerous dance before pulling upright again. Knowing Rags will kill me if I go too much farther, I snap my teeth together, bear down in the saddle, and look at the performance gauge. Nowhere near the caution zone. A light-year away from the slay zone.
    Nothing to lose.
    “You wanna go faster?” I yell.
    The Titan neighs, surprising me with the realistic sound. I laugh against the fear and imagine the Titan actually comprehended what I said. Kicking my heels lightly into his side, I nudge the accelerator bar. And then I nudge it again.
    Perspiration beads on the Titan’s body, and tremors shake my arms.
    It feels as if we’re going so much faster than forty miles an hour.
    I’m not sure my mother has ever driven our busted-up Buick this fast before. The wind tears through my hair the way I always imagined, whispering for me to close my eyes, but I won’t. I don’t want to miss a single second of this. I’ve never felt so free. So fast. So bold. So beautiful.
    I’ve never been this critically close to the grave.
    I don’t know where the last thought comes from, but once it’s there, I can’t shake it loose. My eyes snap to the ground and I realize how much damage we’d both incur if we crashed. The difference is the Titan is made of steel. I am soft skin, fragile bones.
    I push up on the brake bar. The problem is I also push up on the accelerator. I panicked and punched both, and now the Titan is jerking from side to side, blazing into the grass on the edge of the track and back onto the dirt path. He doesn’t know what to do and I can’t remember which is the brake bar and the horse is on a crash course with a tree that has no mind to move aside.
    My hands fly across the control panel, searching for anything that will get him to turn. I catch sight of the performance gauge. We’re in the yellow. Rags is going to kill me. I’m going to be flattened by this tree, and then the old man is going to finish me off.
    I hit the black turbo button repeatedly, but that only causes the scent of smoke to touch my nose. Maybe that’s what brings me back. That smell. The tree is maybe four feet away when I take the joysticks in my hand, turn gently to the left, and then push the brake bar forward. The Titan swishes away from the tree, but I still duck to keep from having my head taken by a limb.
    Once we’ve bypassed it, I bring the horse back into the center of the track and slow him to a stop. My hands are shaking and sweat drips down the back of my shirt. I hear Rags, Barney, and Magnolia yelling in the distance, but it does little to calm my nerves. Sliding off the horse, I fall to the ground, landing hard on my left hip. The Titan turns its head in my direction.
    Then it gives me a look . I kid you not; the horse looks at me like I’m an idiot. Maybe I’m hallucinating, and my pride is so injured