Free Overdrive by Chris Fabry

nodded back.
    “Which heat is yours?” Dale said.
    “Second,” Jamie said. “And I’ll be in the #7 car. There were a couple of complaints about it yesterday, but the mechanics looked it over and gave it a pass for races today.”
    Tim and Dale wouldn’t be able to inspect it until after the first heat, so Tim and Kellen took a walk around the garage area while Dale and Mrs. Maxwell talked with Jamie.
    “Should have brought a football or a Frisbee to toss,” Kellen said.
    Tim studied the line of cars. The school had controlof all the cars, so they didn’t have to worry about people making illegal modifications, but they still watched the drivers and their crews checking out the engines. The tires were new—looked like they’d just been put on. The cars in the first heat would use two sets, if Tim gauged it correctly, and the second would use the same. The race on Sunday was a little longer.
    When they came out on the other side of the garage, someone said Kellen’s name. It was a dark-haired guy with expensive sunglasses. Everything about him said money. This is the type of guy Jamie would go for, Tim thought.
    Kellen said hello and introduced Tim. “This is Chad Devalon. You should see his family’s motor home. It’s bigger than this whole garage.”
    The name cut Tim’s heart like a knife. He saw the resemblance of junior to senior, though he could only see his own reflection in the sunglasses. By the way Chad kept his arms folded and didn’t extend his hand to shake, Tim figured he wasn’t a Christian. Every other person in the Maxwells’ church insisted on shaking hands like they were about to subdue an alligator—a nice, firm grip that squeezed the blood out of him.
    “I didn’t know you had a big brother,” Chad said.
    “No, Tim’s not my brother. I wish he was, but he’s not. He’s kind of adopted—but not really . . .”
    “It’s okay,” Tim said to Kellen. “I’m just staying with the family for a while.”
    “Really? What for? You related?”
    “No. My dad died, and they’re letting me stay with them.”
    “How are you doing over there at the Maxwells’?” Chad said, lifting his head.
    “Good.” Tim looked around the garage. “You’re not racing today?”
    “Got a bye for the finals. You here to watch Jamie?”
    “Actually working on her pit crew.”
    “I thought you were the spotter,” Kellen said.
    “No, your dad decided it would be better for him to do that.”
    “How much experience have you had in the pits?” Chad said with a smirk.
    Tim was tight-lipped. “I’ve been around racing all my life. I know a thing or two.”
    Someone called Tim’s name outside the garage.
    Chad smiled and patted Kellen’s head. “Make sure he gets those lug nuts on tight. See you kids around.”
    Tim sneered as Chad walked away. He couldn’t stand people who thought they were better than others. Tim didn’t care how many RVs the guy had or how much money or how big of a house—he wasn’t better than Tim.
    “Phone call for you,” Mrs. Maxwell said as she ran toward them. She handed the cell phone to Tim. “It’s the bank.”
    Tim took the phone. Weird that the guy from the bank was calling on Saturday. Maybe this one thing would go right for him.
    “Tim, I received your message, and since I respect the Maxwells and we’ve agreed to give you another chance, I contacted Mr. Slade in Florida. I actually didn’t reach him until this afternoon, and his version of the story about the safe-deposit box is different from yours.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean that Tyson told me he didn’t give you permission. He denied that he even talked with you.”
    “What?” Tim shouted. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Look, I talked with him yesterday, and he said it would be fine. Maybe he’s been drinking, though, because his wife left. That’s probably why he doesn’t rem—”
    “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I can’t let you lie to us and get away with it. Now