Free Overdrive by Chris Fabry Page A

if you want to go through legal channels to remedy this, that’s fine, but we won’t be taking any more requests from you at this office.”
    Tim tried to compute what the man had just said. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good. “So you’re saying that even though Tyson told me—?”
    “I’m saying don’t call here again. Period. Unless you have some legal document that allows you to see the contents, you’re not welcome here.”
    “Okay,” Tim said. He hung up the phone.
    Mrs. Maxwell pursed her lips. “Bad news?”
    Tim nodded. “I guess Tyson has a shorter memory than I thought. Either that or he’s just plain mean. Or maybe both.”

Chapter 20
The Race
    JAMIE GAVE HER MOM a high five, punched Kellen on the shoulder (which was her only prerace ritual), nodded at Tim, then looked at Rosa ahead of her and gave her a thumbs-up.
    “Enough of the niceties,” her dad said in her headset. “Just get in the car and let’s boogity.”
    “Boogie-woogie boogity.” Jamie flashed a thumb to her dad high above the stands and did a quick swivel of the hips. Then she climbed in and pulled the harness tight, snapping on the steering wheel that Tim handed her. To anyone watching she probably looked loose and relaxed, but her stomach churned like she’d had a double half-pounder with cheese at the Pit Stop—what they referred to as their Heart Attack Special. She was already sweating in the 85 degree heat, and that didn’t help her nerves.
    The first heat had been a good race, though Jamie was surprised to see how timid most drivers ran the track. It was almost as if they were trying not to lose rather than trying to win. In the end, Kurt had finished fifth, just missing Sunday’s race.
    “Let’s not let that happen to us,” Rosa had said.
    Jamie fired the engine to life and followed the other cars onto the track. It was a single-file start behind a red Corvette pace car. Jamie liked the look of the car, but it wasn’t anything compared to Maxie, her 1965 Mustang. Just thinking about it made her want to get behind the wheel and go for a drive. Maybe if she got a big, fat contract with some racing team she could buy a second car and fix it up.
    She swiveled the wheel, sending the #7 car back and forth along the hot track, cleaning any debris from the new tires and warming them. The sun was high in the sky, and there were only a few lazy clouds rolling past.
    “All right, put all the stuff you’re thinking out of your head,” her dad said as if he could read her mind. “Nobody out there cares how many races you’ve won, and nobody knows how good you are but you, so let’s just show them how fast a clean driver can go.”
    “Are you going to do the motivational junk the whole race?” Jamie said, almost cracking up at the end.
    “Looks like we’re gonna do one more lap before the flag drops,” he said, ignoring her.
    The car felt good—not as good as the one Butch Devalon had let her drive but still fast. She let off the accelerator a little and put some distance between her and the car in front of her. She sped up into the first turn to gauge if the car was loose, and she couldn’t tell. She got a surprised and mean look from the #8 driver, and she moved back into place.
    The red Corvette peeled off from the line, and the cars accelerated. Jamie caught sight of a few fans in the stands. The people stood and cheered as the group came to the line. There was a rumor that a crew from a racing channel was going to be there the next day, but Jamie shut that thought out.
    “Green flag. Green flag,” her dad said. “Let’s see that boogie-woogie boogity of yours.”
    Jamie smiled and shifted into fourth gear. She passed the start line behind #6 and went high in the first turn. It was there that she knew something was wrong with her wedge.
    “Whoa, I’m tighter than a drum in that turn, Dad,” she said. “Somebody’s got the wedge way off.”
    She accelerated into the straightaway but had to slow