Free Checkered Flag Cheater by Will Weaver Page B

again.
    â€œHe’s a good gamer because he plays a lot. Because he plays a lot is why he’s a tire and setup guy,” Tasha said. “ ‘Proficiency at pool is a sign of a misspent youth.’ ”
    â€œPool?” Trace replied.
    â€œIt’s an old saying,” Tasha explained, “but nowadays it would probably be gamers, not pool players.” She tossed the disk cases to Trace.
    He caught them. “I’ll get on it,” he said.
    â€œI’ll get on it,” Tasha said, mimicking him. “You sound just like my younger brother, Caleb, back home. He’s a big basketball stud in high school. All he does is shoot hoops. Doesn’t leave home without a basketball—he’s constantly dribbling it between his legs or rolling it up and down his arms and across his shoulders. He’s silky smooth. Scouts been watching him since grade school.”
    â€œHe must be good,” Trace said.
    â€œWay good,” Tasha said. “So good my whole family’s a nervous wreck about it. You know that movie
Hoop Dreams
?”
    â€œHeard of it,” Trace said.
    â€œIt follows these two kids who can throw it down—I mean, they’re both really good—just like Caleb. One of them sort of makes it, at least to college ball. The other kid gets injured, gets into drugs—a really sad story.”
    There was silence in the little cabin.
    â€œI’ve been thinking that you’re in that kind of movie now,” Tasha said. “Except it’s stock car racing, not basketball.”
    â€œYou’re saying I’m not going to make it?” Trace asked.
    â€œI’m saying you gotta watch the lifestyle part,” she said. “You can’t just race cars, play video games, and sign girls’ T-shirts.”
    Trace looked down.
    Tasha leaned forward. “You need to be more than a one-trick pony.”
    â€œOkay, I hear you,” Trace said.
    â€œThis thing we got with Team Blu is business, and business can change just like this.” She snapped her fingers with a sharp
pop!
    â€œI’m on it—I promise,” Trace said.
    â€œGood,” Tasha said, standing up. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Now, enough of this—you already got a mother and I’m not her.”
    â€œThat’s for sure,” Trace said.
    Tasha paused at the door, the faintest of smiles around the corners of her lips. “I’ll bet you never saw many girls like me at your school.”
    â€œNone,” Trace said.
    â€œWell, honey, everything they say about older women is true,” she answered. “But I’d never even consider hooking up with a guy who couldn’t finish high school.”
    Trace fell back on his bed as her footsteps thumpety-thumped down the stairs. He let out a long breath, and lay there a couple of minutes, getting his wits. He thought about stepping into his little bathroom and bleeding his pressure valve (as Harlan called the act) but, on second thought, stood up and went to his little window. He wanted to get one last glance at Tasha, who looked great from the front or the rear.
    She was still in the pit area. A Ford pickup and trailer carrying an orange Super Stock had stopped on the way out. Tasha stood with one hand on the truck’s roof as she leaned in. She was talking with Jason Nelson.

7
    Harlan powered the big blue hauler out of the Huron speedway as soon as the Super Stock was tied down and the trailer buttoned up. Team Blu would not race again until Saturday night in Billings, Montana, with a promo stop in Gillette, Wyoming, on the way, but Harlan liked to get gone.
    They had been under way only a few minutes when there was a light tap on Trace’s cabin door. He looked up with surprise. “It’s open.”
    Jimmy poked in his head.
    â€œHarlan take off without you?” Trace asked. Jimmy usually rode up front with his dad; there was no inner door between the hauler