Fast Cars and Intergalactic Speed Dating

7: Seconds

Later, Richard waited at the staging line, feeling completely at home behind the wheel of his Camaro. He glanced to his left and saw Neil in his black Dodge Demon.

Typically, Richard wasn't a competitive guy. He was the first to ask people to cool down when things got heated over a Monopoly board, and while he liked video games, he got turned off when expletives and insults started to fly.

When it came to racing, though, Richard took no prisoners. Why would anybody invest the time, the energy, and the money in a hobby like this if it weren't about the win?

"Drivers, start your engines!" The announcement over the loudspeakers spurred a roar from the crowd. In the center of the track was the Christmas tree, a unit that looked something like a stoplight with three amber lights, a red one, and a green. It was used to count drivers down to go. Richard glued his eyes to the tree, flexing his fingers around the wheel.

The cheers of the crowd dissolved. Richard's awareness narrowed and sharpened, fixed on those lights and the rumble of the car beneath him.

The amber lights on the Christmas tree blinked on and then off.

The green light flashed.

Richard was off, his car tearing away from the staging line, and there it was: the hit of adrenaline, the rush of excitement, the thrill. Every familiar step in this long day of preparation and waiting had brought him closer to this moment.

The world outside the window became a blur of color, but Richard had eyes for nothing but the finish line ahead. Eyes up. Keep it straight.

Somewhere outside of his car, the LED boards were lit up, showing his time and speed, but to the man in the driver's seat, nothing existed but car and the win.

An eternity passed in seconds. Richard flew across the finish line, heart pounding, and maintained control as he decelerated. He coasted into the return lane, listening for the boom of the announcer's words.

"Aaand Richard Campbell is our first winner. Give him a rrround of applause, ladies and gentlemen."

Another thrill coursed through him, so intense it was nearly painful. Yes! He'd won! Yes!

Once he'd made it to the pit, Richard cut the engine. He stepped out of his car to the sound of cheers and applause from the crowd. In his pocket, his phone buzzed. He was already grinning—or perhaps he hadn't stopped since the green light had flashed. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and swiped to answer Garth's call.

"That's my roommate! I live with him!" came the cry from the other end of the phone. It was hard to hear him against the roar of the crowd, and the words were punctuated with unidentifiable scritches and whooshes of background noise.

"Garth?" Richard laughed.

"In a completely platonic way. It's platonic, Kin. He is so not my type. I mean, he has an English accent, but everybody loves English accents. You'll love his English accent."

"Garth."

"Maybe I shouldn't introduce you to him for a while. He's some kind of rocket scientist or something, too. Blah blah aerospace something or other. He's probably the definition of a catch, if you ignore the demonic ex-wife and his habit of scratching his...What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Garth," Richard said again. A second later, an unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line laughingly called, "Garth, your aerospace something-or-other is on the phone call you started. I'm sorry, Platonic Roommate. I distracted him. I can't hear you, but if you can hear me, congratulations—"