Telepatía

1 | volition

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◢◤◢◤◢◤          Circuit 01          ◢◤◢◤◢◤

[ DJ ] ♪ One day we'll all agree and have peace up under a big chronic tree
If I had my way at 4:20 every day
you could blaze a J
And not have to answer to nobody

Snoop Dogg blares right through my cranky 80s boombox as I emerge from beneath the car I'm currently working on for my upcoming race this weekend.

I skitter my boot-covered legs across the garage floor, easily gliding with the assistance of my skateboard.

My phone dings on my way up, indicating a new message. I pull it from my device and swipe up with my clean elbow, revealing a message from a boy I met at my previous race in Rockford. He was attractive, but not my type. However, I don't think he understands what the word "no" means. I like men and women who knew what boundaries were. I consider myself vocal when it comes to my feelings; I say what I like and don't like.

But it can be so straightforward at times that I end up hurting someone else.

An unattractive snort escapes me once I read his text.

Let's meet again. This Friday, if you're down.

I leave him on read, too exhausted to think of a response. Just then, Mom emerges from the door that leads to our small kitchen.

"Honey?" She shouts over the music. "Are you in here again?" At the sound of her sweet voice, I leap to my feet and wipe the sweat from my brow, having spent nearly half of the afternoon adding finishing touches and tweaks to the new engine I've installed. It was all I could think about all week at school, daydreaming about winning the grand prize in Math class.

Twenty-thousand dollars. I would be able to afford a car, disassemble it, and customize it to my liking.

Just last week, I almost fell in the third place when suddenly the engine overheated due to a cooling system leak. The only thing I had to be concerned about now was the tires. I needed new ones, which meant working extra shifts at the café, and that would take weeks, if not months, or I could simply take the easier route and ask dad for money, which he had plenty of. The old man was generous and he would never say no to me. Not while they're still fighting over my custody.

I'd just have to wait until I'm legally able to do whatever I want.

I admit that when the announcement of their separation broke out, I was heartbroken. But not heartbroken enough compared to when I lost my childhood dog, Nola, on my thirteenth birthday — lucky 13 — this race would also mark my 13th time, and I am calling out to my dead chihuahua to help me get the word through the mighty heavens. Hook me up or something like that.