Trackside

Victory Lane Lemonade

Sally ain't scared of no Jackson.

___

Cruz wins again two weekends later. The newly restructured Team Dinoco is ecstatic, celebrating before she even makes it off the track. Perhaps their glory days aren't quite over yet.

Jackson takes third. Third! There's only been three races so far, and he hasn't won a one of them. That Swervez guy took the trophy last weekend. Storm took second, Cruz third.

This can't be happening.

Storm charges off the track, past his pit crew, and toward the trailers. Reporters try to stop him. They want his opinion on his third place win. They should already know, he thinks. He's not complicated. A wise car once said "If you're not first, you're last." Jackson lives and will die by those words. That's no secret.

He has to pass Victory Lane to reach the comforting darkness of his trailer. There's confetti in the air and cheering from the stage. It makes him feel sick. He trudges through.

As soon as he think he's cleared the mob, he runs into the second-to-last car he wants to see. Stupid Lightning McQueen in that stupid dark blue paint. He looks like a giant plum. So stupid.

A perfect scapegoat.

"Ey, McQueen!" he shouts with a fake smile. "Lookin' good. Did you do something different? Different brand of wax, maybe?"

"Get out of here, Storm," Lightning's countenance immediately falls to distaste. Jackson's presence has that sort of effect.

"Great race today, by the way," Storm continues, his fake tone fading across an obscure boundary between joking and aggressive. "Looks like that lemon of yours you pulled from the dump is doing alright. Might want to check that though, I hear they don't last long"

Lightning rolls his eyes and rolls forward to remove himself from the situation. He doesn't have time for Storm.

A light blue Porsche, however, does. Jackson hadn't noticed her, though she'd been at McQueen's side the whole time. Why should an old, outdated Porsche stand out to him?

"Oh?" She doesn't even sound offended. "You lasted like what, half a season? A little less? I'm sure if you're any standard, she'll be just fine."

"Wait, who - " he tries to ask. Isn't this McQueen's lawyer? Something more? Both? Not a conflict of interest, but an alignment of interest. Storm frowns.

"Looks like the last couple weeks have gotten to you, Storm," she added in a lighthearted, mocking tone. "Have you seen someone about that? Looks like you're having a reaction."

"Sal, what are you doing?" Lightning mumbles, turning to face her.

She ignores him. She doesn't need his help.

"Maybe that's just streaks from the tire marbles," she continues, squinting as if she can't see him. "Yeah, that's it. I don't think I've ever seen you with those before. That happens when you're behind other racers, right?"

Jackson's frown turns to a scowl. He sets his teeth on edge and parts his lips to fire back at her. But his mind is empty. Who is she to mock him?

She doesn't stop. "You know, something else I just thought of. You know the acid in lemonade? I hear that takes those marks off pretty easily. You might wanna give it a shot! Be careful with the sugar content, though. That could slow you down. I don't think you want any more of that, do you?"

Lightning is struggling, trying not to smile. A slight snicker escapes his lips. Jackson turns his cutting glare to him.

"Come on, babe," she calls to McQueen, rolling forward to join him again. "I hear our lemon of a racer makes pretty good summertime drinks. She calls 'em the "Victory Lane" special. Let's go see her! Want us to bring you anything, Storm?"

"Sure thing, m'lady." Lightning gestures for her to lead the way with uncalled for grandeur. "Right this way."

Before he turns to leave, Lightning places a quick kiss on Sally's fender and casts a smug grin at Jackson. Storm growls. He wants so desperately to do something, anything.

But his mind is blank.

Just like his first place trophy case for the season.