Street Racer

Chapter 6

The fact that I thought I could stay safe, when being a street racer, was the biggest lie I ever told myself. The life of a good racer was never safe. You made enemies left and right with every race you won. And my car wasn't even that good, but, at the same time, it was good. But that's only because I've fixed it and upgraded it so much.

But I started to notice the risk one race, when I nearly totaled my car into a large rock. This was a little ways back, but it still left a lasting impression. It told me how dangerous this lifestyle was.

But then, more danger kept popping up. The more people I smoked on the track, the better I got, and the more enemies I made. Most held grudges against me and my racing tactics, the way I tricked them on the track. And they went after me.

But most weren't like that. But it just got worse.

And then, sometimes, I think back to when I first started racing...

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It all started when my father told me that I was, one day, going to follow in his and my brothers footsteps, and become a police officer. I was 16 at the time, fresh out of getting my license, and I had just bought myself a car, since my family was rich. Of course, my dad didn't know about it. He wanted me to get a Dodge Challenger or a Charger, a police car. Just like his and Michael's.

But I didn't want to live by his rules. I didn't want to be a police officer, I didn't want to follow everything he said and end up as my brother, mindlessly doing everything he was told. It's a good thing he had wanted to be a police officer since he was little.

We had this huge blow out fight about it, and I ended up storming out of the house. I stomped my way down to the garage, where my new Toyota Celica sat. I let out my anger and tears into that car, fixing it up and cleaning it out.

And in the end, I found that I felt better about myself. And when I got into the driver's seat and started the engine, hearing the loud rumbling coming from under the hood, I realized I wanted to race it.

I had opened the garage door and raced out of the garage faster than ever, taking a few laps around the suburban neighborhood streets. The car ran good, but I could tell it needed some tuning.

Ever since I started racing, I had a knack for it. Many of the people at the street racers place were surprised that a girl as young as me was so good for my age, and gender. Not many girls were into street racing, and I was one of them.

My first race, I tore down the track before the car next to me even had a chance to see what was happening.

At that moment, I realized that street racing was not just an act of rebellion, or even a way to feel belonging. I realized that it was in my blood, that I loved it just because. And I liked the feeling.

And that's when my love of racing, the adrenaline I got when my car was going over a hundred miles per hour, the feeling of turning the wheel and feeling the car move with me, everything about racing, sparked.

And that fire could not be put out.