Last Ride by Laura Langston

drunk, stoned or tired.
    No racing someone who doesn’t want to race me.
    The microwave pings . I pull out my pasta, fork up mounds of noodles and meat and cheese, and study my list. After a minute, I add: No racing someone who has passengers, or is drunk, stoned or tired.
    By the time I’ve finished my second helping of lasagna, I have my rules and my game plan figured out. I need to talk to Ray. He needs to agree to what I want.
    Yawning, I head upstairs to bed. I’m full, I’m tired and I’m relaxed. For once, I have a plan. For once, Logan isn’t anywhere around. And for once I don’t turn on the computer. Instead I go straight to bed.
    Straight to sleep.
    I’m waiting at the garage when Ray drives up before eight the next morning.
    â€œWhat the hell?” His checkered shirt catches on the steering wheel as he twists out of his classic Mustang. In street clothes, he’s almost skinny. Except for his beer gut. “You off school today?”
    â€œNo, my first class is in twenty minutes. But I need to talk to you.”
    He fumbles with his keys before finding the right one and unlocking the pull-down door. “I don’t talk to anybody before I’ve had my first cup of coffee.” The door clatters when it hits the top of the frame.
    â€œI’m short on time and you need to hear this.”
    Ray flips on the light and bolts for the coffee machine, weaving between a way-cool Nissan Skyline and a yellow Miata. “Oh yeah?”
    â€œI’m going back to racing.”
    He turns around. A grin splits his face. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”
    â€œOn a couple of conditions.”
    â€œWhat kind of conditions?”
    â€œIf I win Sunday, I get the six grand, I keep my car and you wipe out my debt.” He stares at me, his grin slowly fading. I pull a sheet of paper from my pocket. “Plus you sign this saying the Acura is mine, free and clear.”
    He scowls. “Are you on drugs or what? I’m not signing nothing.” He takes the coffee pot to the sink, fills it with water. “I told you yesterday, you go back to racing, I’ll give you a few more months to pay me back. And I’ll forgive a thousand dollars of your debt. That’s enough.”
    It’s not. This isn’t about me or my car. Not anymore. It’s about Mom. Our house. About fixing the mess I created. I need more. And I’m determined to get it.
    â€œForget it then.” I shrug, like I don’t care. “But just so you know, I’ve told everybody how you’re putting the screws to me. Nobody’s going to race my car, Ray. You won’t get your business back. Not without me behind the wheel.” I head for the door.
    â€œHold on to your bloody shirt, will ya?”
    I settle on a stool and watch him make coffee.
    When he’s finished, he asks, “What’s your bottom line?”
    If I tell him, he’ll weasel me lower. “I need money fast,” I say instead. Something close to sympathy flickers in his black squirrel eyes. “And I need you to wipe out my debt.”
    He pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “Wipe out fourteen grand?” He snorts. “I don’t think so.”
    I pretend to think. “Then give me two years to pay you back. And put it in writing.” I’m not settling for a verbal agreement.
    â€œA year,” he counters as he lights up and takes a drag.
    â€œTwelve months, but I still want it in writing.”
    â€œI don’t do signatures.”
    â€œIt’s a deal breaker, Ray. I need something signed.”
    â€œFine,” he mutters after a minute. “Whatever.”
    â€œAnd I want that six grand when I win.”
    â€œNo way.”
    â€œOkay.” My heart’s pounding as I stand up. “Deal’s off.”
    â€œDon’t be an ass, Shields.”
    I’m no hero. I know that. I can’t wipe out my entire medical bill. I