i take it you're ready to go? speed nods. rex climbs in beside him.
so, who was school?
no way. he starts the car and roadster growls to life.
i can't, speed. pops would kill me.
are you wearing the socks? lickety-split, speed sticks his sneaker up against the dash board and pulls back his pant leg revealing-- a bright red sock.
you roll us again and this'll be the last time? deal? a ten year old's grin spreads ear to ear.
feel that shimmy? that's your hind legs trying to outrun you're front.
stop steering and start driving. speed gets serious, his lips tightening the way a hand knots into a fist.
this ain't no dead piece a metal. a car's a living breathing thing. she's alive. you can feel her talking to you, telling you what she wants, what she needs. you just gotta listen. speed tries to listen.
close your eyes and listen. speed does.
they say that ben burns drove the last lap of the '68 vanderbilt cup with his eye closed.
no? well maybe you can't hear it then. maybe. you ought to start hitting those books--
that so? okay mr. burns, you tell me when to gas it for the jump.
now?
let me see that. he grabs the box, then holds it to his ear. it's ticking. he jams it into the go-cart, against the pedal and slaps it in reverse. the go--.cart shoots out of the garage and down the driveway until-- it explodes, an enormous fireball ballooning up past the tree tops. trixie's eyes flash with excitement.
not this time, speedy.
i don't know. i don't know. he snaps the bag shut.
look, speed.  one day people might say things about me. no matter what they say, i hop.  i just hope you never believe them.
i have to.
i'm done arguing with you pops. he turns back towards the door.
you can't tell me what to do. it's my life to live. he takes hold of the doorknob.