“You could have bought me the bigger size, Cheapskate. It’s hot tonight, and there’s no breeze at all.” Barrett had been uncharacteristically silent while he waited with me for my race. He looked around a few times as if he was worried about running into someone. “Who are you looking for?” And then it dawned on me. “Shit, Rett, did you hit on some guy’s girlfriend out here? One of these days you’re going to pick up on the wrong girl and—” “Stop, jeez, sometimes you drone on like Dad used to whenever I failed a test. And I didn’t hit on any girls, at least none that were attached to someone.” I walked around to inspect the tires for a second time just to be sure. I’d felt off all night as if I shouldn’t race. I’d managed to laugh off the feeling until now, yet somehow, Barrett’s nervous demeanor had made me feeling even less confident. But the Chevelle had been running tight, and there weren’t that many serious, hardcore racers in the mix tonight.
