Slammed Page 4

  We talked about girls, rides, sports, music—anything other than what we cared about: getting the text. After twenty more minutes, Jordan’s phone buzzed. The meet-up tonight was outside Big Lots on Ecorse.

  We arrived just before midnight. After Jordan parked, I walked toward the end of the lot where the races were being set up. Not everybody raced, so other people were checking out cars, or the girls by the cars. It was warm for a spring night, and most of the girls weren’t wearing much. I found Ali’s Acura, but he wasn’t near it, nor was Nikki or LT. Cal and Michael stood like guards.

  “What are you doing here?” Michael asked.

  “Where’s Ali?” I said.

  “What do you care?” Cal jumped in.

  “Challenge.”

  “With what? You get your ride out of impound?” he asked. I spit on the sidewalk.

  “If he’s too scared, I’ll just let everybody know, especially Nikki. She doesn’t like that.”

  Michael and Cal looked at each other, like each hoped the other would decide. Finally Cal flipped his phone and texted. The answer took all of ten seconds. “Not interested.”

  “Who’d you text, Ali or LT?” Cal looked at the ground. “Now, call Ali.”

  This time Michael did the work; this time the answer was different. “Wait here.”

  I turned my back and sent two quick texts while I waited. Ali showed up without LT in front of him, but with Nikki right beside him. He palmed her backside like a basketball. She looked uncomfortable.

  “I beat you, DeAndre, so beat it,” Ali said with a smirk.

  “Me and you, one more time.” I stared right through him as I spoke. “Your ride vs. mine. Winner takes both cars, loser goes home on a bike. Bet?”

  Ali nodded but wouldn’t shake my hand. He looked lost without LT telling him what to do.

  “You spotting it?” I asked LT. He shook his head. “One last time, I swear.”

  “That’s what every addict says,” he whispered hard. “I told you that—”

  “No, LT, I’m really not—” but I didn’t get any further before he rolled himself away. I tried to text Nikki, but she didn’t answer and was lost in the crowd. I texted Jordan and asked him to look for her, but he was busy doing some last-minute tuning to his—our—slammed Civic.

  Desperate, I ran through the maze of cars. It was like I was inside one of those old-school pinball machines they used to have at the mall arcade. Lights flashed, music played, and even though the land was still, it felt like it was in motion under the weight of all this speed.

  “Nikki! Nikki!” I shouted over the din, but there was nothing but loudness. I looked out over the controlled chaos and wondered how many other guys dreamed the same car-racing dream I did. I realized that if I ever did race, I’d only want to do drag racing. In drag racing, there was no past, just what was in front of you, and you got there as quickly as you could. In every other kind of racing, you just went around in circles and ended up where you started.

  I wished that Ali didn’t have tinted windows. I wanted to see the look on his face when I pulled up next to him in Jordan’s Civic. Ali’s car needed wings, because he didn’t have a prayer. In front of us, a Mitsubishi Eclipse and a Subaru Impreza readied for battle. I’d blown away that Eclipse before.

  I pulled up in the Honda Civic. Ali placed his Acura Integra. I was too afraid to blink.

  Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock counted down.

  Vroom. My engine was ready.

  Cal, the starter in front of us, asked, “Ready? Set? Go!”

  Blue flames shot from my exhaust and I was off. I heard nothing but my heart beating and my engine roaring; it was like I was half-deaf. With my eyes wide open, the street lay before me and I ate up one section of road at a time.

  Four seconds gone, and fourth gear was in reach. Jordan had fixed up the transmission so the clutch sang like a dream while the turbo roared like a tornado. With the windows rolled up, sweat beaded up on my forehead.

  Eight seconds gone, the last gear conquered, and nothing but nerve. Lights on the side from spectators couldn’t distract me. I could taste the finish line.

  Then. From the crowd. Something. In my lane.

  I slammed on the brakes and struggled to maintain control of the wheel. I had no time and a hundred choices to make. I swerved to the right to miss the object, which put me in front of Ali—he had been behind me. I sensed him barely miss me as he roared past to the finish line. I wondered who was there to greet him, because it sure wasn’t LT. Behind me, I saw that I’d painted the road black with my tires, and in front of me, I saw the object I’d avoided: LT’s wheelchair. I stopped the car, opened the door, and ran toward the chair. It was empty.

  I scanned the crowd. LT sat on the ground, a smile on his face. And with him was Michael, perfectly positioned to have pushed the chair out into my lane.

  “Are you crazy? You trying to kill me?” I screamed as I walk over to LT. I was about to explode from a mix of anger and terror. But LT let me get close before he responded calmly.

  “I knew you could handle it. You learned to race from the best,” he said, looking smug.

  “I thought you were trying to look out for me! Now you lost me another car? Are you insane?”

  LT hesitated, eyeing me. “Your friend can keep his ride. Ali just won yours, as soon as you can get it out of impound. But I wouldn’t risk your friend’s wheels again.”

  I was still staring at him in disbelief when he spoke up again.

  “Now let me ask you a question, DeAndre. You just raced for all you’ve got left, against someone who’s cheated you before. Which one of us just put you in danger? Which one of us is the crazy one?”

  “Summer school is going to suck,” Jordan shouted over the beeps, dings, dubstep music, and other noise around us.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about it,” Nikki said just before she kissed my cheek, but all I could do was yawn. Jordan yawned too. “Boy, some Saturday night fun you two are,” she said with a laugh.

  “I’m sorry. Unlike you, we worked all day,” I said and let out a loud sigh. Both Jordan and I had put in eight hard, dirty hours at Hautman Import Automotive. We worked in front for the legitimate business on weekends. Hautman kept the stolen parts in the back. I kept that part from Nikki, but that’s about the only thing. Trust on the outs was easy with the right people.

  “I had two hours of choir practice and piano lessons.” She pretended to pout, which just made her cuter. I touched her skinny arms, finally free of other colors. We didn’t talk about Ali, LT, or any of it. I had earned enough to get my car out of impound. I’d left it in front of LT’s garage to settle the score from the last race.

  “Today you had beautiful music, and tonight all this noise!” I shouted to Nikki.

  “It’s worth it,” she shouted back.

  “You ready, Jordan?” I asked. He shifted around behind the wheel. I did the same.

  Tick. Tick. Tick. “Ready? Set? Go!” Nikki shouted.

  Vroom. Vroom. Our engines roared as we put the gas pedals to the floor.

  The wheel felt right, and most of the sounds were close, but it was the smell that was missing. You just can’t replicate the smell of burning tires, exhaust fumes, and adrenaline-fueled sweat in an arcade street-racing video game.

  MODEL HISTORY

  In production since 1978, the Honda Civic is one of the world’s most popular cars. For commuters and racing enthusiasts alike, the Honda Civic has held its own in two key areas of the automotive world.

  Used for racing ever since its release, the Honda Civic has made a name for itself on the racetrack. A sporty model of the Honda Civic, the Si, is a performance compact/hot hatch version of the Civic.

  THE CIVIC AND MODDING

  Honda Civic owners looking for increased speed, better handling, and a sportier appearance often make modifications (“modding”) to their cars. Honda sells these “mods,” which include equipment for better braking, faster acceleration, and a slee
ker look.

  Many Civic owners opt to install a cold air intake system to make their engines more powerful. These intake systems are said to increase torque and horsepower, and can help save fuel. Suspension systems are also popular mods. A suspension system can make the car more comfortable and faster by eliminating the severity of bumps on the road or the noise of the highway or racetrack.

  THE CIVIC AND THEFT

  Theft rates for the Honda Civic have consistently been some of the highest of any vehicle in the U.S. The Civic ranks among the most stolen cars nearly every year. According to a “Hot Wheels” report from August 2012, the 1998 Honda Civic was the second most-stolen car in America in 2011.

  The highest theft rate of any year for the Civic was 2000, when the rate of theft was 5.3269. This means that out of a group of any 100 Civics, over five were stolen that year on average. 2009 had the Civic’s lowest rate of theft on record: 0.7830—only ¾ of a Honda Civic was stolen, on average, out of a group of 100.

  Car thieves are big fans of the Honda Civic because it is relatively easy to break into and many of its parts are in high demand and can be used in many different makes and models of cars. The most common motive for stealing a car is to get access to the valuable parts and then to profit from reselling those parts.

  Some of the Civic’s most sought-after parts are the “after market mods” that are made for the car. An after market mod just refers to the modding an owner performed on his or her car after it was purchased. For instance, the intake systems mentioned earlier are frequently stolen off of Civics because of the high demand for them and because of their high monetary value. Performance gear (usually on the outside of the car) is also commonly stolen because it is easy to remove.

  THE CIVIC TODAY

  Honda is hoping to turn some heads in the 2013 racing season with the new Civic WTCC race car. Says driver Tiago Monteiro, “Of course we want to fight for the championship. Now we have a lot of information we have learned, but we still have a lot of work to do during winter. Tests this winter will be very important in order to make the Civic WTCC even better because our rivals will still be strong next year. So, we will have to be faster and stronger.”

  ENGINE: Honda K-series engine, 1.7 liter, 4 cylinder; 115 horsepower (before the turbo kit was added); i-VTEC motor; 5-speed manual transmission; install cold air intake system, new fuel pump, and hoses; enhanced horsepower with turbo kit; install new fuel rails and regulators.

  DRIVETRAIN: new drive axle; replace the boots; install new clutch kit; replace transmission lines and flywheel.

  SUSPENSION: install coilover suspension system and new struts (Coilovers are a much better choice for slamming a car than just cutting the springs. Cutting the springs will definitely lower the car and will improve handling for a short amount of time, but after that, your car will probably be in worse condition handling-wise than it was before the mod.); power steering system flush; install rear camber kit and front and rear sway bars; cat back exhaust system and exhaust headers; use lowering kit springs to get this Civic as close to the ground as possible (this is best for handling since it lowers the center of gravity, making it easier to make sharp turns); in the meantime, tightened Macpherson system struts and springs.

  BRAKES: install new front and rear brake pads; replace brake lines; install four-wheel disc brakes.

  WHEELS/TIRES: upgrade to high-performance tires; install steelies and some sweet, lightweight rims; invest in an alignment. (It takes a lot of skill to do this, but Jordan and I will be able to do this on our own someday. It’s important to keep your wheels aligned when your car’s slammed to prevent rubbing the wheel wells.)

  EXTERIOR: painted body with fresh coat of black; installed lip kit and lip spoilers; the outside of the Civic looks awesome anyway since it’s slammed now!

  INTERIOR: new steering wheel; new shift knob; floor mats; and remove the rearview mirror, of course.

  ELECTRONICS: upgrade to a sweet new speaker system; install new fuel injectors; install anti-theft system (I can’t have anyone around the east side trying to mess with my tricked-out car!)