"I just can't pass anyone," I shouted, but it was more to myself than to anyone who was listening.

With thirty laps to go, I needed to somehow find my way to the front, but I couldn't drive myself out of eighth place if my career depended on it. And the absolutely hilarious part was that my career did, in fact, depend on a win.

"There's still time. We're going to have to work a little magic, but we can still pull this off. Everyone still needs one last splash of fuel to make it to the end of the race, and we can try to make up some ground there," Paul said.

I took in a breath. "Right. Right."

I kept on driving right along the wall around turns one and two, and if I made one tiny mistake, I'd damage the car. But I needed a win, and no one was going to stop me.

As I chased after the leader Tyler Bailey, there were only seven cars ahead of me on the score sheet, but a few lapped cars also took up space on the track between us. And the cars that were behind me were close as well. That was the beauty and the chaos of Talladega. When one person wrecked, so did a bunch of cars behind them.

I took a peek in my mirror, and surely enough, I had the sixty-six car right behind me. Both Griffin and I were stuck right where we were, and as we sped across the start/finish line, we both knew I had one less lap to make my way to the front.

The air blowing into my helmet heated up, and I wasn't quite sure if it was actually an issue, or if it was all in my head.

"The seventeen car is running the bottom right on the yellow line behind you and Gallagher, and he's running faster laps than the leader," Chris, my spotter, said.

"What? How?" I asked. There was no way that should have worked. The top line, just barely off the wall, was the best line for maintaining speed.

"His car is just that good, I guess," he replied.

Even after several rounds of adjustments, my car was still looser than me in high school.

"Yeah, Chris, I don't think I can pull that shit off. I've almost hit the wall a couple—" The back end of my car wiggled again, and I shut up to straighten it out before I ran into the wall.

"Don't worry about it. Just keep doing what you're doing," Paul said.

Of course, it was very easy for the two of them to theorize when they weren't the ones behind the wheel of a car that fought every turn.

I crossed the starting line again. Another lap gone.

Time was running out, and I was still stuck in eighth place.

At a chaotic track like Talladega, we drivers needed an extra pair of eyes to watch out for us, and even though I was sure Chris still talked me through each lap, I didn't hear a word he said. All I could hear was Roger Truscott laughing.

I couldn't let him win. I dealt with too much shit over my career to let him end it with a snap of his fingers.

I sat up a little more in my seat as I flew down the straightaway, and even though it wasn't possible for me to drive the ninety-five car any harder, I could make some more desperate decisions behind the wheel. This wasn't about the car anymore; we couldn't fix that. It was about me, and I knew damn well that I could hang with everyone from Tyler Bailey to Griffin Gallagher.

And whoever got wrecked in the process would just have to deal with it.

My next victim was a few car-lengths in front of me, and if I could just get to the back of the car, I would disrupt the airflow and kill the speed and handling, or I'd bump him straight into the wall. Either way, I'd get around.

The track wasn't paved to be completely smooth, and each rough lap took a toll on the body. It was times like this that Griffin's lifestyle paid off for him, but I had motivation that could make up for all the times I chose snacks over exercise.

Another lap passed, but I closed the gap between us.

Just a little bit closer, and I could—

The car in front of me flew around the top of the turn, but the car didn't turn with the curve. He plowed straight into the wall, and I dove to the bottom of the track before he could crash into me.

I looked in the mirror to see what happened, and behind me, the car sat in the middle of the track with the back of his car hanging off and another car with a dent and scrape marks down the side panel. At two hundred miles an hour, cars did whatever they wanted when they were broken, and we drivers were just along for the ride.

There must have been a guardian angel looking out for me.

"The caution is out," Chris said, and I knew what that meant.

The pack would be tightened up again, and we'd be forced to fight over every position on the track, but it was my best chance of finding my way to victory lane.

"Oh my god. That's exactly what we needed," Paul said.

We all lined back up in a row, so we could get the last bit of fuel we needed for the race, and my heartbeat throbbed in my eardrums, but I already knew the plan. We'd get a couple of seconds of fuel, then head out to finish the race. Paul and his team had already done the calculations, and we couldn't make it to the end of the race without getting just a little bit more gas.

Each car on the lead lap in front of me turned to pit road, and I turned to follow them in.

"Stay out, stay out," Paul shouted.

My heart dropped into my stomach as I jerked the wheel back to the right. "What the hell are we doing?"

"This is our only chance, Kate. Save fuel during the caution, and maybe we can pull it off."

I slammed my gloved hand against the steering wheel. "How do you expect me to win like this? I can't—you said we don't have enough fuel to make it to the end."

"And you said you just couldn't pass anyone. Now you're in first, so you don't have to."

I paused. That was true, and at least I had Griffin and several other cars in between me and the first car with plenty of fuel, Tyler Bailey in the number ten.

"We have to try something different to win this. Just stay focused, kid, and hold everyone off for twenty laps. Try to save gas," Paul said.

He was one hell of a crew chief.

All I had to do was keep my car in front of thirty-nine other cars, some that didn't have to save fuel, for twenty laps, and my spot at RTR was saved. I'd have a cool trophy that could finally turn my Baton Rouge house into a home.

I nodded to myself. "I got this."

It was likely that we were just giving ourselves false hope, but I spent my life in unlikely places. It sure as hell wasn't likely that I'd ever get picked for random drug testing five weeks in a row.

Since Griffin didn't stop for fuel either, he lined up right beside me as we got ready to restart the race. It was Roger Truscott Racing against Roger Truscott, and I shut off the engine as we coasted down the straightaway to save more fuel.

"How many cars are in between me and the ten?" I asked.

"There are nine other cars who didn't get any fuel, so Bailey's restarting in eleventh," Paul said.

Hopefully that would be enough of a buffer between us.

With twenty laps until the checkered flag, there still hadn't been the big wreck that always seemed to happen at Talladega, and all I could hope for was that if it did happen, it wouldn't include me. And for once, that wasn't a far-fetched hope. Driving was a lot cleaner out front.

The green flag flew through the air, and I led the pack of cars back up to speed. I glanced up at the rearview mirror, and Griffin shuffled in line behind me, and there was no sight of the number ten car.

That was a good sign. He didn't pull some crazy-ass move to gain six positions.

"How much fuel do I have to save to make it to the end?" I asked.

Paul hesitated for a moment. "You have to go hard now to keep yourself out front, but as soon as you have a little bit of a lead, you need to start saving, and I mean hardcore saving. Gallagher's on board to work with you to keep everyone else behind, but it's all in your hands now."

"And if there's another caution? We still haven't had the big one."

"We'll have enough gas to make it to the end then, and hopefully it'll take out your best competition."

I checked the mirror. Griffin was still behind me, but there was a little bit of distance between us.

There were two options I had: I could drive the hell away from everyone, then save as much fuel as I could, or I could team up with Griffin and have him push me. Two cars were faster than one, but with our sketchy fuel situation, worn-down tires, and close proximity, the pushing strategy could easily take us both out of the race.

"I want the sixty-six car to push me. And tell him not to be a pussy about it. If we wreck, we wreck, but—"

Paul interrupted me. "Not sure Roger's gonna like both of his cars getting taken out in one crash."

"I don't give a fuck at this point. Chris, ask Griffin's spotter to tell him to push me."

"Ten-four," Chris replied.

The cars behind us weren't much farther away from me than when we first restarted, but as long as Griffin kept them behind him, they couldn't get to me.

"Fifteen laps to go," Paul said, and I was sure he wasn't too pleased with me. Griffin was more of a leader than a pusher, but he was my teammate and best friend. If there was anyone I trusted to get me to the finish line, it was him.

The car shook a little bit, and I looked up to a mirror full of Griffin's car.

"Thanks, Chris," I said.

With Griffin pushing me, I couldn't see much of what was happening behind the two of us, but this was my best shot at getting the win I needed, and Chris would tell me if someone was getting close to us.

All I had to do was keep my eyes on the track in front of me and pray that I wouldn't end up in the wall.

I eased off the throttle into turn one, and hopefully, with two of us working together, we wouldn't kill our momentum so much that Tyler Bailey and all the other cars that had enough gas would catch us.

As the laps began to dwindle down, I lost count of how many there were to go, but Paul had a knack for knowing when to talk. I couldn't focus on that, though. My arms shook from the vibration of the car, and though I had a cool, constant supply of air flowing into my helmet, each breath was lava in my lungs.

"The ten car's beginning to gain some serious time on you. He's worked his way up to fourth now," Chris said.

"And you're coming up on five to go, so just hang in there," Paul added.

Five more laps until I gave Mr. Truscott the biggest fuck you of his life. Five more laps until I shut the entire racing world up about being winless. Five more laps.

"How far back is Tyler?" I asked.

"About twelve car lengths or so, and with how much fuel you're saving, the ten can make that time up in a lap or two," Chris said.

Sometimes I hated his honesty. "Well, shit."

The extra boost to my car had dropped off, and when I looked up in the mirror, the sixty-six car wasn't right on the back of mine anymore. I knew we couldn't work together until the checkered flag, but wasn't he leaving me a little early?

Whatever. We couldn't make it too obvious that he knew about my situation.

I looked up in the mirror again, and a royal blue racecar followed closely in Griffin's tracks.

"The ten car is up to third now," Chris said.

Did someone install a goddamn rocket booster on his car during his last pit stop?

Like a predator stalking its prey, Tyler kept within striking distance of Griffin's car, and with how much fuel Griffin needed to save to even make it to the end of the race, it was only a matter of time before Tyler passed him. And that meant the same for me, too, but time was running out for him to catch and pass me.

I checked the windshield to make sure there was nothing in front of me, then I looked back to the mirror to watch the only person who could steal this win away from me.

As the two cars drove side by side and ruined each other's aerodynamics, I could pull away a little, even with my extreme fuel-saving, but I wasn't sure that it'd be enough of a gap for when Tyler finally got around Griffin.

"Two laps to go," Paul said, and just as those words rang over the radio, the number ten car pulled in front of Griffin.

There was nothing between Tyler and me besides thirty feet of distance and a shit ton of hatred.

I couldn't save any more fuel. If I ran out of gas and he passed me, at least I would know that the team gave it our best shot, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't give one hundred percent to drive our bullshit Alcoholics Anonymous car into Victory Lane.

There was no time for conserving anything on a superspeedway like Talladega.

As we approached the white flag at the start/finish line that reminded us that there was only one lap to go, his car grew larger in my mirror. He had caught me, but he only had one lap to pass me.

"He's been passing people at the bottom of the track. Do not let him get underneath you," Chris said.

"But I can't hold the line. My car's too loose," I said. In order to keep the speed at the bottom of the track, he had to keep his car right on the yellow line, but I didn't have the car to do that.

As we sped into turn one, I kept my car down at the bottom of the track like Chris told me, but Tyler followed me down there and ran into my car to remind me he was right there.

The car wiggled, and I turned the wheel to keep myself straight, but all the speed I carried was gone. He drove right up beside me, but I would have been damned if I let him get away unscathed. I drove down into his car to drag his speed down with me as we came out of the turn. The finish line waited for us in just two more turns, and he rammed into my side. Both of us shot up the race track, and all I could see was Talladega Superspeedway printed on the wall as I took my hands off the wheel.

The hit knocked the wind right out of my lungs, and another car ran into my back, which sent another jolt through my broken car and system. There wasn't a thing in the world besides smoke and screeching tires, and my car began to fall down the race track's banking. It finally worked itself to a stop, but I had no idea where I was or who won the race. My mind was just as foggy as the view out my windshield, and all I knew was that I didn't win.

"Are you okay?" Paul asked me.

"No." I forced the word out of my mouth, but without any breath, it barely sounded like a croak.

That must have been Talladega's big one for the day.

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Hey everyone! Thank you so much for reading! I'm officially back home, so we'll get back to the regularly scheduled updates.

So what's next for Katie? Is her career over?