Page 2 of Furious

“Same difference. I was moving up the junior ranks and you know it. I was winning!”

“Girl, I believe as much as you that you’re going to drive for F1 someday, but you’re not taking the Hornet out until you get your license.”

“But it’s not even about the driving!” I let out a frustrated breath. “Dad knows I’m a good driver! He’s just stalling. He’s trying to get me to be a part of this local summer volunteer program. Then we’re going to maybe—maybe—talk about getting me my license.”

Grandma’s forehead wrinkles as she considers me, and a heaviness crosses her features, as if all her sadness had landed on her shoulders at once. “He just cares about you, JoJo, you know that.”

“He’s too overprotective.”

“He doesn’t want to lose you,” she says softly. “DeeDee’s death cracked him wide open, and he’s clinging to all he has left.”

The frustration that’s been simmering since we moved back to Dell’s Hollow two weeks ago, in the middle of May, finally comes spewing out of me. “But I don’t have anything left, either! No friends here. No races to compete in. Nothing!” I slap one hand against the side of Mom’s car and then immediately regret it.

Grandma eyes the car and hands me a clean rag from a nearby metal table. Apologetically, I rub off the greasy fingerprints I left on the side of the Hornet.

“You have your family,” Grandma says. “And this job—which I see you’ve not been doing too much of today.” She looks pointedly at the old Pontiac Fiero someone’s brought in for a tune-up.

Because she runs the only garage in a small town at the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, Grandma and her mechanics work on a lot of cars that have been sitting in mountainside outbuildings for decades. It gives her whole place a retro feel that she plays up with tin racing signs, pinup girl calendars, neon lights, and a continuous soundtrack that’s a mix of ‘50s, ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s music. It’s a weirdly wonderful place to work, and, since I grew up helping my dad fix cars, it feels the closest to home since we moved here. Back when Dad worked in this garage, it was also a custom shop where cars were fitted out for the street races near Raleigh, but that’s all gone now. Mom’s car is the last fast thing in the shop, and it’s pretty much not moved in ages.

“Oh please, I was done with that Pontiac an hour ago,” I say, waving toward the Fiero. “It’s all cleaned up, and ready to go to space.”

Grandma snickers at that, sounding far younger than her sixty-eight years. Like me, she’s a super fan of the Fast & Furious franchise, and neither of us has recovered from that scene in F9 where a Pontiac Fiero gets launched into space.

“Well, orbit-ready or not, that’s not our only car today. And since Willa is out with her sick kids and Mabel Rae isn’t in until Tuesday, I need you to look at that Subaru that’s parked out front.” She tosses me a set of keys on a fluffy rabbit’s foot keychain.

I catch them and let a wicked smile curve my lips. “Are you saying you want me to drive the Subaru?”

Grandma rolls her eyes affectionately. “I’m saying pull it into the garage and get its hood open, not take it out racing. I don’t think that’s breaking your daddy’s rules. When you’re done with it, you can have the rest of the day off. But I’ll pay you for a full day.”

I grin at that. “You’re the best, Grandma. No wonder Dolly wrote a song about you.”

She pats me on the shoulder. “Just use some of that time off today to investigate this volunteer program stuff. I want you to fit in here, Jo, and make a good life for yourself. Figuring out how to live by your daddy’s rules while still being yourself is a big step in the right direction. Plus, you might actually meet some kids your own age to hang around with.”

“Are you saying you’re tired of me?” I try not to sound wounded. Dad is between jobs right now and always on his computer looking for work, so since we moved into Grandma Jolene’s big farmhouse two weeks ago, I’ve hung out with her pretty much every night. Which is clearly not her idea of a great time.

“I’m saying I’m a vibrant older woman with a life of her own, who loves watching movies with her granddaughter but who has a vacation coming up soon. Didn’t I tell you we’re celebrating Florence’s seventieth birthday in Florence this year?”

Florence is Grandma’s oldest friend and long-term love interest. Flo lives in California where her grandkids are and visits Dell’s Hollow every few months. Twenty years ago, after Florence’s wife left her and Grandma’s second husband died, they’d fallen in love, but neither one of them ever wanted to get married again, so now they just spend as much time as possible seeing the world together. Selfies of them zip-lining in the Amazon, surfing in Australia, and eating cake in Paris cover the walls of Grandma’s living room, mixed in among pictures of Mom and Dad’s wedding, my early years, me in front of the Karts I’ve won with, and many other family photos. Family is everything to Grandma, and the evidence of that is all over her house and the garage.

“We leave in a few weeks,” Grandma continues. “We’ll have a barbecue before we go so you can say hello to Flo. Invite all your friends.”

“I have exactly zero friends here.”

“Invite the ones from Charleston! Florence will love to meet them. She’s always asking about you. Wants to know when you’ll start racing again, but I told her that’s not her business or mine.”

My stomach clenches. How am I ever supposed to race again when the mere thought of it makes me want to hurl my lunch?

I exhale slowly, keeping my voice steady, something only possible after all my years of training. “Are you sure I can’t come with you to Italy?”

That sounds better than hanging around Dell’s Hollow, friendless and car-less.

“Absolutely not. Who else will run the garage for me these next few weeks?”

“Willa? Mabel Rae? Dad? Literally any adult with more experience than me?”

Grandma waves a hand, making her bangles dance again. “Of course they’ll be in charge, technically, but I’m counting on you to make sure all the cars are fixed and drivable. I’m heading out for lunch now, but get that Subaru into the garage, get the tires off, and then you can take off, too.”

She winks at me and walks away, leaving me to puzzle out her meaning.