Page 30 of Her Sloth

She is, and I hate to say it, one of us. She was born to ride; I knew it the moment she pulled the stunt around the corner, and I need to see what she can do on a quarter mile. It’s where the soul of a person shows.

I have raced the Eleanor before. But Elise was young and inexperienced. Addy isn’t, so I’ll give it my best this time.

I come to a halt at the red light.

Columbs Avenue is almost empty, as if the angels in the sky were watching, knowing Addy needs this.

I let down the window and point with my hand to come to a halt next to me. She does, with her window let down, too.

It’s like I am having a deja-vu, seeing the Eleanor next to me.

“Quarter mile is till the third,” I say. “Where it splits. If we get busted, we meet at Red Hook.”

She nods.

The red light counts down.

“Cass,” she says, a weak smile on her face. “You really have to get used to seeing backlights.”

I grin.

“Nah,” I say and slap my girl. “No one beats her on a quarter.”

“She’s too heavy,” she says, the counter reaches five seconds.

The Eleanor roars.

Three.

I let my girl roar.

Two.

One.

We shoot off, and damn, she is very, very good. Her reaction is like one of a trained driver, and she actually leads. Not much, but just enough.

But 1001hp against the Eleanor’s 726hp—she won’t win this one, and I catch up with her.

The following traffic light is red.

We glance at each other.

I don’t even wonder if she’ll do it.

We shoot through three crossing cars.

Honking.

One almost gets me.

She leads, because I had to evade that car.

I catch up.

The next red light.

A truck directly turning onto Columbus in front of us. There is no way⁠—