Overdrive by Chris Fabry Read Free Book Online Page B

used to race Legends and Late Model Stocks himself, but he’d been injured in a bad wreck at Hickory and had never been the same. He’d gotten married in his 20s and started a family and needed a more stable life, so he managed a golf course during the week and spotted for Dale on weekends.
    â€œEver been a spotter before?” Scotty asked when Tim explained what was happening.
    â€œI’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what I’d say if I was up there. You guys are good, but sometimes I see things.”
    Scotty nodded. “Like what?”
    â€œLike a fast car that tries and tries to get by the leader on the outside, and then he drops down and passes on the inside. If I’d have been that spotter, I would have said something about staying low in the corners.”
    â€œThat’s a good call. Sometimes the spotter does say something, but the driver either ignores it or has something else going on. As a spotter, you don’t just concentrate on your car. You look at the whole field and anticipate.”
    â€œBut how do you know when to talk and when to shut up?”
    Scotty smiled. “Every driver’s different. Some will want you to talk almost the whole time, telling them what you see, the latest from the officials, what you’re having for dinner. Others want you to talk only when it’s necessary. The thing to remember is that the driver doesn’t make the team—the team makes the driver.”
    Amen to that, Tim thought.
    Scotty talked a few more minutes, then turned to leave.
    â€œOne more question,” Tim said. “Remember Talladega last year?”
    Scotty crossed his arms. “Yeah, I do.”
    â€œYou have any idea what happened when Dale’s car lost control at the front of the pits?”
    Scotty bit his lip and looked at the floor, running a toe across some imaginary line. “I was concentrating on the pit crew as he slowed. Had my binoculars on them and was talking with T.J. about the right-side tires. When I looked up, he had smashed . . . I didn’t really see what happened, son. I’m real sorry about your dad.”
    â€œYou must have heard stuff from the other guys,” Tim said.
    â€œYeah, but nothing conclusive.”

Chapter 14
Go as Fast as You Can
    JAMIE WAS ONE OF 22 drivers suited up for the qualifying laps on Friday afternoon. The atmosphere was the same as a real race with a couple of the guys running off to the bathroom with a case of nerves. Jamie hadn’t felt this anxious since she’d raced Bandoleros at her first Summer Shootout. She took as many deep breaths as she could without hyperventilating.
    “Hope we get in the top 11,” Rosa said, sitting in a plastic chair beside Jamie in the meeting room. “The person who gets the pole has the edge—don’t you think?”
    “True, but it doesn’t mean you can’t come from the back,” Jamie said. “Just go as fast as you can and the position will take care of itself.” The words sounded empty to her, probably because she had chided her dad when he said them and now they were coming from her own mouth.
    In front of her, Chad Devalon turned. “Sounds like something your old man would say.” He snickered, and Jamie wished she hadn’t said anything.
    Bud Watkins entered the room and the chatter stopped. Behind him walked one of the top cup contenders, and the students clapped. He had jet-black hair and dark eyebrows and a clean-cut look that Jamie saw on all his endorsements. He was known as a pretty boy, and some fans threw things at his car when he won. It seemed there was no end to their dislike. But whether you liked him or not, there was no denying he was good and that given the right car, he could win.
    Bud motioned the driver to the microphone, and he stepped to the podium. “Bud thought it would be good for you to hear some remarks from somebody who knows how nervous you probably are right now. I didn’t have a chance to come to a school