Banging Wheels by Natalie Banks

full speed.
    “Callie,” came the voice. This time it wasn’t Ozzie — it was the unmistakable voice of Travis, the team manager. “You need to slow down right away, or you really will run out of fuel.” She could practically see him giving the world’s biggest nudge and wink at the other end. “Please confirm you understand.”
    Silence.
    “Please confirm”
    Silence.
    “Callie?”
    Silence.
    “Callie?”
    Silence.
    More silence.
    “Yeah. Confirmed.”
    Oh well, it had been good while it lasted. Every sinew in her body wanted to keep braking on the limit but, gradually, reluctantly, she started changing her driving. Lift and coast, they called it. You take your foot off the throttle earlier than normal on the straightaways and let the aerodynamics slow the car down — which they do quite a lot — before you hit the brakes yourself. It changes all your braking points, it’s actually quite a complex task to get your head around and it genuinely does save fuel. In fact, it was a great skill to be practicing — one befitting the very top drivers. Such a shame she’d never get to become of them.
    Eventually, the yellow of Sam Daniels came into her mirrors. It must have been something of a surprise to him to catch her, given the way she’d strolled away. How far back was Drake, then? It was bad enough having to give up her place to him, but just how far down were they both going to have to finish, just so he could be allowed to finish ahead? Daniels swept past her, in what must have been the easiest pass of his career. Then the familiar blue came into her mirrors. She knew she was just imagining it, but to her it had that look of guilt about it, like the family dog always did when it had torn something apart.
    She toyed with the idea of trolling him — of aiming to let him through and then closing the door. Or speeding up again for a bit. Or even of colliding with him like he’d done with her all those times. But that wasn’t her style. Besides, it would have been the racing equivalent of throwing a game board up in the air and storming off because things weren’t going your way. Ozzie was right — it was important she went about this the right way, and didn’t spit the dummy out. So, as they came onto the straightaway again, she pulled right across and pointed very openly, meaning ‘pass me on this side’. The racing equivalent of holding the door open and saying, “After you.” A gesture of open acquiescence, so that no-one could be kidded into thinking this was a genuine overtake.
    She felt herself wincing as she waited for the car to come through. It was so painful, and seemed to last an eternity. Yet the moment never came — then the corner arrived and he still hadn’t gone past, so she went in first and he followed behind.
    “Jesus,” she said to herself. “This idiot can’t even make a clean move when it’s handed to him.”
    On the next short straight she did it again, only this time she went slower. He pulled alongside.
    “Finally.”
    But then he braked earlier than her, and once again she went into the corner first. What was this? The world’s slowest driver competition? Or was he just trying to rub it in? She seethed at the thought. Was it not enough to beat her? Did he have to try and humiliate her, too?
    “What are you two playing at?” came the voice of Travis on the radio.
    “Ask him!”
    Going into the next corner — a slow, right-handed hairpin — she made it as open and clear as possible. She braked early and pulled over onto the dirty part of the corner, where the cars rarely go. It was as wide open an opportunity as she could give him — the racing driver equivalent of laying your cloak down on a puddle. This time he did slip past, taking the inside track she’d left available to him. But then out of nowhere...
    SMACK
    He swerved into her, bumping the open face of his wheels against hers. What the...? Asshole! She looked across at him and gesture with her hand —