They had seen the cameras, and couldn't believe what had happened; was it a tie? Did Jackson win? Did I?

I wouldn't know. By then I was gone, on my way back home. By the time I got back, it was evening.

"Oh, thank goodness."

Mom hugged me.

"I'm glad you're back, and you'll never guess what happened." she added.

"What?" I asked, "Did Jackson win?"

"No."

It took a moment before I'd realized.

"They're having the Florida 500 the following Friday, but there's a tiebreaker a week before." she informed, beaming at me, "I'm so proud of you."

"No way."

"Alex, you could be the first rookie to win a Piston Cup!"

We squealed in excitement but were quickly interrupted by Ramone.

"Yo, man, we gotta get your old paint back," he chimed in, "McQueen just came back."

"Wait, what?" I asked, "He's awake?"

"Go, Alex." Mom instructed. I nodded and sped up to Ramone, who quickly led me into the shop to remove the tail. Luigi and Guido helped put back on my old tires, and Ramone himself removed the paint.

Before I knew it, I was an ordinary red Porsche again.

I'd made it out of the paint shop just as Dad drove over to us after talking with Mom.

"You okay?" I asked, giving him a small hug; his expression didn't give me the answer I had hoped for; he looked...discouraged.

My dad was never discouraged.

Dad looked at Mom with a different glint in his eyes as if something had completely changed in his character.

"Oh, don't be like that," she encouraged, "You'll be back in no time; how'd training go?"

"Not the best," he explained, "I've spent more time training Cruz than she has training me...I've only gotten slower, not faster."

We then heard the TV.

"I can't believe it!" yelled the reporter, "The first female rookie to race has tied with Jackson Storm!"

My dad turned around.

"What was that?"

"There's a female racer in the season." I explained.

He looked to the TV.

"Storm Swift is tied with Jackson Storm, and a tie-breaking race will be held in Florida next Sunday before the Florida 500 to see who will be the winner." announced Chick Hicks, on his show, Chick's Picks with Chick Hicks. Since his Piston Cup win back before I was born, he had created his own TV show talking about racers, especially my dad.

He never said one good thing about Dad.

"So, Jackson," Chick continued, "How does it feel going up against speedy racers like Storm Swift, rather than old timers like this guy?"

He pointed to a picture of Dad and laughed.

"Well, I mean," Jackson began with a smirk, "There's not much to say. I actually talked with Swift last night and I gotta admit, she's pretty skilled...for a girl."

"Ooh, that's gotta sting!" Chick remarked, "So, you think she's got any chance at the Florida 500?"

I glared at that stupid green car.

"Ya know, Hicks, I think she does," Jackson answered, "...until the last lap."

"And, what about Lightning McQueen?" Chick asked, "What do you have to say about his big crash? Oh, man; as if he couldn't embarrass himself any more!"

"Nah, nah, Chick. I think that's too far," Jackson corrected, "It's like I said before: he was the elder statesman of the sport."

There was a pause before the two of them began laughing. Dad turned off the TV.

"...What are you gonna do?" I asked. There was a moment of silence.

"I'm going back to face this "Storm Swift" person," Dad concluded, "but the first thing I gotta do is handle Jackson."

"What about your training?"

"It's already being taken care of." he answered, before driving off with Mack.

Hopefully, "Storm Swift" would motivate him and give him back his confidence.

"It'll be alright, Alex," Mom assured, "He's just upset."

"I would be too if I had come that close to dying," I remarked, "I gotta train for the race, but where?"

"You can go up to the tracks tomorrow as long as you're in disguise." Mom suggested. I nodded.

"...Alright," I spoke, after a moment's hesitation, "Ramone, get my stuff ready but don't let Dad see."

Ramone headed off and I drove back to my cone to get some rest.

Yeah, "rest".

---

It was the middle of the night. I'd woken Ramone up.

"Wait 'til tomorrow, dude; you'll have time."

"Ramone, I have to go," I whispered, "I need to go train; I didn't grow up training to race and I need all the practice I can get. I have to race two cars and if I can't beat Jackson, there won't have been any point in doing this."

Silence.

Ramone finally got up, driving to the shop to help me put on my racing parts as well as the rear spoiler.

"Go quickly, man," he quietly instructed, "Someone catches us, we're dead."

I nodded and quickly made my way to the paint shop; the painting session went quick, and within minutes I was ready to go.

"I'll be back, Ramone," I whispered, "Make sure Dad and Mom don't find out."

"How do I do that?"

"Figure something out."

---

The trip from Route 66 to Florida had been unbelievably long, but it was worth it. I drove onto the track and got my pit ready, though I wouldn't have a crew. I then drove onto the race track to practice. I would need all the preparation I could get; I had been going at it for a while when I was interrupted.

"A little early to be practicing, isn't it?" someone asked.

I turned to see Jackson's face.

"A little early to be eavesdropping, as well."

"You're good at what you do." .

"Yeah, a lot of girls are, but your ego is so big it blocks your view of that."

"My ego isn't that big, Rookie."

"Oh, please. It's so big, you can use it as a parachute," I remarked, "and who are you calling "Rookie", Rookie?"

"Whoa, what's up with you?" he asked, and I could hear the change of tone in his voice, "What are you getting so uptight for?"

"I'm not getting uptight, I just don't respect the fact that you're shallow enough to think that girls can't race."

"And why do you think that is?"

"Because, girls can do anything guys can do, and it really sucks that I have to live in a world where boys are rude and small-minded enough to refuse a girl to be a racer."

"And what about you girls?" he asked, "You get so mad at us guys joking about how girls are prissy and self-centered, but look at you, acting cocky right now."

"I'm not cocky."

"Yeah, right," he dismissed, "You have the same cocky tone that McQueen-"

He cut himself off, falling silent for a moment.

"Wait a minute..."

Htrailed off. I was quiet, and began to worry when he smirked.

"You're not who you say you are." he finally spoke.

"What do you mean by that?" I queried.

"You're a good actress, Storm."

...

"...What?" I asked, "What do you mean "actress"?"

"Oh please," he insisted, "You're not fooling anyone, kid; Storm's not even your real name, is it?"

"How would you know that?" I questioned, "and I'm not a kid; I'm like, two years younger than you."

"Are you admitting that's not your name?"

"I'm not admitting anything--"

"--I think you just did."

I fell quiet, and he chuckled lowly.

"There is no Storm Swift, is there?"

I didn't respond.

"You're McQueen's kid, aren't you?"

"..."

"This is all a setup to help the old failure." he remarked with a laugh.

"Don't you dare make fun of my father," I warned, ignoring that I'd just proved him right, "I wouldn't be doing this if you hadn't caused his crash-"

"--Your dad caused himself to crash, because he can't get over the fact that he's not a race-car anymore," Jackson corrected, "He can't get it through his head that I'm the new thing--"

"--My dad has more of a heart than you ever will and unlike you, he doesn't care about the stupid Piston cup--"

"--Then why was he being such a try-hard that he went airborne?" Jackson asked, cutting me off.

"Because, you pushed him to his limit!" I yelled, a little too loud for my liking. One of the other Next-Gens, Danny Swervez, gave me a look of confusion.

"A--I--heh..." I stammered, "...Sorry!"

"Face it," Jackson warned, "Whatever your real name is--"

"Alex."

"Alex," he addressed, "whether your dad likes it or not, his racing days are over."

"I don't believe that."

"Oh really?"

"My dad would never just call it quits," I argued, "You don't decide when he's done racing, Jackson-- he does; if you don't go easy on him, I won't go easy on you."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"I know; you're afraid of losing to me. You don't wanna lose that perfect little record of yours...now do you?"

There was yet another moment of silence.

"...Fine."

"Thank you--"

"--On one condition."

"...What's that?"

"Go out with me."

I froze, visibly stunned.

"Wait...what?" I asked, almost dumbfounded, "No; why would I want to date my dad's sworn enemy?"

"Well," he explained, "I'm just a rookie; sure, I have a few thousand fans but you're a legendary female rookie, technically the only female rookie in the modern leagues, and I could use the publicity...unless of course, you want your little secret to go out to over millions of cars."

...Ruthless.

This guy was absolutely, utterly, unbelievably ruthless.

"You're enjoying this little game, aren't you?" I asked.

"It's your reputation," he reminded, "You can play pretend all you want, but once your dad finds out you tried to replace him--"

"--You wouldn't dare." I cut off.

"Try me, Pipsqueak," he threatened, "I bet Daddy's gonna be real mad when he finds out he was kicked from the season by his own daughter."

"Are you seriously trying to use his crash against me?" I posed, "That's honestly the lowest I've seen you so far."

"I'm using your identity against you, genius," he corrected, "Get it right."

...What a jerk.

"...Fine," I agreed, my tone defeated, "This is only for my dad, got it?"

"It's a deal."

I could have slapped the smirk off his face; lucky for him, I wasn't built with the legs Ramone has, so I couldn't reach that far.