Now
CHAPTER
THREE
Evangeline
“Okay, this is the clutch,” Jax explains as I sit in the driver’s seat, halfway bent through the door to show me. “Brakes, the most important one. And the gas. You need to keep the clutch down to switch gears.”
“Why don’t you have an automatic?” I wonder with a pout, aware that learning would be so much simpler with one.
It’s been over three weeks since he came to the diner for the first time, and we’ve hung out almost every day since.
I like being around him much more than I expected, and this summer is turning out to be a lot of fun.
Yes, I have to work at the diner almost every day, but when I’m not, Jax is around, and we have fun.
“A race car can’t be automatic,” he explains like it’s a well-known fact.
“Why?”
“Because a good driver has to optimize what gear to shift at what time for better acceleration and control.”
“Where did you learn all that?”
“My brother taught me how to drive when I was nine, and I don’t know, I’ve been practicing since.”
“Nine?!”
“My feet couldn’t reach the pedals, and I couldn’t see through the windshield. I had to sit on a box, and he taped some shit to the pedals so I could press on them.”
“It sounds dangerous. And illegal.”
“It was. But if I could learn at nine, I think you can learn at fifteen, princess.”
“I told you to stop calling me that.”
“And I will when you stop smiling every time I say it.”
“Then I’ll start calling you Hot Wheels.”
He grins at that, clearly unbothered by the idea. “Okay, don’t touch anything,” he orders. “I’ll sit next to you, and we’ll give it a try.”
I shake my head as I watch him go around, trying to ignore the knots in my stomach. I mentioned I wanted to get my permit soon, but I didn’t think he’d take his teaching duties so seriously. But here we are at our high school’s empty lot, on a summer break Sunday.
“Alright,” Jax says with enthusiasm once he’s next to me.
“The handbrake is already down, so no need to worry about that. You’re in neutral, but it’s usually good to keep a gear on, so the car can’t roll if the handbrake fails.
So, press the clutch and put it in first gear.
No, that’s the brake, princess. The clutch is the one on—Okay, yeah, that one.
Now, I showed you the first gear, so go on. ”
He pauses for me to comply, so I do. Keeping one hand on the wheel, I bring the other to the gearshift and do the inverted L shape he showed me. It doesn’t stick the first time, but when I do it again, it seems to make the right sound.
“Great,” he approves with a proud smile. “Now, because the car is in gear, you need to push the clutch all the way down before you turn the key, or it’ll stall.”
The engine roars away, vibrating and powerful. Genuinely, I think learning how to drive on a racing car might be the worst idea anyone’s ever had.
“That’s perfect, you’re doing amazing. Now—wait, no.” Quickly, he tugs at his seatbelt and fastens it. Even though I know it’s on, I look down to check mine. “Alright, back to it,” he continues. “You need to slowly release the clutch and, at the same time, press on the gas.”
After a quick look below, I set my free foot over the gas pedal. Then, following a deep breath, I do as he said. But I’m either pressing or releasing too fast, because the car makes a hurdled jump and stalls.
With remarkable patience, Jax says, “It’s okay, it happens to everyone the first time. We’ll just start over. Winnie, behave,” he scolds his car.
It takes me two more tries, but eventually the car starts moving forward without an issue. “I’m doing it!” I shout with excitement. “I’m driving!”
“Yes, you are! I knew you could do it, princess. How about we try speeding up a little and switching to second gear?”
“Can I just do this for a little longer?” I beg, scared about what might happen if I touch the clutch again.
“Sure. Let’s keep it slow and steady.”
I’m not sure how long we do this, going at this impossibly slow speed, but he doesn’t complain once, even though this must be a snail’s pace for him.
He finds new challenges for me to try, like passing right between two parking spots, or stopping then starting again without stalling.
By the time I feel ready for the second gear, it’s almost child’s play.
The lot is so large and empty that I get to make a few accelerations.
I even manage to go fast enough to switch to fourth gear.
An hour of this and I understand why he loves driving so much.
There’s something thrilling and exhilarating about driving fast, about controlling such a powerful wonder of engineering.
I’m the one who eventually asks to stop, a little scared I might take it too far and send us flying into the bushes that surround the lot.
I put the car back into first gear, tug the handbrake up, and turn off the ignition.
Jax turns the key again, enough for the music to keep playing.
He’s been broadening my musical horizons a lot, and I like it.
Especially Kendrick Lamar’s songs, which he listens to all the time—like now.
We step out of the car to sit on Winifred’s hood.
“Thank you for teaching me, Jax. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. And I kinda had to.”
“Why?” I ask with a giggle.
“Well, I want to become an F1 driver.”
“F1?”
“Formula One.”
“That’s your goal?”
“More like my dream.”
“Is it hard to become one?”
“There are only twenty of them in the whole world, plus some reserves. So yeah, it’s very selective.”
“So, what’s the game plan, Hot Wheels?”
He smiles at the nickname. “Optimally, I should have started karting years ago. Like, when I was seven or eight.”
“Wow, really?”
“Yeah, it’s a whole thing. But I can’t do that, so I’m trying to make it there in my own way.”
“Which is?”
“First, I continue with rallycross and autocross races so I can get better and have some money on the side. Then I’ll enter bigger touring car races with the SCCA until some scouts notice me.”
“What’s SCCA?”
“Sports Car Club of America. I can enter with my own car, but the fees are pretty high. And I need this old girl to be a little faster. So, I need the money to buy new parts.”
“Okay, let’s say you can do all that and a scout notices you. What then?”
“Well, they’d make me come in for a test to join an F4 team.”
“F4? How many Fs are there?!”
“Just four,” he chuckles. “I’d get into F3 after that, then F2, and when I’ve won enough championships and have over forty FIA points in three years, I’ll get a super license. Then I can be invited to drive for an F1 team.”
“FIA?”
“It’s like, International Automobile Federation, but in French.”
“Oh …” I think about everything he’s said for a moment, then shrug. “Well, that sounds easy enough.”
This time, he lets out a full belly laugh. “Again, it’s only twenty drivers out of tens of thousands, Evie.”
“I’ve seen you drive. You’re very good at it, so I know you can do this.”
He shakes his head with a grin and looks forward again at the closed school. “What about you?” he wonders. “What do you want to do?”
“I think I want to become an architect.”
“Really? That’s cool.”
“Yeah, I think so too. I like to imagine what my dream house looks like,” I explain. “I even have a notebook where I draw floor plans and sketch ideas I have.”
“You’ll have to show me.”
“Sure. I have five dream houses so far.”
“That’s ambitious,” he chuckles.
“You’re one to talk …” We listen to the music for a moment, then I say, “By the way, I’m still not sure what teaching me how to drive has to do with becoming a Formula One driver.”
“I can’t have a girlfriend who doesn’t know how to drive, can I? They’d make fun of me.”
The butterflies that seem to fly around in my stomach every time we hang out return in full force. It’s so intense and powerful that I almost squirm at the sensation wreaking havoc inside me.
“Girlfriend?” I repeat, my voice so unstable it’s a miracle he heard it.
“Yeah. You’re my girlfriend, right?”
I blink several times, confused. I very much want to be his girlfriend, but he’s never asked. And I thought he only wanted to be friends since he hasn’t even tried to kiss me.
“I am?” I ask, twisting to meet his peculiar eyes.
He seems just as confused as I am, as if our status was evident to him this whole time.
“I mean … Why didn’t you—” I start slightly panicking. “We haven’t—even kissed or … I don’t know. Held hands.”
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he grabs my hand on the car’s hood and wraps it in his, entwining our fingers together. Gosh, that feels amazing. I love holding his hand.
“As for the kissing … I’m trying to take it slow,” he explains.
“Why?”
“Have you ever kissed anyone before?”
Heat creeps up my cheeks as I shake my head. No, never. Not even in the cute, innocent way some preschoolers do sometimes.
Jax’s gaze lowers to my lips, and I can’t help but lick them, as if preparing myself for what’s about to happen. When he meets my gaze again, something mischievous sparkles in his.
“Do you want me to kiss you, princess?”
“If we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, maybe we should. To officialize it or something …”
His smile releases more of those butterflies fluttering in my lower stomach.
Yes, I really want him to kiss me. I’ve wanted it for three weeks—since the first evening he dropped me at the trailer park after work.
I was ready for it then, but he never made a move.
And he hasn’t since, which is why I assumed—
When Jax slowly but confidently lowers to bring his lips to mine, I suck in a breath, both excited and anxious. What if I’m a bad kisser? Will he still want to be my boyfriend?
Before my thoughts can ruin the moment, his soft, plump lips meet mine, and the entire world around us fades.
The last thing that runs through my head before it completely short-circuits is, I can’t believe I’m Jackson Reyes’s girlfriend …
“Fu—udge!” I curse, slamming my hands on the steering wheel. “Why aren’t you starting?!” I mutter at my car.