There is an apple dangling in front of her face, which is noticed second to its sleek red exterior. Claudia drags a nail over the skin, leaving behind a trail of matte plum polish, still yet to dry. The car reeks of chemicals, and it wasn’t her best idea to do this before a race, but Claudia’s life would have been in a state of disrepair if not for her lifeline of poor decisions.
The desert expands from one side of Claudia’s view to the other. It gets her every time, how entrancing the sand can look as the first rays of sunlight add a shiny layer to the dunes.
The race will begin any minute now. Claudia loves the thrill of anticipation, of pressure— she practically basks in it. They’re racing an impressive number of miles for a brief course, ninety-six or so, scraping just under the minimum long-course duration. Claudia prefers the shorter races. The adrenaline comes in a thunder, every operation is crucial, and not a millisecond would go to waste. It’s perfect for a person focusing all of their energy on the present, and Claudia takes pride in that. Her trophies are all the more valuable if dedication inspires each one of them.
The starter pulls back and waves the flag sharply. Claudia, whose gas pedal is arguably anticipating the race more, summons the strength of a bullet and whips past the competition.
The regular racers are dangerous when they want to be, but they usually opt to take it easy with this kind of local competition. They save their energy for the newspaper headlines. Claudia does not.
Her nails have yet to dry, and they leave plum guts on the steering wheel as she concentrates on maneuvering the intended turns while maintaining as much speed as possible. Her rally car is built to handle annoying terrain like this, so even while the force of speed pins her to the driver’s seat, Claudia feels secure. That’s one thing she could never race without— confidence, because if you falter even once, you’ll be sent spiraling. Mentally and literally.
Claudia isn’t the only one giving it her all, though. The other powerhouse— Jaden— is a racer that Claudia respects, which really means that a single bout of unassurance will more than likely cost her the race.
She’s not worried. Claudia basks in the stress like it’s a boiling sun, sending waves of fire toward her skin. With careful control, the sun lets her glow.
Claudia is alerted to the presence of a towering boulder just ahead— it’s a clear landmark to her, and she knows that if she can make a sharp turn past the structure, the race will end as a piece of cake. She can’t openly veer around it with this measure of distance between them, but that’s fine. Claudia clenches her jaw and slowly lifts her boot from the brake pedal in order to redistribute the rally car’s weight for a smoother turn. She reestablishes her foot for the ideal turn-in, focuses on reaching the obstacle’s late apex, and succeeds. Her grin burns with adrenaline, challenging the power of the sun itself.
This particular stretch of desert, from start to finish, is fondly called the ‘in-between off and on,’ for although the terrain is qualified as an off-road race, the tall stretches of rock and stray boulders allow for a naturally-formed ‘track’. There’s really no way to cut across, and that’s what Claudia likes. The skill is dependent on the racecar alone, which she considers a better match of technical wits.
An annoying cluster of rocks, too small to be anything but rubble, roll under her tires and send vibrations through the rally car. Claudia remembers to stay focused— she can be frustrated once she crosses the finish line, because if her focus is thrown off just a bit, so is her game. Claudia learned that lesson a while ago, when she was effectively making jabs at other racers and too impatient too often. Back then, she didn’t take racing all that seriously. Now, this car is like a second home.
It’s one more turn, more of a slow curve than anything, before she’ll be seeing black-and-white checkers. Claudia needs to be careful, because despite the strengths she’s built up and the weaknesses she’s whittled away at through all these years, she has a terrible habit of overestimating the dramacity of a turn. It’s not sharp; it’s maybe one-eighth of a circle, she reasons to herself. Her boot loosens its force on the brakes.
Jaden bolts past in his truck, a blur of navy blue and gray. Claudia wrinkles her nose.
Her sights drip heavily on Jaden’s car, still closeby due to their similar speed. Jaden’s always been confident in his turns. She has to win this.
Claudia’s arc through the path is not without seams, but it is lacking any major mistakes, which is a victory for now. Jaden’s still ahead, and the rest is a straight yet bumpy line. If they keep up this pace, he’ll surely win.
Claudia’s not really a risk-taker— even her impulsive moves have some tact to them— but just this once, she allows it. Her speed ramps up to an ungodly pace, one she’ll find difficult to combat later, but she effectively matches Jaden’s distance to the checkered flag.
The adrenaline has replaced all the blood in her veins. She feels like a balloon stockpiled with helium, but she does it. Claudia overtakes Jaden a centimeter before the finish line, when the balloon pops and colorful plastic floats to the ground.
She relaxes in her seat, double-checks the fire extinguisher’s placement, and ensures a long-lived stop.
Her nail polish has long since dried on the wheel, and further inspection reveals that some of the plum has made its way onto her cheek. She grins at herself, panting a little, and tugs the apple to her teeth.
It is a rush delivered by victory, and it tastes just as sweet.