Moonrise

The Nasho exhales around us. The idle of my engine fills the gaps nature leaves behind, a low, steady rumble vibrating up through the steering column and into my wrists.

I lower my window. “Hi.”

My voice sounds meeker than I want it to.

“Hey,” Keikos’ eyes flick to my dash, then to my hands on the wheel. She probably can tell how I haven’t relaxed since we stopped. “The two Camden Boys you beat were already turning around by the time I drove past them.”

“Camden… boys?” I blink.

“That’s their team name. They all come from Camden, so they're the Camden Boys.”

“Um, okay?”

Her smile is quick and pointy, “Thought you’d like to know. You must have done a number on their ego.”

I force out a quiet laugh, because silence would feel worse.

She hums, unconvinced.

“You’re pretty good,” she says. “For a beginner, at least.”

“Thanks.” My chest tightens, I feel the instinct to deflect. “But I don’t think I am.”

Keiko turns fully toward me. Her gaze sharpens with certainty. Her car ticks softly as it cools down.

She steps closer.

“Don’t get yourself down. My RX-7 is built for this. Overtaking you like that? Nothing special.”

She leans down, forearms resting on my window frame as if it’s her own. Her face is too close, her eyes are dark, reflective and endless.

“But you are,” she says, softer. “The way you hold your line. It’s not beginner driving. You're something special.”

My knuckles whiten as my fingers stab into the wheel.

“So,” she tilts her head slightly, “where did you learn to drive like that?”

“It’s just instinct.” The sweat from my palms soaks into the leather. “It’s like the phrase, ‘a broken clock is right twice a day’. I guess I was on the right racing line by chance.”

She blinks slowly while holding her gaze.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Her arms drop to her side as she straightens. Her tone goes easy again. “But I will find out.”

My stomach rises to my throat. I swallow, the air hot and sharp in my lungs.

“Oh.” She glances toward the road behind us. “I have another question for you. You didn’t happen to see anyone else tonight?”

“Just those two cars,” I say. “Why?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She waves it away, but her eyes are sharp. “Just looking for a friend.”

Is she aware of what a telephone can do?

“By the way,” she adds, “what are you doing out here?”

“Just going for a drive, and stuff.”

“So you’re a street racer now?”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve been in two races, I think that’s enough to call you one.”

I let go of the steering wheel. My hands fold into my lap.

“Say, do you want to come to a race this weekend? There’s one Saturday night.”

My pulse stutters.

“No, no,” I say quickly. “I’m not interested in doing any more races.”

“You’re not racing,” she corrects. “Just spectating. You’ve only seen the community through impromptu runs. It’d be good to see a proper one.”

“I—” I look away from her and focus on the treetops ahead of us.

“I don’t mean to put you on the spot.” She shows me her palms. “How about I give you my number? You can text me when you decide, and I’ll send you the details.”

“Okay.” I flip out my phone.

“Nice phone.” Most people say that like it’s a joke, but her voice sounds sincere.

I hand it to her. She types quickly.

“My name’s Keiko.”

“Right,” I say a fraction too early. “It’s a nice name.”

“Thank you.”

She hands my phone back. I save the number and add her name. Keiko never takes her own phone out.

She turns toward her car.

“Wait,” I put my head out the window. “I didn’t give you my number. How will you know it’s me when I text you?”

Keiko stops, turning her head just enough to speak over her shoulder.

“I’ll know. I’ll be seeing you soon—”

She continues walking.

“—Lilliya.”

Her RX-7 turns on, it answers her with a sharp, eager whine. Gravel crunches as she backs out of the car park and speeds off further down the mountain.

The night feels suddenly too quiet.

I’m left sitting there alone, my phone still in my hand.

How did she know my name?

***

The bar is thick with smoke and stale heat. Light buzzes overhead like it’s barely holding together. Sunrise seeps in through the windows, unwelcoming, but no one inside seems to care. The place is still packed, still loud.

Trevor has one foot planted, the other bouncing lazily, the cue is balanced in his hands like it’s an extension of him. A cigarette hangs from his mouth, smoke curling upwards as he lines up a shot.

He taps the cue. The 3 ball sinks cleanly into the back-left pocket.

Albert groans, tightening his grip around his cue.

“Trevor.” Jared says rushing up to him.

Trevor rolls his shoulders and makes his way to the other side of the table. Jared follows, while Anish lurks behind.

“Trevor.” Jared says again, louder.

Trevor takes the cigarette out of his mouth, and exhales to the side. “What?”

“We saw her again,” Jared says, dropping his voice. “Anish and I went for a run. And we saw her again.”

Trevor leans over the table again, eyes scanning the spread. “I told you what would happen if she appeared again. And I intend to uphold my word.”

“Centre left pocket,” Trevor calls out to Albert. “Ball five.”

He taps the cue. The 5 ball bounces off the rim of the table and slots into the centre pocket.

Trevor circles the table.

“But we don’t know anything about her. We don’t know what’s under the hood.” Jared trails behind him. “We don’t even know how to find her.”

“There’s a race Saturday night.” Trevor shuts one eye as he weaves the cue between his fingers. “And if she’s a racer, she’ll be there. We just have to look through the crowd until we find her. And when we do—”

“Centre-left pocket,” Trevor announces. “Ball six.”

The cue cracks.

His voice drops to a whisper. “—She’ll know where she's not welcome.”

The 6 ball drops clean, knocking softly into the 5 before settling.