Page 14 of Furious

It’s ridiculous to think that my dad, a man who used to stand by the edge of the most famous racetracks in the United States, cheering loudest of all in a stadium of thousands as Mom’s car whipped around the curves, would take a job selling auto parts online.

“Don’t we have a shit ton of life insurance money from Mom? And all her money from endorsements? Why do you need to work?”

Dad massages his temples. “We do have a lot of money, yes, but I’ve put most of that aside for your future. Plus, I need to stay busy.”

What he doesn’t say is that he hasn’t been able to set foot on a track in months. And that he’s turned down multiple job offers from race teams across the country. But, still, even if he’s processing his grief, I can’t imagine him hunched over his computer all day.

“We don’t need our own place. I like Grandma’s house,” I say quickly through a mouthful of biscuit.

“Sure you do,” he says with a sigh. “I bet you love sleeping in that tiny craft room on a lumpy air mattress.”

“It’s not that bad.”

It really is, and it makes me long for my comfy queen-sized bed, which has been in storage since we moved. But I’m not telling Dad that. The last thing he needs is to be worrying about me while he’s dealing with his own pain.

“And what about Dell’s Hollow? How are you settling in here?” Dad takes another sip of coffee.

“That’s a totally different question, but I’m figuring it out. I’d be able to settle in better if you let me get my license.”

Dad shakes his head. “Nice try, but you know the terms. Do the volunteer stuff, and we’ll talk about your license.”

I finish my biscuit and stand up. “Well, you’re on. As it so happens, I’m on my way to my first activity with the volunteering club now.”

Surprise crosses Dad’s face. “Really? What are you doing with them?”

“Horse stuff? I don’t know exactly, but we’re working at the Syed Rescue Farm.”

“You’re wearing that to go work at the stables?” His eyebrows raise at my purple babydoll dress and leggings, and it occurs to me that I’ve not worn a dress since Mom’s funeral.

I push away from the table. “Gotta go, Dad! Tell you all about it later.”

Before Dad can ask any more questions, or try to give me an awkward hug, or say he’s proud of me for doing the bare minimum, or really dig into why I’m in a dress for a day of stable cleaning, I hurry out of the house.

When I pull up on my bike, El is already at the stables, looking her usual blend of serious and adorable. Today she clutches a clipboard to her chest and wears a gray tank top, jeans, and scuffed-up motorcycle boots. Once again, there’s a pen stuck behind her ear, and she’s talking earnestly to a pretty girl in a green hijab. Behind them, inside a paddock, stands a brown-and-white horse. It nudges El’s shoulder with its nose, and she rubs its cheek affectionately. Three other kids stand a bit farther down the fence, petting a gray horse and feeding it carrots. I tuck my ridiculous bike away beside the barn and head toward El. My heart, of course, gallops along like a merry horse out for a ride.

Keep it cool, Jo. You’re just here to help.

“Hi!” I say rather too brightly once I’m beside El and her friend.

Both El and the other girl jump about a foot.

“JoJo?” asks El, her eyes widening as if I’ve materialized from thin air rather than walked up to her. “What are you doing here?”

“Volunteering.”

“But our bet … you won … you don’t have to be here.” Her eyes flick to me and then back to the clipboard.

Beside El, her friend nudges her in a not-so-subtle way, and they share a look. Right. They’ve been talking about me. I know that look.

Ignoring El’s confusion, because I don’t want to blurt out my real reasons for being there, I turn to the girl at El’s side. “Hi, I’m JoJo. Race car driver, new to town, and eager Horse Girl in training.” I stick out my hand like a businesswoman, which is probably totally weird and good grief, why aren’t I better with kids my own age? I would give anything for CJ to be here, ready with one of our inside jokes and something encouraging to say about my chances with El.

The girl laughs at that and shakes my hand before I can overthink my life choices any further. “I’m Zaynah. Certified Horse Girl™, El’s best friend, and future neurosurgeon. This is Pickles.” She nods toward the brown-and-white horse. “And this is my family’s farm. I’m glad to meet you. El told me a lot about you on the way home from work.”

This earns Zaynah a fierce glare from El. But I like her instantly.

“Nice to meet you, too. So, what do I need to do to be part of this group?”

El fumbles with her clipboard and then thrusts it in my direction. “Sign up here and we’ll get started. First thing we’re doing today is mucking out stables. We’ll pair up and then get working.”