On a late Wednesday afternoon, the police arrested my brother because he was an idiot who got caught doing something stupid: he tried to buy a car with stolen money.
Actually, it was kind of ingenious and would made a great Reddit story—an even better YouTube documentary—if he had just thought it through when buying said car. He had a fake license to match the bank account, BUT he had to choose to buy an overly expensive vehicle while not looking a day over twenty-one (he was seventeen). He kind of got off on the fact the salesperson missed several red flags and allowed him to test drive a Porsche 959 without question—as money talks, you know.
His grand adventure led him across three states with an army of police cars trailing him. Amazingly, the car was returned to the dealer with only damage being excessive wear on the tires and a wet front seat when then that shotgun was shoved into his face.
I was nine when that happened and by the time I was in high school it was kind of an urban legend, talked about only with car enthusiasts, with a few of them asking me about it, trying to see if it was true or not. That’s how I met Seth Finnigan, or by his “roadster name” of “Squire”. He said it was from helping his father in the garage—getting tools and parts for him—and he decided to use it for whatever “street cred” was supposed to be about.
I was usually riding shotgun in any race he was involved in and I enjoyed the feeling of the wind in my hair as we cruised down Riverside Drive, usually going twenty miles over the speed limit, until we reached the starting target line and then accelerated onto the interstate.
The races took place on the loop around the city, going Eastbound at first and then switching directions halfway though to make it back to the starting point. Seth always won every race, until a new guy moved into town sporting a monster hotrod (Seth’s words). He also had the eye of a lot of the girls at the school, including my friend, Kylie.
“That was you? You didn’t want to tell me that you were in that car when it spun out?”
“Well, you’re always talking about how great it is, and Gabe asked me to be his good luck charm. Not that I felt like one.”
I nodded and recounted last night’s race that ended with aforementioned hotrod blowing a tire and nearly crashing into the guardrail. I had no idea my best—and pretty much only—friend nearly bit the big one because she wanted to be as stupid as me and ride in a vehicle with a madman. A very handsome, resourceful, charismatic madman, but crazy all the same.
“You okay?”
“Kind of feel lucky to be alive. But you know, and this sounds stupid, but I’d do it again.”
“I know the feeling,” I replied as I hoisted up my backpack.
Our school was huge, the kind that either traumatizes a new student or makes them into a legend who knows how to get from Hallway three, wing two to Hallway one, wing four, third floor before the bell rings.

Inspired from the game “The Duel: Test Drive II”
Original Amiga Theme
Remix