Sage Sakamoto is just an average kid, living his high school life in Southern California. It just so happens he also spends his nights breaking local street racing records, without anyone knowing. Nothing could possibly come of that... right?
Drift Queens - Chapter 1
By Misty Steppes
I promise there’ll be more Warped Space soon - my muse just decided this would be an interesting story, so this first chapter popped into existence. Maybe I’m reading too much WolfJess :P. The title is subject to change, and this chapter definitely needs a rework at some point if I’m going to turn it into a story, but let me know what you think!
There were very few things that the perpetual dry heat of California was good for, and cruising down the PCH with the evening air whipping by happened to be one of them. My hair had long since been pulled back by the wind, streaking behind me even despite being tied back as best I could. Not that it was even that windy at the time - I just happened to be doing a hundred miles an hour in a convertible.
The windshield did its best to divert the oncoming wind, but as any convertible buff knows, it can only do so much. I cruised into a tight corner and feathered the brake, feeling the grip of the wheels just barely holding against the tarmac.
Looking out on the empty straightaway before me, I smirked to myself. It’s a quiet night… guess I can let loose.
With a tap on my phone, the speakers started blaring out my driving playlist, and my foot pressed down on the gas. My brights clicked on to illuminate the road ahead, and I sped off into the night.
Thirty minutes earlier
“Dinner’s up, get it hot!” My mother’s voice echoed through the house, the call of her Southern Belle accent and powerful belt brooking no argument - dinner was ready, and we’d all better get our asses to the table. I wasn’t about to argue. My laptop clicked shut, and I rolled out of bed.
“Coming!” I called out, lacking my mother’s distinctive accent but with plenty of volume to match.
With a sigh, I pulled a scrunchie off my wrist to tie my hair back and walked out of my room, leaving the door ajar. My socks were slightly slick against the dark hardwood of the floor and stairs, but with practiced ease I hopped down the steps a few at a time and quickly rounded the corner.
Mom’s “unique” style of decorating greeted me as I passed through our living room; if you just walked through our house without taking a look outside, you’d think you had been transported straight into the stereotypical American South as seen in the movies. From the furniture to the floors to the wallpaper, nothing in the room fit with our Southern Californian surroundings.
I leaned into the kitchen through the open doorway, and saw my mother busily laying out plates and plates of food on the table. It looked like today’s meal was steak, potatoes, and an assortment of other sides, a little something for each of our tastes. Despite appearances, and how long all this took to prepare, she had a full-time job as well - some consulting thing that I’d never understand.
“Hey hun. Could you grab the silverware?” She smiled at me widely. My mother fit the Southern stereotype in more than just tastes - her long, elbow-length blonde hair and still generous curves were all the evidence I needed. She easily looked ten years younger than she actually was; if I didn’t inherit anything else from her, I just hoped I’d get that.
I grabbed a handful of utensils out of a nearby drawer and started laying them out neatly. Mom ruffled my hair when I was just about done.
Her ever-present grin returned. “When are you gonna get this cut, kiddo? Soon enough the ladies at game night will be asking about my daughter instead of my son.”
“It’s not that bad,” I grumbled, tucking a stray lock behind my ear. “I’ll cut it when I feel like it.”
“Sage, it’s practically down to your ass untied,” she laughed. I just squinted and muttered to myself about her use of language that I definitely wouldn’t get away with. Whether she heard me or not, I’d never know thanks to that constant insufferable grin on her face.
Despite my protests, I didn’t really have any room to complain. In the last week alone I’d been called “Miss” like three times, even after seeing me from the front. My hair, jet black like my father’s with my mother’s gentle wave, certainly didn’t help - but neither did my decidedly androgynous face, long lashes from my mother and large blue eyes. I was pretty short too - but it wasn’t that bad… right?
I started to sit down in my usual seat, and right on time another trio of voices chimed in.
“Tadaima!” The chorus of my dad, brother, and sister called from the front door. I could hear them sliding off their shoes, and they quickly joined us at the table. My sister came first, practically my mother’s younger clone, from hair to face to curves, and height - much to my chagrin, she was taller than me.
My brother was similar, keeping the blonde hair of those two and the blue eyes we all shared, but his easily six foot frame towered over all of us, even my dad. Speaking of, the old man himself slid into his spot last, his mop of neatly trimmed black hair an exact match to mine, and his slim frame and face a callback to his home back in Osaka. My mother leaned over and gave him a quick kiss, sliding a heaping plate of steak and potatoes in front of him.
Jurou Sakamoto and Annabeth Sakamoto née Banks. An odd pairing - a stereotypical Southern Belle and a Japanese expat, each with strong roots in their old homes. I still wasn’t sure quite how they met, just that they were still happy twenty-odd years later. Makes no sense to me, but I won’t question it - I’m alive, aren’t I?
“Hey lovelies, hope your practices were good. I was just asking your brother when he’s going to get a haircut.” My cheerleader sister and football-playing brother both smirked, and I just rolled my eyes.
“Shut up, mom…” I groaned, only to receive a swift bonk on the head by my father.
“Be respectful to your mother, Seiji.” His expression didn’t even change as he returned his hand to his meal.
“Yes, otou-san…” Turning back to my plate, I stuffed a slab of steak into my mouth to muffle out my subsequent muttering.
We all dug in without any further preamble - my mom’s cooking was as formidable as ever. Despite that, I didn’t seem to be capable of gaining the dozens of pounds that should go hand in hand, but I kept stuffing my face nonetheless.
Dad looked over at me. “I need you to make a delivery run tonight, over to your Aunt and Uncle’s. The package is in the convertible already, figured you’d want it.”
He tossed me the keys, and I grinned, mopping up the rest of my plate in short order. I quickly excused myself.
“I’ll be back. Leave some dessert for me.”
I bumped my turn signal on out of habit, even though the road was just as empty as always. The car slowed drastically as I approached the exit - there’s not much thrill in speeding down local roads, and the cops actually patrol those.
At the time I’d been doing these runs weekly, if not more, so I had no need for a GPS. The boring stop and go of suburban residential roads wasn’t really worthy of description. I spent the time straightening out my hair with one hand, trying to tame the windswept locks as best I could before arriving.
And here we are… I pulled into a driveway at the corner of 5th and Lee, and I could already see my uncle waiting on the front porch. As I put the car in park, he came up to the passenger side.
“Hey squirt. You made good time today - that a new record?” He grinned, as did I - he, at least, was well aware of my driving behavior.
I shook my head, though. “Nah, last week’s was two minutes faster. I struggled in the corners today.”
“I’m telling you kid, if you learn to drift those sections will start saving you a shit ton - not that the convertible is built for what you’re doing anyway.” I knew Uncle Ray wasn’t actually related to me, but he definitely shared my love for fast driving. Unlike him, though, I wasn’t really up to speed on the details of cars - I just needed to drive fast, not get a degree in the subject.
I shrugged, and just grinned at him. Uncle Ray grabbed his package out of the passenger seat, visibly struggling. I started to unbuckle, but he shook his head with a grin. Eventually he got the big box inside, and came back to see me off.
“One of these days I’ll get you in a real speed demon, Sage. You’ve got some talent to get those times in a car like that.” I rolled my eyes, and gave him a wave as I started to back out. He returned it, and I pulled away with a slight smile on my face.
Drift Queens - Chapter 2
By Misty Steppes
A double today! Both chapters were almost done, so I figured I might as well push them both out while I have the motivation, short as it may be. This story's plot isn't quite as planned out as the other two, though. Enjoy!
My trip back was still well over the speed limit (what did you expect?), but my clock wasn’t running this time. The main reason was that the trip back was primarily left turns, so I couldn’t take the tight turns without crossing into the other lane - the road might seem empty, but I really didn’t need a head-on collision in my dad’s convertible.
This way is a lot less fun… I sighed. Ah, well.
~o~O~o~
Elsewhere
Ray Wolfe, known as Uncle Ray by his god-children, watched the silver convertible disappear off in the distance. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a stopwatch.
“Not even his fastest time, and it still shatters my records… J’s too… Damn.”
The stopwatch disappeared back to where it came from, and he started dialing a number on his phone.
“Hey J. Yeah. Have you thought about what we were talking about the other day?”
~o~O~o~
Music: Real Gone by Sheryl Crow
The darkness was finally setting in, the last rays of sunlight disappearing over the horizon, the reflections off the ocean’s waves quietly dissipating. My headlights illuminated the long straightaway in front of me, and I smirked to myself.
I can practice upshifting, at least.
I turned up the music - can’t go wrong with Real Gone, cliché as it was coming from the Cars soundtrack. The music echoed out across the empty landscape, and as the chorus came up, my foot went to the floor. My right hand was taking care of the gear changes, while my left was mostly just concerned with keeping the wheel in its current position - a perk of the almost perfectly flat road.
“Baby you’re a screamin’ it’s a blast, blast, blast...
Look out babe you got your blinders on,
Everybody’s looking for a way to get real gone, real gone…”
Yeah, I was singing along. I might not be the best singer out there, but it’s not like there was anyone around to hear me... speak of the devil.
I took the slight bend in the road at speed, but the turn revealed a car just ahead, their rear lights just barely visible. I started to go for the brake, but right as I started to ease up on the gas they pulled over, flickering their lights to signal me.
“Weird. I’ll take it though.” I pressed the pedal down and sped past them, not even bothering to get a look at the car. Probably just a casual driver who didn’t want to worry about me being on their ass the whole time.
~o~O~o~
Elsewhere
As the silver convertible streaked past, the car that had pulled over smoothly slid into a nearby rest area - more an impromptu parking lot than anything, strategically positioned to give a scenic view of the ocean. The driver hopped out, slamming the door of the nondescript black car behind him.
“God FUCKING dammit Townes, why didn’t you tell me there was someone doing a run tonight!?” The man stalked over to a group of guys pressed up against the road’s guard rail, a few laptops and some other strange gear set up as well. The target of his ire, presumably Townes, glanced up at him.
“Because there aren’t any groups doing runs tonight, other than us. We claimed this section, and all the others okayed it.” He pulled up a calendar, and noted the time slot on it. “See? SoCal Kings, PCH Straight, 8-12. Just us.”
The driver sighed, and leaned up against the rail. “...Then who the hell was that silver convertible? I was already most of the way through my drag run, and they passed me like it was nothing. That shouldn’t be possible.”
“I mean, they probably weren’t doing standing start, but even so, you’re right - the turn right before the straightaway should kill a car like that enough to give you the edge. It’s either tuned to literal perfection, or the driver’s a master on straightaways… hell, even both shouldn’t be enough.”
“Goddammit. If a random joyrider can beat me, how can I call myself a King?”
One of the other guys looked up from his laptop, and cleared his throat. Both Townes and the driver looked at him.
“I was recording for your approach, and I caught a couple stills of the car. No plates, but their top was down so I got a side view of the driver.”
He turned the laptop screen towards them, still hooked up to a camera on a tripod. The screen was frozen on a specific frame of video - a silver convertible, slightly blurred from the speed... and a lone driver, a mane of black hair streaking behind, caught in the wind. The face wasn’t visible.
“Well I’ll be... I don’t think any team has had a female driver in years, so no one’s muscling in on our claim... a lone she-wolf, then.” Townes pulled the laptop out of the cameraman’s hands, trying to get a better zoom on the girl’s face, but it blurred to nothing before he got anywhere close.
The driver just shook his head, staring out at the empty road.
“No, Townes. Not just a she-wolf.”
“A Wolf Queen.”
~o~O~o~
I pulled back into our driveway, leaving the convertible in its normal spot. Dad was waiting for me outside, like always - he liked to give the car a look over after my runs, for whatever reason.
“Hey, Dad.” I tossed the keys to him underhand, and headed over to the door. “Delivery’s done. Better give me five stars on Yelp.”
I got a rare chuckle out of him as he caught the keys, but I didn’t hear a reply before the screen door closed behind me. As the door latched, I thought I saw the glint of headlights in the class, but I decided it was just my imagination. Dad doesn’t go out this late. My next stop was the kitchen table, where a plate full of crumbs lay mostly ransacked - lucky for me, a pair of chocolate chip cookies stared back at me.
“Jackpot!” I exclaimed, swooping up my prize before sprinting up the stairs to my room. By the time my door was closed, both cookies had disappeared into my mouth, and I had fully embraced the chipmunk look. I glanced over at my desk.
Ugh, I have to finish that History project.
I finished chewing my mouthful of cookie, before reluctantly sliding into my desk chair. As loathe as I was to actually do the work, I knew there would be hell to pay from BOTH of my parents if I skipped it.
“Welp. Let’s see if there’s a car topic available.”