Drag-Strip Racer Read Online Free PDF Page A

everybody.”
    Ken felt as if a needle had been stuck into his skin. “It
is
for me,” he said. “I can drive, Mr. Hill. I can drive better than you thinks.”
    Dusty moved a box, straightened up, and shrugged. “Okay, maybe you can,” he admitted. “But you’re too late, anyway. I’ve already
     signed up with a driver. I guess I should have told you that in the first place.”
    Ken froze. He eyed the older man steadily for a few seconds before he could swallow his disappointment.
    “Mind telling me who?” he finally asked.
    “Scott Taggart. I guess you know him.”
    Ken nodded. “Yes, I know him. When did you sign up with him?”
    Dusty thought a minute. “Two days ago,” he said.
    Ken nodded again. He stood around awhile longer, then turned and headed for the door. “Sorry I bothered you, Mr. Hill.”
    “No bother, Ken,” Dusty’s voice trailed after him.
    He opened the door and walked out, squinting against the morning sun. He kept his head down as he hobbled across the sidewalk,
     stepped off the curb, and started toward his pickup parked in the lot.
    Anger and hurt set in his eyes as he thought of what Dusty had said. “
You’re just getting your feet wet. Drag racing ain’t for everybody.”
    But Dusty’s sponsoring Scott “Rat” Taggart was the last straw. Taggart had not acquired the nickname “Rat” by chance: he had
     earned it.
    Five years ago, when Scott was fourteen, he had entered a race by using an older friend’s birth certificate. He was caught
     and disqualified, but not until several days after the race was over.
    Another time he had used nitrous oxide in his gas, an offense in all racing classes and categories except Top Fuel and AA/Funny
     cars. He had told the officials he hadn’t known it wasn’t allowed. But every other drag racer had known it. Why hadn’t he?
     There wasn’t a soul in the racing crowd who didn’t believe that Scott Taggart had lied through his teeth.
    You would think that Dana, who had told all this to Ken one night about a year ago after he andScott had been biking together for a couple of hours, would have dropped Scott like a hot potato. But, no. They still chummed
     around, although not as much as they used to.
    Anyway, Scott had been disqualified repeatedly in races all over the county. One time a member of the racing clan dubbed him
     with the nickname “Rat.” And it had stuck ever since.
    Ken heard a car drive up as he approached his pickup, but he didn’t look around at it. He didn’t want anyone to see the dismal
     expression on his face.
    But a voice called out his name and he paused, feeling he had to look up now. He glanced at the car as it swept around in
     a quick turn and pulled up in the vacant space two cars away from his. It was a black, two-door Plymouth owned by no one else
     but the person he had just been thinking about, Scott “Rat” Taggart.
    But it wasn’t Scott’s voice that had called to him. It was the voice of the girl sitting beside him—pretty, dark-haired Dottie
     Hill, Dusty’s seventeen-year-old daughter.
    “Oh, hi,” he said, at the same time thinking,
What in heck is she doing with him?
    He let a frown linger on his face, remembering the two times he had taken her to the movies, andthe few times he had danced with her at school functions. Then he turned away, opened the door of the pickup, put in the
     crutches, and got in.
    He started the pickup and headed for home, embittered by the thought of Dusty’s signing as a sponsor for Scott “Rat” Taggart.
     Well, he couldn’t deny that Scott was a good driver. He had scored a lot of points in Pro Stock races—although he had never
     come in better than third runner-up—and had several trophies to show for it. Dusty, no greenhorn in the business, must have
     known a competitor when he saw one.
    Ken wondered what to do to ease the pain of Dusty’s turning him down and thought of going to a movie. But that was out. The
     theaters in Wade didn’t open till