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Last Ride
Last Ride
Last Ride
Ebook79 pages1 hour

Last Ride

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He killed his best friend, Logan, in a street-racing accident a year ago. As he tries to make amends to Logan's girlfriend and keep his promise to never race again, Tom is haunted by his dead friend. He thinks Logan is trying to tell him something. Not only that, since he faces huge medical bills from the accident and may have to give up his car, the pressure to race is almost unbearable.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateMar 1, 2011
ISBN9781554699650
Last Ride
Author

Laura Langston

Laura Langston is the author of several books for children and adults. Lesia’s Dream recently won for the Kobzar Literary Award, Canada’s newest national book award. It was also nominated for three other children’s choice awards. Mile-High Apple Pie, her recent picture book, was nominated for the OLA’s Blue Spruce Award; The Fox’s Kettle was nominated for a Governor General’s Award for Illustration; and Pay Dirt! was nominated for the Red Cedar and Silver Birch Awards. A former writer and broadcaster for the CBC, Laura Langston also writes regularly for Canadian Gardening magazine and has authored a book on herb gardening. She lives in Victoria, British Columbia.

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  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    A quick read about regrets, choices and living with our mistakes. With only 134 pages and centred around illegal street racing, this book will especially appeal to young, male teens.

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Last Ride - Laura Langston

Last Ride

Laura Langston

orca soundings

ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

Copyright © 2011 Laura Langston

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Langston, Laura

Last ride / Laura Langston.

(Orca soundings)

Issued also in electronic format.

ISBN 978-1-55469-417-4 (bound).--ISBN 978-1-55469-416-7 (pbk.)

I. Title. II. Series: Orca soundings

PS8573.A5832L38 2011     JC813’.54     C2010-908053-X

First published in the United States, 2011

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010942085

Summary: Tom struggles to give up street racing

after killing his best friend in a race.

Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on paper certified by the Forest Stewardship Council.

Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

Cover design by Teresa Bubela

Cover photography by Getty Images

www.orcabook.com

Printed and bound in Canada.

14   13   12   11   •   4   3   2   1

For Barry

Every end is a new beginning.

—Proverb

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

I killed my best friend. Thirteen months and six days ago.

Not on purpose. It was an accident. Even the cops wrote it up that way. But if I hadn’t dared Logan to race, he’d still be alive.

Sometimes I swear I see him. Out of the corner of my eye. Just a glimpse. Like he’s haunting me. Like he’s royally pissed.

That accident…I think about it every day. And most nights too.

I’m in Ray’s garage, flat-backing it under a 350Z and silently cursing because the hoist is taken, when I feel it. Breath on the side of my face.

I bolt up too fast and hit my head on the undercarriage.

Whoa, man, I didn’t mean to spook you. Ray’s beady squirrel eyes peer in at me. He’s a paunchy middle-aged guy in greased-up coveralls. He has thinning hair and dirty mechanic’s hands. Get your ass out from under there. I need you to do a test drive.

My heart’s still racing as I wriggle out from under the 350Z, grab a rag from the floor and wipe my hands. Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades. I’m warm but I still shiver. I’m not sure if it’s the cold air blasting through the open garage door or the idea of the test drive. Maybe it’s a little of both.

Ray nods his head at the car waiting outside the service bay. I’ve installed a new turbo in that baby. She’s gonna fly.

That means somebody somewhere is missing the turbo charger for his Lexus…or maybe his entire car is gone.

Ray drops the keys into my palm. Go on. Take it around the block.

I stare at the black IS300 Lexus. Logan died in his dad’s brown one.

Make sure you push it into the double digits. Ray smirks. You know you want to.

Of course I want to. I haven’t broken thirty since the accident. I think about racing all the time. The adrenaline rush, the power, the blur of speed. Followed by the screech of tires and the explosion of metal.

This must be how an addict feels. Craving something they know is deadly.

I toss my rag in the bin and head for the door. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.

Take at least half an hour. And don’t be a wimp. Remember what I said the other day: use it or lose it.

Ray’s trying to suck me back in. He wants me to race again. Ray’s a slime-ball. And coming from me, that’s saying something. Because, in spite of what my mom believes, I’m a badass.

The leather seat crackles when I slide behind the wheel. Was it this cold when Logan slid behind the wheel of his dad’s Lexus thirteen months ago? I can’t remember.

But it’s cold in Kent now. In fact, the whole Pacific Northwest is having record lows for November. We even had snow the other day. I turn the key and the engine burbles to life. I flick on the heat, adjust the mirrors, switch on the wipers. When I pull out of the lot, the headlights sweep over my silver Acura. The one Ray and I just finished rebuilding. The one I’ll be paying for forever.

Ray’s garage is in a large ten-block industrial park on the edge of Kent. The surrounding buildings are dark, and the streets are deserted. No surprise for eight thirty on a Thursday night. It’s the ideal time

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