TITLE: Racing the Nightmares
GENRE: MG Contemporary
All kids are afraid of something: the dark, nightmares, kissing a girl for the first time. Me? I'm afraid of monsters. Not the ones under your bed or in your closet. The monster I'm afraid of isn't in my head, or make-believe, or the stuff horror movies are made of.
My monster is in the mirror. I'm the stuff my nightmares are made of. And nothing I can do or say or think will ever change what I am, or what I did. It's because of me that my family moved to Connecticut, it's why Mom won't talk to me, and it's why I'm doing time in my Auntie Min's faded, blue kitchen.
I hunched over the wobbly-legged table, fake-reading my stock car racing magazine. Fake-reading because Auntie Min kept poking her nose in, as if she thought I was a juvie who might dangle live cats over the stove if she didn't check on me every two point five seconds.
I flipped a page, and my gaze locked on a picture of a car crash. My fingers went cold, my face numb. The racecar had been caught in the air, pieces flying off, a tire rolling down the track. I bent for a better look. I couldn't see the driver's face, and I was kind of glad I couldn't, but sick curiosity made me keep trying. No doub he hung on to that steering wheel, facing near-death whith his eyes squeezed shut.
The picture reminded me of my nightmares.