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like, a new girl at every track, so he probably has something Ajax won’t take off!”
    Brooke instantly chokes on her margarita and snorts. “Please, I got something that works way better than Ajax!”
    And we erupt in a fit of girlish giggles, clinking our margarita glasses.

Chapter 6
    M y plane touches down in Detroit around eight o’clock on Saturday night. I have begged Brooke to come with me because, frankly, I am terrified, but she is stuck working on a huge case for her firm. I have never really traveled anywhere, much less alone. I mean…I know I won’t technically be alone once I get to the track, but it would have been nice to have a travel companion.
    I have to stay at the Detroit Metro Marriott at the airport. I check into my room, which is surprisingly comfy. After a quick shower, I change into my pj’s. I pull out my iPad to review tomorrow’s activities at the track. A race courier will pick me up in the morning to deliver me to the track in Brooklyn. The track is sixty or so odd miles west of Detroit. I check and double check my schedule to make sure I have everything together. And somewhere in the middle of it all, I fall asleep.
    I wake up to intense sunlight flooding my room. Oh no! I sit up in the bed quickly to get my bearings. I fell asleep without setting the alarm.
Shit!
I fumble around for my iPhone. I steal a glance at the time once I get my hands on it. It’s 9:00 a.m. I am so late!
    I scramble around as I throw on a pair of khaki pants, GCR logo polo shirt, and my Asics tennis shoes. My cell phone starts to ring. I grab it and don’t recognize the number.
    “Hello!” I say, exasperated.
    The voice on the other end sounds just as annoyed. “This is MIS Courier Service, and I have been waiting on you for over an hour. I am instructed to take you to the speedway. Are you ready to go?”
    “Yes,” I exclaim. “I am sorry, but I overslept. I am on my way down.” I can tell the courier is less than thrilled by my confession.
    I throw my belongings into my overnight bag and basically run down to the lobby. I find the driver waiting outside by the curb, and I jump into the car. A young black guy, about twenty, rolls his eyes at me as I slide into the backseat.
    “I am so sorry!” I profusely apologize, but I can tell my driver is not interested in hearing it. He slams the car into drive, and we pull away from the hotel with rapid speed.
    It is a beautiful day, about eighty degrees. The scenery en route to the track is breathtaking as we roll through the Irish Hills of Southeast Michigan. As we drive, I try in vain to work my hair into submission with my brush. I finally give up and secure it back in a ponytail. Then, I apply a few light makeup touches. There, that will have to do, I say to myself as I snap my compact closed. Thank God for the drive into Brooklyn, or I would have been a walking hot mess for the rest of the day.
    As we make the last curve on Highway 12, I look up, and the Michigan International Speedway looms like the
Titanic
on the horizon. “Wow!” I say audibly.
    My driver eyes me in the rearview mirror. “Have you never been to MIS?”
    I shake my head. “This is my first NASCAR event ever!”
    As we approach the enormous structure, we pass acres and acres of parking areas, fans, and shopping villages that have been erected for the race weekend. There are people everywhere. All of a sudden, I am extremely nervous. I was too busy being late to be anxious, but now the floodgates are open. My heart begins to race as we enter a tunnel.
    “Where are we going?” I ask nervously.
    “This is the infield tunnel. It takes you into the center of the speedway, where the drivers, teams, and headquarters are located. It is where you need to go.”
    I nod my head at him and look down at my phone. I am exactly one hour and thirty minutes late. I wonder vaguely if I should text Jerri to let her know, but then, I don’t want her to worry or question my abilities either. I decide