Five minutes until the race began.

Bo relaxed back into the driver’s seat, the seat leather sticking uncomfortably to her bare shoulders that glistened from Black City’s midnight heat. This was her favorite part before the race, the few minutes before when all her muscles tensed and adrenaline started to pump – the anticipation kills her every time. Nearby, stalled cars revved nervously, echoing her eagerness, though Bo hoped they were a lot more nervous than her. They should be, Bo plans to leave them choking on the exhaust.

Most of the cars were vaguely familiar to Bo – not enough for her to remember their drivers, though. There was a car up ahead that seemed fresh, unseen before, but Bo could just be forgetting someone else. Her hands twisted around the steering wheel, the friction of the plastic and her racing gloves causing an aggravated creaking noise. 

[color=#B74141]“Ants under a boot. Ants under a boot.”[/color] Bo recited, letting out a long breath. They were ants under her boot, she needs to remember. She’s above, suspending, she will win. No doubt.

How many minutes did she have? Bo glanced at the LED clock, but when she looked back onto the road she couldn’t remember the time for the life of her. 

A car next to her rumbled, startling Bo from her daze. There was a vague outline of a person, the windows too tinted for her to get a good look. Yet, there was enough for a sick feeling to drop in her stomach, though the girl didn’t know why. A sense of impending doom hung over her, and Bo swore loudly, in the safety of her vehicle.

She can’t be nervous, this isn’t her first rodeo. The heat is getting to her, that’s all. It was too hot and it was frying her brain slowly, causing her to be paranoid.

[color=#B74141]“Ants under a boot.”[/color] Bo repeated firmly, clenching her hands around the wheel until her nails bit into the plastic and ached. 

The marshal, who’s name escaped Bo at the moment, waved a white rag in the air to signal everyone’s attention. Bo’s foot hovered over the gas pedal and her right hand rested on the shift, muscles tense and red lips pursed. The marshal tossed the rag into the air and there was a brief moment, barely a millisecond, where everything was quiet and unmoving. Then, all at once, drivers slammed into motion and Bo was quick to join.

[i]You haven’t lost a race yet, Bo.[/i]