Evan could still feel the rumble of the kart long after he left the track. It buzzed in his arms, tingled in his fingertips, and hummed in his chest. Even as he slid into the back seat of his dad's truck, he felt like he was still moving—still flying around that track with the wind in his helmet.
His dad glanced at him through the rearview mirror."You've been smiling for ten minutes straight," he said.
Evan tried to stop. He failed. "I think… I think I really like it."
"Like it?" His dad laughed. "Kid, you looked like you were born in that kart."
Evan leaned his forehead against the window. They were passing the outskirts of town now—quiet roads, tall trees, the orange smear of a late afternoon sun. But all he could see was the track. Every curve. Every bump. Every moment he'd nearly lost control and somehow saved it.
It felt like something new had settled inside him. Not a thought. Not a wish.
A spark.
That night, Evan lay wide awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. His muscles ached in ways they never had before, but it was a good ache, like the track had left fingerprints on him.
He closed his eyes, and instantly he was back in the kart.The engine.The speed.The way the world blurred when he got everything just right.
He sat up suddenly.
He didn't just want to drive again.He needed to.
The next morning at school, he couldn't focus. Not in math, not in history, not even in gym—his favorite class before yesterday.
At lunch, his best friend, Noah, waved a hand in front of his face. "Hello? Earth to Evan?"
"Huh?"
"You're spaced out again," Noah said, peeling open his juice pouch. "What's up with you today? You look like you drank three cups of rocket fuel."
Evan grinned. "I sorta did. I tried go-karting yesterday."
Noah froze, mid-sip. "For real? Like actual mini race cars?"
"Yeah. And I was actually good at it."
"How good?"
Evan shrugged, but inside, he felt the warm bloom of pride again. "Good enough that I want to go back. Maybe every week."
Noah raised his eyebrows. "Every week? Dude, that's like… commitment."
"Yeah," Evan said softly. "I think it is."
Noah nudged him with a grin. "Hey, if you get famous one day, I want free tickets."
Evan laughed, but something about the joke didn't feel like a joke.
Because deep inside—deeper than he'd admit out loud—he could imagine it.The roar of real engines.The crowds.A professional race suit with his name on it.
The image was blurry, distant, dreamlike.
But it wasn't impossible.
Not anymore.
That evening, after homework and dinner, Evan found his dad in the garage. His dad was sorting through a toolbox, wiping grease from his hands.
"Dad?" Evan asked.
"Yeah, bud?"
"Um… how expensive is karting?"
His dad paused. "Honest answer? It can be cheap if you rent karts. But if you want your own kart… well, that gets pricey."
Evan nodded slowly. "But it's possible, right?"
His dad studied him, as if trying to read the seriousness in his eyes. "You really want to do this?"
Evan took a breath."More than anything."
For a long moment, his dad didn't say a word. Then he smiled—the kind of smile that meant we'll figure this out.
"Let's start with one more weekend," his dad said. "If you're still this excited, we'll talk about the next step."
Evan felt the spark burst into something bigger—something bright and unstoppable.
"Okay," he said, trying not to bounce on his toes.
But inside, he already knew.
One more weekend wouldn't cool this feeling.
It would only make the fire grow.