Rippin’ Roger and the Magical Bean Powder

It was a beautiful September day. The sun was out, the sky was blue, and a cool breeze rustled the red-tinged leaves of the maple tree on 345 Indy Way. Summer butterflies had all but gone away, but Roger was experiencing butterflies of an entirely different sort as he scrubbed his tires in the family garage. “Don’t miss a spot,” said Mom. “You want to look your best for the first day of school.” “Lookin’ good, son!” said Dad proudly. “Those are some top-notch new tires Grandpa bought you. You’ll be eating the other cars for lunch!” “Hurry, dear,” said Mom. “Eat your breakfast. You don’t want to be late.” Roger gulped down a can of high-performance oil and gas. Then he grabbed his lunch pail and started for the driveway. “Wait!” called Mom, chasing him with a bottle of blue liquid. “You have a smudge on your windshield.” She sprayed his windshield and wiped furiously. “Now be careful! Look both ways before crossing an intersection. Pay attention to the speed limit. And don’t forget to check your blind spot before changing lanes!” “I know, Mom,” Roger said with a shrug as he rolled off the driveway and onto the street. He kicked his engine into gear and drove away as Mom and Dad stood misty-eyed, watching their son leave home for the first time. When Roger reached the schoolyard, most of the other student cars had already arrived. They were all gathered around three flashy-looking racecars—a yellow Lamborghini, a green Ferrari, and a blue Porsche. Roger had always thought himself a well-built sports car. He had a sturdy frame and a wide wheelbase, and his cherry-red paint gave him a sporty look. But after seeing the other cars, Roger’s image of himself quickly changed. The other cars were bigger and fancier, and they looked a whole lot faster—especially the yellow Lamborghini, green Ferrari, and blue Porsche. Roger’s butterflies suddenly got worse as he rolled up to the crowd. He thought about introducing himself, but no one was paying attention. They were all listening to the yellow Lamborghini. “So I toyed with him a bit. Made him think he had a real chance. And then: Wham! I turned on my jet booster and left him eating my burnt rubber,” said the yellow Lamborghini, spinning his tires and jumping forward several feet. The crowd wowed in appreciation. “From that day on, everyone calls me Yellow Rocket,” he said, beaming with pride. “Gimme some rubber, Green Machine!” Yellow Rocket and the green Ferrari jumped into the air and bumped tires. Then Yellow Rocket turned to the blue Porsche and said, “Gimme some rubber, Blue Lightning!” and they jumped and did a tire bump too. Then the school bell rang and everyone took off to the classroom. Roger hurried after the crowd, but a pothole tripped him up, and by the time he reached the classroom, everyone was already seated. “This is NOT the class you want to be late for,” scolded the teacher. “I hope you’re not this slow on the racetrack.” The class let out a giggle. “Take your seat. We’ve got a full day.” Roger felt his windshield turn red as he slumped over to an open spot. “Now listen up,” said the teacher. “My name is Rider, and my job is to make racecars out of you. Let me start by making one thing perfectly clear. Racecar driving is no picnic. It’s tough work. It’s serious business. And there’s no room for cream puffs.” Rider glared at the class. Roger gulped. “Now, I’m gonna do whatever it takes to turn you guys into the right stuff,” continued Rider. “I’m gonna push you. I’m gonna grind you. And I’m gonna turn your wheels inside out. But in the end, you’ll thank me. Now let’s get out to the track. It’s race time!” Roger’s insides gave a terrible lurch. “A race? Already?” Roger had never been in a real race before. Rider led the class to a large track that circled a field of neatly trimmed grass. “Okay, line ’em up,” said Rider. Roger made his way to the starting line with the rest of the cars as Rider rolled to the starter’s platform. When everyone was set, Rider raised a green flag. “On your mark!” The cars lowered their hoods. Roger, somewhat clumsily, lowered his, too. “Get set!” Engines revved as everyone readied for takeoff. Roger glanced to his left. Three cars over, Yellow Rocket was crouched low and grinning confidently. “Go!”