The Great Slow Lap: story transcript
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The Great Slow Lap
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Tavi could make anything hum with a tap. Even a sandwich had once sung through lunch. But at the neighborhood soapbox race, Tavi and Orla made a promise: no powers. Their car, the Pickle, would roll on wheels and elbow grease alone.
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The Pickle had four wheels, a steering rope, and a seat that squeaked like a surprised duck. Orla had painted a number on its nose. Tavi had packed a wrench. "In case the duck needs fixing," Tavi said. The seat squeaked back.
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At the starting line, the other cars looked very serious. One had racing stripes. One had a cardboard shark fin. Then there was the Teacup, whose driver, Jo, wore a colander for a helmet. "For speed," Jo explained. "And possibly spaghetti."
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The flag dipped. The cars rolled downhill. The shark car swerved around a chalk puddle. The striped car lost a stripe, which fluttered past like a very skinny flag. The Pickle squeaked ahead. "We're winning!" cried Orla. "Please don't tell the seat!"
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Then—clunk! The Teacup stopped beside the curb. One wheel rolled away on its own, as if late for an appointment. Jo sat stranded, holding the steering rope. "I think my car has decided to become a tricycle," Jo said.
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The finish line waited just ahead. Orla looked at it, then at Jo. Tavi felt a hum gathering, ready to call that wheel straight back. A tap would be so easy. But a promise was a promise. "Wrench?" Tavi asked. "Wrench," said Orla.
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They pulled the Pickle over. Orla chased the wheel, which escaped under a bench and came out wearing a paper cup. Tavi found the runaway nut by the curb. The striped car crossed the finish line. "Good race!" its driver called. "We're still in it," said Jo.
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Orla rolled the wheel back. Tavi tightened the nut with the wrench. The Teacup wobbled, then stood steady. "Try it," said Tavi. Jo gave the car a push. It rolled beautifully—straight into the Pickle's squeaky seat. SQUEAK! "Sorry," said Jo. "It likes you."
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The race was over. The trophy had already gone home with the striped car. But Jo pointed toward the hill. "One more lap?" Orla climbed into the Pickle. Tavi took the steering rope. Jo lined up the Teacup. "On three," said Orla.
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They counted together and rolled off side by side. The Pickle squeaked at every bump; the Teacup rattled an answer. Halfway down, Jo's colander slipped over the steering rope. All three laughed so hard they nearly forgot to steer. They crossed the line together anyway.
