Hi everyone! Here is Chapter 1 of my Cars prequel. It is narrated by Lightning McQueen and begins just over a year before the first Cars movie.

Enjoy! :)

The 180-something days of tests, headaches, essays, research, more headaches, and the occasional party are over. It's a hot, muggy morning in early June; the last day of school, which just happens to fall the day before my twentieth birthday. I completed my last class today, and I'm just finishing packing up my dorm room to move in back home with my uncle, Scott, for the summer. I'm not expecting anything spectacular to happen, though, because no such thing has occurred to me in years. With my luck, this summer will be a total bust. Just like the past nineteen have. They don't call this city Naptown for nothing.

Everything's packed. I tape the final box shut and double-check around the room for any last items. Nothing left. I tie the boxes onto my roof with a piece of rope and shut the door behind me as I leave. Around me, dozens of other students are hurrying around packing and hauling luggage around or saying goodbye to friends. But I don't have anyone to say goodbye to. And I'm okay with that. I weave unnoticed through the crowd and drive away from the campus, not planning to return for another three months.

I begin the fifteen-minute drive north toward downtown Indianapolis, where Scott lives and has lived for nearly fifteen years. It's brutally hot today, but well after morning rush hour. I'm home approximately twelve minutes later. I don't expect my dad to be here to greet me, since he travels for work. I don't see him much, except for holidays. But it's fine. I've learned to live with it. He only lives half an hour from Scott's, but he has to keep his job to pay for my school. So does Scott. It doesn't come cheap, after all. Even though it's only a stone's throw from home. I wish for once that Dad could stay for my birthday. He's missed nearly all of them. But nonetheless, I absolutely do not want this birthday to pass unremembered. Twenty is a huge deal. I'm going to do something fun, no matter what Scott says.

Anyway, I enter the high-rise apartment building, pass through the empty lobby, and take the elevator up to mine and Scott's apartment on the twenty-fourth floor. After letting myself in, I drop off my boxes in my bedroom and collapse on the living room couch, hot and tired.

"Hey. Didn't expect you back so early," Scott says as he drives in from the kitchen.

I shrug. "What am I supposed to wait for?" I say.

"I don't know. But I got some bad news, I'm afraid. Your dad has a big conference in Chicago this weekend. Gonna miss the big day."

I shrug. I've taught myself not to be disappointed by this frequent piece of news. "Big deal. Then we'll just do something."

Scott sighs. "I'm sorry, Lightning. I'm afraid I have work, too."

I stand bolt upright, my eyes wide. He might as well have hit me with an electric jolt. Not Scott too! "What?"

"I'm sorry, kid. I really am. But it's almost that time of year; parents want to settle in before the new school year begins. I've got two open houses this weekend and like, a dozen showings both today and tomorrow. So I hate to break it to you, but you're on your own this time."

No. I'm on my own again, I think angrily, rolling my eyes. "Greeeat," I say sarcastically as I slouch down again. Thanks for thinking of me, Scott. I feel so loved right now.

Note to self: think up an excuse to miss his next birthday.

"So, I suggest you come up with some ideas," Scott continues. "Are there any movies you want to see? I can get a ticket for you if you want."

"Nope," I say, not looking at him.

"All right. Any museums?"

"Negatory."

"Anything at all?"

"Not around here."

Scott gives me an annoyed look. I admit I'm not the easiest person to please, but the only thing I want is to get out of here, and he can't get that for me. Or rather, being a man of habit, he won't. "Fine. It's your birthday. Don't blame me if it's another letdown. But look on the bright side. Next year you'll be old enough to drink."

True. I eagerly look forward to it.

He looks up at the clock above the TV. "Well, I gotta go. I'll try to be back for dinner. Help yourself to leftovers if I'm not back, or go out if you want. Just be back by midnight."

"Whatever you say," I say tiredly as he shuts the front door and leaves. I'm alone now, and completely undecided on what I want to do for the big day tomorrow. I've already seen every museum, festival, and anything else touristy at least a dozen times. I wish I'd known Dad was going to Chicago because I would've loved to go with him, even though I don't know a whole lot about the city.

I find myself examining the room in disgust, again being reminded of the monotony of my life. The living room is far from extravagant, with bland beige walls and furniture and minimal decorations and pictures. Essentially, it looks like a million other living rooms in a million other apartments. The entire place is like that, with the exception of my room—which I begged Scott to let me paint blue, my second-favorite color after red, when we first moved in. Yes, Scott's that frugal. Our apartment always looks staged for a show, with maybe my room being the exception.

Then I find myself thinking about the day I was accepted to ISU (Indiana State University), but nowhere else.

That acceptance letter was the last one I received. When I saw the return address, I hoped I'd been rejected.

But I wasn't.

"No, no, no, no, no!" I exclaimed. "Are you freaking kidding me?"

Scott came running into the living room, looking like he was going to pass out. "What is it?"

I showed him the letter. "ISU accepted me!"

To my annoyance, he sighed in relief. "Oh, thank goodness. I was afraid no one would. Congratulations, kid," he said as he hugged me.

I quickly pulled away. "No! Do you know what this means? I'm going to be stuck here for the next four years! Ugh! This is so unfair!" I said with an exasperated groan, and I trudged into my room to sulk and squander in self-pity. Apparently, the universe wanted to keep me in Naptown for the rest of my life. Or at least for the foreseeable future.

Scott came to check on me a few minutes later. "Lightning, stop being so dramatic. You're not the only person stuck going to college in their hometown. Who knows? Maybe you'll make some friends and you'll go on a cross-country trip or something," he said, and to which I replied with a stifled groan. With my luck, I'd still be the socially awkward kid I've always been. Either that or I'd end up with the wrong crowd, and who knows what'd happen then.

But that was two years ago. No real friends, no cross-country trip. Now I've decide to busy myself by heading to the library or the video store to borrow some new books or a new video game or movie. Then maybe stop by the grocery store and buy a cake. I think tomorrow I'll run some laps at Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Hopefully, that'll cheer me up. It usually does. It costs twenty-five dollars per trip, so they're few and far between. I used to spend virtually all my allowance on these visits, although sometimes Scott offered to pay for them. I usually go on weekends, when the track is technically closed, but since I'm one of the place's most frequent visitors, the people who work there let me practice as long as there are no events being prepared or hosted.

My eyes fall on a framed picture on my desk. Me, Dad, and Scott at my high school graduation a little over two years ago. They're all the family I have. I don't have any siblings. My mom left when I was a year old, and I haven't seen her since. So I don't remember her, but I do have an old picture of her that's torn on one side and missing another half, which I assume has my dad's face on it. But I've never been able to find it. I assume my mom kept it because Dad kept his hidden for many years from me until he gave it to me as a present on my seventh birthday. I hope I'll get to meet her one day. If I ever visit Scotland, where's she from, I will try to find her.

But it's fine. I get along quite well with both Dad and Scott, although I don't have much in common with either of them. Like I have a choice. I have virtually the same face as them, albeit younger, but the similarities end there. I'm technically a race car—the only one in the family. Always have been. I was born with a racing engine, quite unexpectedly. It worried my family at first, but to me, it's something of a blessing. And it's how I got my nickname, Lightning. But my real name is Monty, short for Montgomery, neither of which I like. I don't know why my parents named me that because it never really fit me. It's too British, although I am technically half-British. I didn't mind it so much when I was little, but in recent years, I feel like I've outgrown it, which is why I usually go by my nickname. Scott gave it to me the first time he saw me run at top speed at the racetrack treadmill. I even got in the habit of signing school papers with Lightning, which annoyed my teachers because they didn't like me having such an abnormal name. But I didn't care. I hate my given name, and that's that.

I frown at the picture on my desk. My hopes of becoming a racer seemed so much easier when I was seventeen. I've been studying and practicing for the big leagues for years. In fact, since my seventh birthday, when Dad and Scott took me to the track here for the first time; we'd just moved here from Dallas then. That's where they are from. But even before that, I regularly watched Piston Cup races on TV. And for many a year, Scott's allowed me to practice at the track. Now, I'm finally old enough to race in the actual Piston Cup league.

Sadly, though, Dad and Scott are both reluctant to let me take such a dangerous job and they don't really want me to go. At least not now, since I'm still in university. I don't blame them in that sense. I think I'm slowly on my way there, studying sports sciences. But it isn't at all what I expected in the beginning. You basically study how fitness benefits cars of various backgrounds and abilities, and the appropriate therapies, physiology, and psychology. But coaching other people isn't really my forte. I'd rather be coached myself. I'm not sure it's going to work out in the long run, so I'm also majoring in business marketing, too. Talk about boring. But they insisted. Business skills should be in my DNA. But in my family, it's not father-like-son/uncle-like-nephew. It's unbelievably dull to me. Useful, I suppose, but dull. They wanted me to have a backup plan, so I went for it anyway.

However, by the second semester of my first year, I was failing business school quite badly so, without telling them, I signed up for several racing classes. When I finally told them about it a few days later, they gave me quite an earful for it, even though I offered to pay for all the classes in full. I didn't realize until afterward that with two majors, I didn't have time for a job to earn the money, which was more than in my college savings. But I stubbornly refused to drop out. So for two years, I divided my time between business school—where I had to drop all but two of my classes because I simply couldn't keep up—and sports sciences, where I've done okay. But I excelled in racing classes. My instructors told me repetitively that I have a real aptitude for racing and that I should consider signing up for big leagues. I'd love to more than anything. And in an act of rebellion, I decided to further my training and sign up for an official racing academy in Jacksonville, Florida. I also registered for one in Sonoma, California, but I'm hoping for Florida since it's closer. Scott hasn't paid for my junior year tuition yet, so I have just enough money for either school. I haven't told him or my dad my "secret" plan, and neither of them have suspected a thing. Classes begin right after Independence Day, but that's nearly a month from now. So for the time being, I'm stuck here. The Piston Cup racing season always begins in mid-February, so if I succeed, I can participate in the next season. I've finished all the racing courses at my school but technically, I still have two years of school left. I have no intention of finishing.

Don't get me wrong, I love college life, but sometimes it's kind of lonely because I have a hard time making friends. The only true friend I had growing up, Kate McKinley, moved back to Portland, Oregon, about two years ago. We kept in touch for a few months until we both started college. Then for reasons unknown to me, I stopped hearing from her. I suspect she got really busy and likely found a boyfriend. We enjoyed the eleven years we had together, but I highly doubt I'll ever see her again. I think deep down, it really broke my heart, because I haven't sought a real relationship since. There are plenty of nice girls at college, and I've dated a few, but none of them want to date a guy who through no fault of his own prefers spending his little down time at a racetrack over a date. I think my girl's out there; I just haven't found her yet.

Now I've decided to head out and stop by the library or video store, then grab some lunch since I have all day to kill. I lock up and take the elevator back downstairs. My ears used to pop every time I came up or down, but it eventually stopped and I don't hear anything anymore.

It's going to be a long summer, I think as I approach the main floor. I have literally nothing productive to do. Maybe I should get a job. Make myself useful. Earn enough money to go on a short trip somewhere. Maybe a week in Chicago or something. I'm not picky.

Once I land on the main floor, I turn the corner into the lobby. But as I do, I see something I never imagined I would see in a million years and will never forget as long as I live. What I see—or should I say who—sends a wave of panic through me. It's a car.

A car that looks exactly like me.

Cliffhanger! So, I hope you like this so far. :) Things will start to kick off in the next chapter, but I wanted to provide some backdrop to my version of Lightning's story.

I know I'm not being descriptive about my OCs, but in all honesty, I don't know what models they should be. I'm no expert on actual cars. If they were humans, it'd be easier, but they're not, so feel free to imagine them however you want. :)

Some fun facts:

Naptown is an actual nickname for Indianapolis. I actually went there once when I was little, but sadly, I don't remember much about that trip.

As for Lightning's real name, it comes from a book called Struck By Lightning. Yes, I was shocked, too! XD I will be covering and expanding the events of that book in future chapters. But I decided to fudge the origin of "Lightning" a little because I can't get used to calling him Monty. It's like he's a different person, you know? It also sounds kind of British to me, which is one reason he doesn't like it!

Hope you stick around for the next chapter. :) Please review.