Disclaimer
Speed Racer is a tradmark of Speed Racer Enterprises Inc.

--This story is fictional. Any resemblence to actual persons, living or dead, is unintentional and completely coincidential.--

Author's Note:
It may be noticed that my speech is not as ... dignified in this story as "Trixie's Saga."
That's on purpose.
Because Speed is--let's face it--not as "book-smart" as Trixie, I changed my venicular.
I also give him this kind of A.D.D. thing where he switches what he's talking about in mid-thought.

"Distracted"

That's what it said in the 'comments' portion of my report card in the third grade. Mrs. Waterstratt, my teacher, had it in her mind that my mind was totally consumed by the idea of racing.

Duh.

Did she look at my name before she met me? What other field is a kid named Speed Racer going to go into: accounting?! Because everyone wants to step into their bank and hear, "Hello, my name is Speed, I will be arranging your taxes."

Anyway, Mrs. Waterstratt could never admit it, for fear of losing her job, but we all knew I was her least favorite student. I wasn't book smart. Truth be told … I'm kind of dumb. She once told Mom that maybe I needed ADD therapy. Mom said she valued the suggestion and pulled me out by the arm muttering about people telling her how to raise her son. I hated school and I hated Mrs. Waterstratt even more, but I wouldn't have given it up for the world, if only for one reason.

It was how I first met Trixie Shimura.

No one believes you when you say you met your soul mate while you were still in the one-digits, but I firmly believe I did. The moment I saw her in my little soapbox car, my heart did a 360° flip and my thoughts on girls did a 180°. I was eight; I still thought girls had cooties. Then I saw Trixie, standing above her punch victim. And she'd done it because someone insulted me!

Let's get one thing straight. I wasn't Mr. Popular in school. Everyone thought I was weird or stupid. Plus, I was scrawny. That made me an easy target for bullies. And if I hadn't had that little red wagon car, they probably would have caught me.

But Trixie wasn't like the other kids. She wanted to see my car collection. She thought I was cool. She liked my Mom and Pops' motor business even better than her father's. Who knew that the perfect girl for a race fanatic was … the daughter of a car fanatic?

But this story isn't called 'When Speedy Met Trixie.'

This is how a dumb, distracted boy fell in love with the only girl that could ever keep his attention.