When we arrived home, my dad was rested in Doc's old barn; I was the last to leave after some discussion about everything that had happened.

"Alex?"

I stared down, then glanced to Dad, who lay still as a stone. I felt like crying; he was completely marked and scratched, and I felt horrible for him.

I glanced down again, then back up at him, and left the barn.

"...He'll be okay," Mom reassured, "Okay?"

Her eyes screamed in despair, and I could tell she was attempting to keep herself composed. Once my mom fell apart, so did everyone else; we all cared deeply for Dad, and everyone seemed really down.

Thinking back to the crash only struck me deeper. Someone had to do something about it.

I was gonna be that someone.

Sure, my dad pestered me to no end, but things would never be the same if he quit racing, and I would never forgive myself for remembering him the way I had been.

I had to get back at Storm.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Alex?"

I hesitated for a moment before answering.

"...I wanna race."

My mom stared at me.

"Wait...what?" she questioned, "Alex, did you not see what happened to your dad?"

"I know," I responded, "but I can't just sit around kicking dirt and doing nothing about it."

"Alex, I can't allow that. Your dad had what could be the worst crash recorded in history; the same thing happened to Doc and if something happens to you-"

"--nothing's gonna happen to me-"

"And how do you know that?"

Silence.

"I don't," I murmured, peering down.

"Exactly," she emphasized, "I feel bad too, Alex, but if the same happens to you, I'll never forgive myself."

"And what if nothing happens?" I pointed out, "Someone needs to do something about this; It's Jackson's fault."

"How do you know?"

"Because, as soon as they'd stopped talking, we all saw Dad slow down! Jackson must have over-pressured him, Mom! It's not right!"

Mom was quiet.

"I get it," I clarified, "You're worried about me, but if no one does anything about this, then he's gonna make it worse on all of us, not just Dad; Mom, I have to race; Doc's not here, and I'm the only one capable of it, right now. I can take his place until he gets back onto the tracks-- Mom, I can do this!"

There was another moment of silence before my mother slowly nodded.

"...Okay," she agreed, "This stays in this town, okay?"

I nodded.

"Ramone," she called, and the addressed car approached.

"Whatchu need, Sally?" he asked.

"We need a disguise for her," said Mom. "She's joining the races."

"Then...whatchu need the disguises for, man?"

"Because," I began, "if I go in there like this, the media is gonna make something insane out of it. I need to hide my identity; this is for Dad, not me."

Ramone remained soundless for a moment.

"Follow up," he instructed, "I'll paint you quickly."

"I need new parts, too," I added, "Mom?"

"We'll take her to the shop first. Soon as she's done, we'll paint her."

"Sounds good to me."

"Then, let's get moving."

"Wait," Mom paused, "we need a code name for you."

I thought for a moment.

"Swift," I suggested, "Storm Swift."

Mom looked to Ramone, who nodded in agreement with the new name.

"If you like it, I like it."

I smiled.

"From now on, I'm Storm Swift in public," I instructed.

"No more Alex."

---

"Were the initials really necessary?"

"Sorry 'bout that, dude," Ramone piped up, "Gotta look your best, no?"

I looked at Mom.

"I need to go alone; if you come with me, they'll know it's a setup."

"You'll be okay, without me?"

"I can do this," I reassured, "I know it."

"She's ready," Ramone chimed back in. I glanced at Mom, and the concern in her face worried me.

"Come back in one piece, Alex." she warned softly.

"We're all rooting for you, dude."

I smiled, then headed off, only to pause and turn back. They grinned, and it warmed my heart knowing that the old RS would be waiting for me.

With Dad as the first thing on my mind, I sighed and turned, leaving Radiator Springs to become just like him:

A champion.

---

The track lights were on when I got there. There were crowds everywhere, but no races going on. I guessed it was some sort of after-party thing.

"You new?" someone asked. I turned to see a security guard, and nodded. He then proceeded to ask me some questions that I didn't know were necessary for becoming a racer.

"Name?"

"Storm Swift."

"Number?"

"Twenty-two."

"Rookie?"

"You better believe it."

He grinned.

"Welcome to the big leagues, kid," he greeted, "Better hope you make it big; not many do."

"I can handle it," I informed, "but thanks."

I turned and drove off to find Jackson, but the patrol-car stopped me.

"Your races start tomorrow," he stated, "Get as much practice in as you can."

"Thanks for the warning."

I drove in; there were whispers from paparazzi as well as a few racers, and it wasn't long before I began to understand what my dad felt as a rookie. Like him, I had been coming into the season unknown.

Soon, I'd be known by everyone.

At least, I hoped.

"Man," another voice spoke, "we have a lot of newbs coming in."

I shifted around to see Jackson.

"What's your excuse?"

Yup, this was without a doubt Jackson Storm. I recognized the same number #20 painted on his sides.

Without a moment's hesitation, I responded:

"Unlike your arrogant self, I'm not racing for my own good."

"Who are you racing for, then?"

"I'm racing for the sake of racing itself," I explained, "What, am I not allowed to race for the fun of it?"

"You race to win," he corrected, "Last I checked, these leagues are about the Piston Cup."

"There's more to life than winning a race. I was raised smart enough to know that." I returned.

"Name one important thing about racing, other than winning."

"What you learn from it."

Jackson shut up, and a small smirk surfaced on his face.

"...You're alright, kid," he remarked, "Weird, but alright; name's-"

"I know your name," I interrupted, "Everyone does."

Jackson didn't seem amused.

"Swift," I introduced, "Storm Swift."

"Well, Storm," he quoted, "welcome to the season; don't mean to be rude, but good luck winning against me."

"Must be hard to win against such a beginner like you," I retorted, the sarcastic tone in my voice clear.

"Is that a challenge I hear?"

I smirked.

"Hope you have good hearing, because it is."

Jackson glared at me.

"Alright then," he agreed.

"Challenge accepted."

---

We'd been awakened for races the next morning; I had practiced some the night before after my little argument with Jackson, and I admit that I was nervous.

It would be my first race, and I only had one night of training. Most cars had weeks, months, maybe years of practice before their first races. If I had crashed, my mom would never be able to live with herself.

I drove up to the starting line, in the very last spot, since I was new. Of course, Jackson didn't hesitate to say anything about it.

"How's the view back here, Newbie?" he teasingly asked, "Sorry that you're dead last; the worthless ones are usually the first ones out."

I could only glare.

"Good luck out there." he pretended to encourage, a smirk on his face as he drove off to his first-place spot, "You're gonna need it."

"Looks like we have a new one coming in, boys!" exclaimed Darrell; tt had only been him and Bob today as reporters.

"It's definitely reasonable," Bob agreed, "Especially after McQueen's nasty crash; I believe this is also our first female racer in a while, Darrell."

"Not good to remember that crash! I just hope McQueen's alright! It'd be pretty sad to see him go after countless years of racing!"

"You said it, Darrell; let's start this race."

Three.

Two.

One.

---

I didn't have a crew, let alone a crew chief; Mater, Mom and the others couldn't look after me. It would give away who I really was.

I was alone in this, but I would manage. The light turned green, the horn blared and we all accelerated; I remembered seeing Dad in the field while he trained for his races. Even as a little girl, I memorized the way he twisted and curved on the old dirt track that Doc had taught him on. Doc had died before I was born, and his old garage had been turned into a museum for not just him, but the memories he left us.

Those were the days when I wanted to be a racer. I seemed to grow out of it up until my Dad's crash; something had just shifted in me when I saw him flying across the track at the Dinoco 400.

My train of thought was disrupted by Darrell and Bob, and I shook off my thoughts, advancing across the track.

"Looks like Swift is pretty knowledgeable with racing," Bob commented, "She's doing exceptional for a rookie."

"You got that right, Bob!" Darrell exclaimed as he always did, "Especially for a girl, too!"

What did he mean by "especially for a girl"?

What, were girls just biologically pre-disposed to be bad at racing?

"I guess girls are just as good as guys are with these races, Darrell; either way, she had to have learned from someone."

"And you know," Darrell added, "It's coincidental how she joined just a day after McQueen's big wreck."

"In case you hadn't heard, folks," Bob informed, "that collision is really big news, reports coming in from all over the media about his condition."

I hated being reminded of that stupid crash; it was the last thing I needed to worry about. I was only on Lap One of this race and I still had a hundred ninety-nine to go. I sped up, racing between cars, finding gaps that I could squeeze through to get ahead.

I had to catch up with Jackson; someone needed to show him that he wasn't the only good racer here.

I used the old trick that I heard my dad had used, which was speeding against the wall and pushing off to pass the car in front of me. I grinned, racing ahead.

Jackson was only three cars ahead of me, now.

"I can't believe what I'm seeing, Bob!" Darrell excitedly spat, "That rookie is only three cars behind Storm!"

"I bet he's got something to be afraid of now, Darrell!"

I smiled, as the Jumbotron focused on me.

"The McQueens are back," I told myself.

"Watch out, Storm."

---

It had been a long while of driving, and there were 150 laps left; it was time to pit. I couldn't, though, because I didn't have a crew. I had to keep going.

So, I did.

"What in the world?" asked Bob, "She's not pitting!"

"She doesn't seem to have a crew to pit for, Bob!" exclaimed Darrell for about the hundredth time the entire race, "How can she?"

"Let's hope she doesn't pop a tire!"

"This does not look good for Jackson, Bob!"

Let's hope, I thought. The next bunch of laps seemed to pass quickly, and it was the final one. Jackson had caught up to me instantly and before I knew it, he was behind me.

"The two are neck and neck!" Darrell shouted, "What are the odds! This will be the biggest race of the next generation!"

"Final lap, everyone!" Bob announced enthusiastically, "Could this really be the first time in history that a female rookie wins?!"

I proceeded to block Jackson so he couldn't get in front of me; I needed to make sure he couldn't find a way to get in front of me.

He found a gap and sped up. So, did I.

"They're both exactly one hundred feet from the Piston Cup!"

Everyone seemed to be leaning in as if to magically get a close-up. Jackson and I were going head-and-head, and it was no longer about the other racers.

It was about us.

"It's gonna be a photo finish, folks!"

The tension was so thick, you could cut it in half with a knife.

"It's a close call!!"

We were the only focus at that moment; we sped up against each other and before you knew it, the checkered flag went down and the horn sounded.

"She didn't even pop a tire!" Darrell yelled. "I can't believe it!"

"The greatest moment in the history of next-generation racing!" Bob yelled while Darrell went nuts. "And we don't even know who won!"

Jackson and I glanced at each other, tossing a glare each other's way.