"Alex," he said. "I-..I'm so sorry."

I looked down.

"Yeah..." I said, drifting off.. I drove past the pit, through the opposite side, and decided to take a trip back to Thomasville, to think for a while.

---

I had been at the Speedway for a while, upset at myself, for getting my hopes up so quickly.

How could I have been stupid enough to fool myself into thinking I could beat Jackson, of all racers?

Obviously, I should have known that I was in over my head. I looked over at the fence with the Piston Cup sign behind it, and my stomach turned a little.

"Hey."

I turned around, startled.

Jackson.

"What's a pretty racer like you doing all the way out here?" he teased. I looked down. His joke didn't really seem to help. I said nothing, as Jackson drove up next to me.

"Hey, talk to me," he said. "you can't still be mad about the race."

"I'm not mad.." I began to drift off, but stopped myself.

There wasn't any point in overreacting.

"I'm just..a little upset." I admitted. I caught myself on that one, and my eyes widened. I turned to face Jackson.

"Not at you- I didn't mean!- I mean, I- da-..."

I looked at the smirk on Jackson's face, and groaned. He chuckled, and kissed me, before giving me a smile.

"You're a jerk." I said.

"Thanks," he responded. "I've spent years trying to be this good of one."

"Haha, very funny."

He grinned.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked. I nodded.

"Yeah," I answered. "I'm just bummed about not being in the race next week."

There was an awkward silence, before he spoke up.

"At least now, you have time for paparazzi."

I laughed a little.

It was fake.

And, he could see right through it.

"Yup," he said. "You've lost it."

I could tell he wasn't joking when he said that. The two of us staring ahead, another silence took over.

"I've spent so long...trying to motivate my dad not to quit," I spoke up. "...that I ended up losing my own motivation."

We seemed to face each other at the same time. I looked down, then back up at him.

I seemed to be doing that a lot, and didn't know why.

"How do you do it?" I asked. Jackson narrowed his eyes at me.

"Do what?"

"I've only ever seen you upset once, and it was at me. You're never sad, or angry at anyone," I explained. "How do you do it?"

"You think I don't get upset?" he asked. "Alex, I'm always upset, but I take it out on the track, not on anyone else."

I nodded, slowly, letting it sink in, but, another question popped into my mind, after he answered.

"Why are you ever upset?" I asked. "You're like, everyone's idol."

"I don't want to just be seen as "the" racer," he explained. "At first, I raced for the enjoyment."

"What happened?"

He looked down, then looked back, staring ahead.

"Someone noticed, and turned it into something I didn't want it to be." he answered.

Click.

That's when I finally figured him out.

He wasn't just Jackson.

He was everyone, combined into one car.

"Your personality is your disguise." I solved. He didn't respond.

Another silence.

This one was excruciatingly painful, oddly enough.

"You can't satisfy everyone, so you choose to turn into everyone, and ignore your own needs." I explained.

"Look who figured it out." he said, not looking back.

Thomasville suddenly seemed even duller than it already was.

"Congrats, Rookie," he said. "you're the only one."

He turned around, and drove back.

"Where are you going?" I asked. No answer.

"Jackson?"

He turned back, facing me.

"Jackson, if you're going back to do the same thing you've been doing, you don't have to-"

"Yeah, I do." he cut off.

"We can find a way to-"

"Alex, you think they're gonna listen?" he asked, upset.

"The people on the radio listened to you-"

"It wasn't the people I was with on the radio, it was everyone listening to the radio," he argued. "Alex, you have no idea what happened soon as that interview was over!"

I fell quiet.

"They don't listen, Alex," he argued. "soon as that interview was over, all they asked about was you. Were you okay? Were we a thing? What happened to your dad? And did they ask about me? Did they ask if I was okay?!"

I could see the tears in his eyes, and my eyes began to brim.

"They didn't care about me, Alex!" he yelled. "And they didn't, because no one cares unless it's about a race!"

"Jackson, that's not true!" I argued.

"Name me one time anyone asked if I was alright, Alex!"

The both of us were quiet. By this time, we were streaming tears.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked. "Why didn't you tell me that you needed help?"

He didn't say anything, for a moment.

"People want me to be independent." he explained.

"People?" I asked. He looked down.

"I want to seem independent." he confessed.

"Jackson..." I said. He looked at me, and I watched a tear fall from him, which was the first I've seen.

I'd never seen him cry, before; not, until now.

"Don't ever think that no one's gonna be there to help you." I said. He was quiet, and looked away.

"Maybe, you were discovered for a reason," I explained. "Maybe, whoever told everyone about you, found someone worth being recognized."

I then drove off, leaving him to himself. I figured that he would need some space. He'd been through enough.

More than enough, for that matter.

---

I'd made my way back to the stadium, a little tired. After all, it was a long drive from the stadium to Thomasville. Dad caught up with me, along with yet another paparazzi.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked. "You look like you've been crying. What happened? Where's Jackson?"

"I'm okay, I swear," I said, reassuringly. "I just...need to talk to you."

I looked to Natalie, who had just shown up.

"In private." I added strictly, my statement directed towards not only Natalie, but the paparazzi following us.

"Oh," said Dad. "Yeah, yeah, okay."

I drove off, and he followed me. I decided it'd be better to talk in our pit. Shutting the door behind us, so the paparazzi couldn't get in, I turned to Dad, who seemed a little nervous.

"Alex, what's going on?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

I bit my lip for a second, looking at the door, then at him.

"Okay," I said. "What I'm about to tell you cannot leave this room." I warned.

"Alex, I-"

"Dad, this is about Jackson." I interrupted. I then repeated myself, to show him that I wasn't joking around.

"What I'm about to tell you cannot leave this room." I repeated, my voice even more serious than it already was. Dad was quiet. A few moments later, he nodded.

"Okay." he said. I hesitated for a moment, before finally letting go of what had happened at Thomasville, and handing it over to Dad.

"You know how Jackson's always so confident, and prideful, and stuff like that?" I asked. Dad nodded.

"What about it?" he asked.

"You know how he can be cocky, and smart-aleck?" I asked. Another nod.

"Alex, Sweetheart, I don't see what the problem with that-"

"He's faking it, Dad." I said. He squinted his eyes.

"He-..I'm sorry, I don't understand." he said. I felt a little guilty about telling him about this, but if no one knew, things could get worse for Jackson.

"Dad, he told me I was the only one who managed to figure him out." I interrupted, again.

"Figure him out?" he asked. "What do you mean "figure him out"?"

"He's not Jackson, he's everyone, Dad," I explained. "he said that he used to race for the enjoyment, and someone found out about him racing on his own, and that's how he got into professional racing. He said they turned it into something that he didn't want it to be."

Dad was quiet.

"Dad, Jackson isn't being Jackson," I continued. "he's pretending to be all these different cars combined into one, and he admitted that he was just using his personality as a disguise."

"A disguise, Alex?" he asked. "I mean, this is Storm we're talking about; he doesn't seem like the type to-"

"He cried right in front of me, Dad." I interrupted.

Another silence fell on my father.

"I was there, Dad," I argued. "I was the only one there. He's not Jackson, Dad. He's not going to be Jackson unless we stop him from trying to be everyone else."

Dad looked at the ground, seemingly thinking.

"I'll see if I can get him to come to Radiator Springs," he said. "You and your mom can talk to him."

"Why can't you do it?" I asked.

"Ah, I don't know," he said. "Men just don't do that weird, emotional thing you girls do."

"You mean talking about our feelings while planning trips to the spa?" I joked. "I never do that with Mom. It's too...mushy."

Dad chuckled.

"At least try to convince him to come over," I said. "he needs it."

He sighed.

"Alright," he said. "I'll see what I can do."

"Yes!" I cheered. "Thanks, Daddy."

I left through the opposite side of the pit. Hopefully, Jackson was alright on his own.

Though, he always was.

I guess.

---

So, here he was, in Hillbilly Hell with me, wondering why Dad and I dragged him all the way here.

"Alex, I told you," he said. "I'm just fine."

We had been talking along the way (AKA: him complaining that he's just tired. Yeah, right.), and I thought he was starting to feel a lot better.

Nah, he was completely annoyed with me. Mom came out of her shop, and looked to Jackson.

"Oh, we have a visitor," she stated, surprised. "You need anything, Jackson?"

"Yeah," he said. "Your kid thinks I'm mental, and dragged me all the way over here."

I glared at him.

"Oops," he said aloud. "I mean Hi, Mrs, McQueen. How's that...weather?" he asked, looking to me.

I didn't change my expression.

"Yeah, I don't do the whole "greeting" thing," he said. "Can I go back to the stadium, now?"

"Jackson, is something wrong?" Mom asked.

"Mom!" I complained, in an angsty tone, to mess with him. "Jackson's not being Jackson!"

He gave me the same glare, and I smirked.

I hated him.

Which is why I loved him.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"He's not being Jackson, and it's annoying me." I explained.

"I am perfectly Jackson, okay?" he asked, in an obviously annoyed tone. "I am so Jackson, that all the other Jacksons in the world bowed at how Jackson I am, because I'm the only Jackson that's Jackson enough to be Jackson!"

I smiled, and he shook his head.

"The point is," he continued. "I'm just fine, and Alex thinks I've got mental issues."

"Not mental issues," I corrected. "Just a slum."

"I need to hear the beginning of this story, first," said Mom. "Before anyone talks about being mental or whatever, I need to hear the whole thing."

We told her what we told each other, at Thomasville, then we let her decide what was up.

"Far as I've heard, Alex," she explained, after we finished. "Jackson's not mental-"

"Ha!" Jackson interrupted, rubbing it in my face. I rolled my eyes.

"But, you do seem to be hiding yourself, Jackson."

"Ha." I piped up.

"So, what's really going on?" she asked.

"Yeah, I wanna know, too." I said.

"Guys-...girls? Whatever, it's nothing, alright?" he asked.

"Well, if you told Alex what you did at Thomasville, there's obviously something wrong," said Mom, nonchalantly. "And, if you're willing to talk about it, we're willing to listen."

"Yeah," I agreed, cuddling against him. "I'm ya girlie, I wanna know." I teased. He gave us a half smile, and sighed.

"I don't know," he (finally) confessed. "I guess now that I'm in the leagues, everyone expects a race god, instead of a race car, and that's what I try to be."

"Finally, he has spoken." I joked. He smirked at me, and I gave him an innocent smile. "Is that why you change personalities every time that you're out there?"

"Well, when you have a bunch of cameras in your face, and a bunch of cars watching you drive in a big circle, you change into someone else a few times."

"Well, then," Mom spoke up. "Don't let them change you. Obviously, it's your life, and you need to do things the way you want them to be done."

"Mrs. McQueen-"

"Jackson, those other cars in that stadium don't determine your success. You do." she interrupted. "You can either face it, and get through it, or you can drive away, and let them change you into something that you don't wanna be. It's your choice."

Jackson was quiet, and nodded. I looked to him.

"Jack?" I asked.

"She's right," he answered. "...They're changing me."

"And...what are you gonna do?" I asked.

He was quiet for a few seconds.

"I'm not gonna let them," he said. "get to bed, Alex. I'll see you on the track, tomorrow."

"Jackson-"

"Good night, Alex." he said, driving off. I looked to Mom, a little worried.

"He knows what he's doing," she said. "Get to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

And, with that, I was sent to bed, anticipating seeing Jackson again, tomorrow. I hoped that Mom was right, and that he knew what he was doing.

More importantly, I hoped he would be okay.