The Strip

Breaking news tonight—

a live aerial shot cuts across the skyline, flashing red and blue against the glass of high-rises as sirens slice through the evening.

“A silver Porsche is currently leading police on a pursuit down Hunt Boulevard,” the anchor says, voice tight but controlled. “Speeds are exceeding—wait…”

There’s a pause. The camera zooms in.

“—John, I… I don’t think—”

“…That’s not possible.”

The car swerves cleanly between lanes, too precise, too controlled.

“Viewers, we’re being told the driver appears to be—”

Another beat.

“…It’s just a kid.”

The steering wheel felt bigger than it should have.

Shan adjusted her grip anyway, fingers tightening at ten and two like she’d seen a hundred times before—on TV, in movies, in the way people who knew what they were doing made it look easy.

The engine hummed beneath her. Not loud. Not angry. Just… steady.

She liked that.

Outside, the world blurred in streaks of streetlights and passing cars, but inside the Porsche, everything felt quiet. Focused. Like it was just her and the road.

Kesha played through the speakers, a little too loud for a car that wasn’t hers.

“Don’t stop, make it pop…”

Shan smirked, barely.

She tapped the wheel lightly with her thumb, keeping rhythm, her foot pressing down just a little more. The car responded instantly—smooth, obedient.

Better than people.

In the passenger seat, a crumpled note and a few coins sat beside her. Enough for a pack of cigarettes. And Pop-Tarts. Strawberry, if they had it.

That’s what the girls on TV did, right?

Late nights. Fast cars. No one telling them what to do.

She checked the rearview mirror.

At first, just lights.

Then—

More lights.

Closer.

Red. Blue.

Shan didn’t panic.

Her eyes flicked forward again, calculating without knowing she was. The lane ahead was open. A gap to the left. Timing, distance—she just felt it.

She pressed the accelerator.

The Porsche surged forward, slipping cleanly between two cars like it belonged there.

Her breath hitched—but not from fear.

From something else.

Something sharp and bright and alive.

This is what it feels like.

Behind her, the sirens grew louder.

She turned the wheel slightly, smooth, controlled. No jerking. No overcorrection. Just… instinct.

Kesha kept playing.

“Tik tok on the clock…”

A laugh almost escaped her, quiet, under her breath.

They were chasing her.

Actually chasing her.

Shan’s grip tightened again, not from nerves—but from focus. Her eyes stayed locked on the road ahead, every movement deliberate, every adjustment small but exact.

She didn’t feel ten.

She didn’t feel small.

She felt—

free.

The song shifted, the beat building, louder now as the world outside became noise and motion and flashing color.

“The police shut us down—”

The impact came from the side.

Hard.

The car jolted violently, metal groaning as it was forced off its line. Shan’s body snapped forward before she could react—

Her mouth hit the steering wheel.

A sharp crack.

White.

Then—

Warmth.

The taste of iron flooded her tongue as something split open, her lip or her gums—she couldn’t tell.

The car lurched again, tires screeching as it lost control, momentum finally breaking under the force.

Everything slowed.

The music still played.

The lights still flashed.

But the feeling—

That feeling—

Slipped.

Just a little.

The car stuttered, then rolled to a stop.

For a moment, everything hung there—engine ticking, headlights cutting across the road, Kesha still playing low like the world hadn’t caught up yet.

Then—

Doors slammed.

Sirens bled out into the night.

“Driver! Kill the engine!” a voice cut through, sharp, trained.

Shan’s hands stayed on the wheel.

She didn’t rush.

Didn’t fumble.

Her fingers moved with quiet precision, turning the key the way she’d seen a hundred times before.

The engine died.

Silence—except for the distant hum of lights and radios crackling.

Boots approached.

Fast. Then slower.

“…Hold on,” another voice muttered.

A shadow crossed her window. Then another.

“Dispatch said pursuit, not—” the officer’s voice faltered, just slightly. “—no way.”

The driver’s door was yanked open.

Cold air rushed in.

“Out of the vehicle. Slowly.”

Shan turned her head.

The officer froze.

Just for a second.

Because now he could see her.

Small frame. Messy hair falling into her face. Blood darkening her lip, still fresh.

Too young.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” he breathed.

Behind him, another officer stepped closer, peering in.

“That’s—” he shook his head. “That’s a kid.”

Shan unbuckled her seatbelt.

It clicked, loud in the quiet.

She stepped out carefully, steady on her feet, like she hadn’t just been chased across the city.

The first officer straightened, something shifting in his posture. Less force. More control.

More… careful.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Ten.”

No hesitation.

The word landed heavier than it should have.

The second officer let out a low whistle.

“Jesus.”

The first officer ran a hand over his jaw, exhaling once before stepping closer.

His voice changed when he spoke again.

Still firm.

But different.

“…Alright.”

He gestured slightly, measured, controlled.

“Hands up, kid.”

The backseat of the police car was colder than she expected.

Hard plastic. No give. No space.

The door shut with a heavy thunk that felt louder than it should have.

Shan shifted slightly, pressing her tongue against her lip again. Still sore. Still metallic.

The officer in the front glanced at her through the rearview mirror.

Not sharp this time.

Just… looking.

A beat.

“…Why were you out there?” he asked.

Shan blinked, like the question was obvious.

“I went to the store.”

“At ten years old?”

“For Pop-Tarts,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Strawberry ones. My mom said she’d get them yesterday, but she forgot!”

The officer exhaled slowly.

“And the high-speed chase was part of the grocery run?”

Shan hesitated.

“…And cigarettes.”

His eyes flicked back up to the mirror.

“The what?”

She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice like it was serious business.

“Okay, but don’t tell my mom about that part,” she said quickly. “You have to promise.”

He almost smiled.

“I don’t make promises like that.”

“Just a pinky promise,” she insisted. “Please. I don’t even smoke them.”

A pause.

“I saw it on TV,” she added. “They make it look cool. So, I was just gonna take them to school, show my friends.”

The officer let out a quiet breath through his nose.

“Of course you were.”

The car rolled through a red light, sirens now off now. Calm. Controlled.

“I thought I could just go get everything myself,” she said. “It’s not that far.”

“You led three patrol cars across Hunt Boulevard.”

“I didn’t hit anyone,” she said quickly.

That made him glance back again.

And this time… there was something else in his expression.

“…No,” he admitted. “You didn’t.”

A beat.

“You been in a car like that before?” he asked.

Shan straightened slightly.

“My dad’s a mechanic,” she said, a hint of pride slipping in before she could stop it. “He works on really fast cars. Proper ones.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “He says it’s not about going fast. It’s about knowing when to.”

The officer’s brows lifted slightly.

“…Your dad sounds like he knows what he’s talking about.”

Shan looked out the window.

Lights passing. Familiar streets.

“He does,” she said quietly.

A pause.

“I don’t live with him though.”

The officer didn’t respond right away.

“…Why not?”

She shrugged again, but this time it wasn’t careless.

“Mom said it was easier,” she muttered. “Before.”

Silence stretched for a moment.

Then—

“I don’t like my stepdad,” she added, blunt.

The officer exhaled slowly.

“…Yeah?”

“He said if I mess up again, he’s sending me to military school.” She glanced forward, suddenly more alert. “Do you think they can do that?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Shan leaned forward slightly.

“Can I just go with you instead?” she asked quickly. “To the station. I won’t touch anything. I just wanna see. I like how everything works.”

That time, he did laugh. Soft, under his breath.

“Yeah, that’s not how this works.”

“I’d be good,” she insisted. “Promise.”

“I’m sure you would be,” he said.

A pause.

Then, quieter—

“But you’ve still got a home to go to.”

Shan leaned back again.

The seat felt colder now.

“…Yeah,” she said.

And this time, she didn’t argue.