This is based on a true story... I wiped my brow, streaking it with grease and sweat, as I finally wrenched off the last fender of the day from a beat-up 1969 Dodge Superbee. The smell of oil and gasoline hung in the humid Oklahoma air, mingling with the scent of sun-scorched grass. The backyard was a jungle of muscle cars, all in various states of disrepair, scattered in every direction along the fences I'd helped him build over the years. There was something oddly majestic about the way these rusting beasts stood lined up, as if still waiting for their next street race. They were guardians of our little kingdom, corroding along the fence line we’d hammered together over the summer. Dad was proud of this makeshift empire, and so was I—most of the time. My uncle Chris, who, strangely enough, was my age (a quirky family detail I’ve learned not to question), had been helping me all day. He’d show up every summer, claiming he was there to help me out, but I had a sneaking suspicion it...