"I can't," Jack said. "I don't have a ride."

"You wimp," RedShack said. "But don't worry, we got ya one."

Jack swallowed hard. How did I get involved in this, anyway? he asked himself.

It had all started when he watched the movie Drift the Curb. It showed a bunch of illegal street racing. Jack was fascinated by the high speeds and danger.

Ever since then, he couldn't stop thinking about street racing. At school he started hanging out with RedShack, Bubba, Dib and Sean, who all bragged about racing illegally and escaping from the police. Now he had gotten himself in the middle of their street race. He was in trouble.

An orange Lamborghini rolled up behind Jack. Sean stepped out wearing black sweats, a black muscle shirt, a tough expression and muscles the size of mountains. He walked forward.

"It's equipped with nitro, V-10 engine, a great transmission, shocks, racing tires and tinted black windows," Sean said. "Perfect for Jack's ride."

"Impressive," RedShack said. His blue eyes swirled with jealousy.

"Well, we don't have all day," Dib said. "Let's get the race on."

Jack swallowed even harder. His parents had told him never to street race, but here he was. He knew the Bible said to "honor your father and your mother . . . so that you may live long."

By street racing, he'd be disobeying his parents. Did that mean his days would be short?

What do I do? Jack thought.

"Let's mount up," RedShack said.

"On it," Bubba said.

"I'll be flag waver," Sean called. He reached into the Lamborghini and pulled out a checkered flag.

Jack edged his way toward the car. His heart sunk at the choice he was about to make.

"Oh, and one more thing . . ." RedShack said. "You aren't a Christian, are you? Because if you are, you can't street race with us. In fact, you can't even hang out with us."

Oh, no. RedShack had asked the question Jack had been dreading. He was, of course, a Christian. But if he admitted his faith . . . Jack began to weigh his options as he wrestled with the question, What should I do?

Stammering, Jack replied, "No . . . of course not."

At that moment, Jack's body sickened. His heart was in uproar, and he wanted to puke out his intestines. He had to hide a gag.

"Then let's race!" RedShack exclaimed.

As Jack hopped into the driver's seat of the Lamborghini, RedShack got into a sporty red convertible, Dib into a Ford Mustang GT and Bubba into a silver Mercedes Benz. Sean stood in the middle of the crosswalk, checkered flag in hand, just as the four cars lined up in two rows.

"Get ready . . . " Sean said. "Get set . . . go!" The checkered flag cut through the air, announcing that the race had begun.

Jack slammed the gas pedal down to the floor, and his car lurched forward. His speedometer read 100 mph in less than eight seconds. Energized by the quick acceleration, Jack focused on the race.

RedShack moved into first, Dib second, Jack third and Bubba last. Jack was going to change that and move his way up the line. Grip it. Shift it. Jack grabbed the stick shift and thrust it into the last gear. Systematically, his fingers rubbed the steering wheel in search of the special boost enhancer button: nitro.

Jack's speedometer now read 153 mph, and he had secured first place.

This is fun, Jack thought. Really fun.

They were entering an intersection when four police cars came from the west. RedShack, out of fright, swerved left and crashed into a parked minivan. His convertible flipped into the air and landed on its hood. A policeman slammed on his brakes so he wouldn't hit RedShack.

But then it happened.

RedShack's engine exploded in colorful red and orange flames. The explosion was so powerful that it sent Jack's car flying. The Lamborghini did several spirals in the air, landing upside down just 15 yards from the explosion.

Colors faded into black. It was lights out for Jack.

Jack woke up, eyes wide, lying in a hospital bed. His arms and legs felt heavy, and an IV was stuck into his wrist.

"Oh, Jack!" His mother wept beside the bed.

"Praise God you're alive," Dad said. But along with relief, Jack saw a mixture of anger and sadness in his dad's eyes.

"I'm sorry..." Jack began, but he couldn't finish.

"We told you to never street race," Dad said. "You broke your left arm and right leg."

Tears stung Jack's eyes. "I promise I won't disobey again," he said. "I thought I could be on my own, and I ignored the Lord's leading and direction. But now I'll stand my guard and be a man of courage. I'll never denounce my faith again."

"You denounced your faith?" Jack's mom exclaimed. "How could you?"

"I wanted to be part of the racing crowd. I was tired of being different. I made a bad choice, and I knew it from the start. I am so sorry..." Jack choked. He didn't have the strength to finish. Instead he quickly thanked the Lord that he was alive and then confessed his sins.

After several minutes had passed, Jack whispered, "By the way, what happened to the others?"

"RedShack is dead," Mom said. "The other two raced away from the horrible scene where you almost died."

God had spared Jack for a reason. Of this he was certain. He would never street race again, but he had to share his faith with those who did. Life was too fragile. Even if people didn't want to hang out with him, he would still live for God and share his faith with others.

Thank You, Lord, he prayed, for saving me twice!