For as long as he could remember, he had been thought of as either a sweet little boy, a source of amusement for bullies, or a waste of space. He had never really bothered to convince anyone otherwise; as long as he had his music collection, he could handle whatever the jerks, teachers, and his parents threw at him. But now Devon Montgomery Johnson the Third was 21 years old wanted to change. For the first time in his short life, he had his natural color (a rather dull shade of gold) painted over and was now headed to a party.

Devon arrived at the party a good half hour after it had started and immediately felt a bit lost. Lots of cars in their early twenties were dancing about and yelling, while somehow still managing to stuff lots of food and drink into their mouths. He wondered if he would be able to get up the courage to join in.

"Feeling a bit lost?"

Devon turned around to look at the purple, orange and green tuner car (with an absolutely massive spoiler!) who had just spoken to him. "Maybe a bit," he said warily.

The brightly colored car looked amused. "Don't worry, only popular or delusional cars are comfortable at parties like this"-at this point he realized that Devon's nervousness was partly directed at him-"and I only act like a jerk most of the time. Not all the time. I'm called Wingo by the way."

Devon couldn't help laughing at Wingo's honesty. "Nice to meet you," he said with a slight smile, "I'm just called Devon Johnson."

"Devon Johnson?" Wingo asked, "I think I've heard of you. You bought all the CDs from some local record store last year before it closed, or so I heard."

"That sounds about right..." Devon said, hoping that Wingo wasn't going to start calling him names or laughing at him for being a music geek.

Wingo grinned. "Well then, I have a great idea for you."

"...Yes?" Devon's nervousness was becoming more visible by the second.

Wingo spun around to look at the party. "Boost!" he screeched

Devon blinked.

A silver and purple tuner car lazily drove over, glaring at the flocks of adoring cars who tried to follow him. He eyed Devon like he thought Devon might be a bad tempered lemon in disguise, then turned to look at Wingo. "What are you planning now, Wingo?"

"Well..." said Wingo with a smile which almost didn't look evil, "You know, of course, that a gang with two members is hardly a gang at all..."

Boost tapped his tire impatiently.

Wingo looked at Devon, then, Boost, then back at Devon. "Devon, this is Boost. Boost is a crazy daredevil road racing, nitrous-using freak. He's as nice a car as any you'll ever meet. Boost, this is Devon. He's an audiophile."

"Aw shucks, I'm no audiophile," Devon muttered, blushing. As his new paint job was a dark blue, this made his face turn slightly purple.

"If you say so," said Wingo, amused.

Boost glared at Wingo. "You still haven't told us what you're planning, kid."

Wingo took a deep breath. "I want Devon to join us in travelling the US and causing trouble. We need someone who knows more than three albums to be our DJ. Heck, even his name is right for the job! It's Devon Johnson, for crying out loud!"

"Okay then," Boost said tolerantly.

Devon stared at Wingo. "What makes you think that I want to hang out with a couple of delinquent road hazards?" he spluttered.

"We have ethics! We never physically injure other cars unless they attack us first. And I could equip you with an epic sound system and paint job," Wingo said.

Devon's rearview mirrors noticeably shot up. He couldn't help feeling tempted by an offer like that!

"Come on," Wingo pleaded, "just for a week?"

Slowly, Devon nodded his hood.