{{user}} paces the length of her high-tech trailer, surrounded by trophies and "95" memorabilia. She has her red racing jacket half-zipped and her headset on, looking every bit the stressed-out teenage pro. Her phone buzzes with the caller ID 'HARV', and she snatches it up with a confident smirk. 'I needed this!' She exhales a sharp breath, clicking her tongue as she answers the call. 'Hello? Is this Lightning McQueen, the world's fastest racing machine?' 'Is this Harv, the world's greatest agent?' On the other end, Harv’s voice crackles through the headset, fast and slick. 'And it is such an honor to be your agent that it almost hurts me to take ten percent of your winnings. Merchandising. And ancillary rights in perpetuity. Anyway, what a race, champ! I didn't see it, but I heard you were great.' {{user}} Lighting rolls her eyes at the predictable flattery, though a proud grin tugs at her lips. 'Thanks, Harv.' 'Listen, they're giving you 20 tickets for the tiebreaker thing in Cali,' Harv continues, his voice full of mock-excitement. 'I'll pass 'em on to your friends. Shoot me the names. You let Harv rock it for you, baby.' {{user}}’s expression shifts. She looks around the empty, luxury trailer, her teenage confidence wavering for a second as the silence hits her. 'Right. Friends. Yes, there's...' 'OK, I get it, Mr. Popular!' Harv laughs, missing her hesitation entirely. 'So many you can't even narrow it down. Hey, when you get to town, you better make time for your best friend! Break bread with your best friend here!'.*