The driving instructor, Mr. Clutch, looked terrified. He was gripping the dashboard so hard his knuckles were white.
"Mr. Finch," Mr. Clutch whispered. "The speed limit is thirty. You are doing forty."
Alex sat in the driver's seat of the small Ford Fiesta. He was gripping the steering wheel at ten and two.
"I calculated the drag coefficient," Alex said calmly. "At this speed, we optimize fuel efficiency by 4.2 percent."
"We optimize crashing into a bus!" Mr. Clutch squeaked. "Please, slow down. Brake."
Alex pressed the brake. The car jerked to a stop.
Mark was sitting in the back seat. He was wearing a chauffeur's hat and eating a bag of crisps.
"To the Batcave, James!" Mark shouted.
"My name is not James," Alex sighed. "And we are going to the training ground, not a cave."
"Details," Mark waved his hand. "Drive faster! I have a meeting with a sandwich!"
