“I’m not going to go to school at all,” I say irritably. “And I’ve already turned down the ones I got into. I’m going to stay here in London.”
“And do what, exactly?” my father demands. “You can’t get a good job these days without any education.”
“I’m trying to get back into racing,” I say. “I’ve... got a meeting with Crosswire Racing next week.”
I feel a familiar rush of excitement and terror as I say it. I e-mailed them when Kelsie and I got home from dinner at that Indian place, telling them how I’ve recovered and am cleared for racing again, and asking if they might still want to meet with me. Kelsie and I had this whole plan of going out to a club and drinking all night to distract me after I sent it, but before she’d even finished doing her makeup, they e-mailed back.
And they offered to meet with me, next Tuesday.
“What?” my mother says thinly.
My father looks shocked. “They’ve offered you a job?”
“Well—no.” My cheeks color. “I just reached out to see if they would meet with me.”
“Oh.” My mother settles back in her chair. “Well, darling, that’s very nice of them, but that doesn’t mean they have a job for you.”
“I know that,” I say tightly.
“You should’ve reached out to Porteo, if you wanted to race again,” my father says. “But now they’ve signed that Brazilian kid, they won’t have a seat for you. I spoke with Carl a while ago, he says he’s the best racer they’ve ever had.”
Kelsie’s head snaps up, her expression indignant. She holds up the “Unreasonable” note and taps it furiously.
“Why are you talking to Carl?” I snap. Carl is the team boss at Porteo.
My father frowns. “Carl is an old friend. He reached out to see how you were doing.”
Oh he did, did he? I grind my teeth together. I guess he didn’t bother mentioning they’d turned me down.
“I’m just saying, you shouldn’t get your hopes up,” my father says.
“And are you really well enough to race?” my mother adds. “I think you’d find it a lot harder than you realize, getting back in a car after what happened to you.”
“I’m not scared of racing. The crash was shitty luck—”
“Please don’t swear.”
“—but what do you want me to do, go around being scared the rest of my life? I could get hit by a bus walking out of the apartment tomorrow, or get cancer or something. Iwantto race.”
“Yes, well, so do a lot of people,” my father says. “Sometimes you have to adjust your expectations in life.”
I press my knuckles into my forehead. There’s an awful pressure in my head, like someone’s put a tight elastic band aroundit. “Great advice,” I say shortly. “Thanks. Either way, even if the Crosswire meeting goes nowhere, I’m staying in London.”
“Darling—”
“I’m twenty-three, mom,” I snap. “What do you think I’m going to do, live at home forever?”
“You’ve been injured...”
“Yeah, and I’m better now.”
“You need someone to take care of you.”
I don’t need Kelsie waving the “Unreasonable” note around. I know it is. “No, I don’t,” I say firmly. “I’m an adult. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re an adult,” my father repeats acerbically. “Anadultwould recognize how hard it is for your mother to watch you try to put your life at risk again, just to chase after an impossible dream.”
I throw my hands up. “So, what? You want me to make all my life decisions based on how you two feel about them?”
