“Zo is participating in the race!” she exclaims.
I nod, dazed. “In a yellow car.”
Why the hell didn’t he tell me about it? A voice answers my question in my head: You haven’t spoken with him in a week.
A massive crowd is shouting his name. Lyn and I glance at each other.
“I need to know about something Zo can’t do, or I won’t be able to die peacefully,” she says.
“He doesn’t know about people’s love,” I tell her, ensuring she can die peacefully.
The race begins.
Lyn and I try our best to spot the cars of Zoan and Roxion, but only fleeting glimpses of their vehicles are visible.
“Is it just me, or are you also unable to spot any car?” she asks.
“I don’t think anyone can see these cars. People must be shouting blindly,” I lean back in my chair.
She mirrors my movement.
It takes us exactly one minute to decide we are definitely not fans of this sport.
I laugh. “You know what I told Roxion? I told him I love high-speed vehicles. How will I even show him my face?”
“Just tell him you loved it. He was so good, you were shouting for him the entire time,” she chuckles.
We chat for the next hour and a half, completely immersed in our own world, ignoring the shouts and cries of the frenzied crowd, who I still can’t believe can see anything clearly.
The door of our sitting area opens, we turn to see Leo entering.
“Let’s go.”
Our first instinct is to glance down, then back up at the screen. “The race finished,” I tell myself and Lyn.
“And Zo wins!” Lyn exclaims.
“There’s nothing new in Zo’s winning,” Leo says casually.
We rise from our chairs, which we had reclined to almost lying level. We grab our jackets and slide them on, New York isn’t as pleasant in late October as San Diego.
“Where were you sitting?” I ask him.
He gestures toward a glass cabin clearly visible from ours, though we hadn’t noticed him.
As we walk down the hallways, people are celebrating Roxion’s second-place finish wildly.
“Why are they going so crazy over Roxion coming second?” I ask Leo.
“They won the money they bet on Roxion,” he explains.
“Then those who bet on Zo must be even crazier,” Lyn says.
Leo leans closer to her, his tone unusually sweet. “Zo is off the betting charts, angel. Whenever he participates, people only bet on the second position.”
“My name is Iselyn, and I don’t like strangers calling me by different names,” she retorts sharply.
This is far more interesting than the race. Well, watching pigeons fly is also more interesting than that race.
