After the screens are placed over his halo, Julien checks his telemetry. It’s about what he expects—he needs to do better. Hisattention slides from numbers and graphs to a close up of his own eyes on the broadcast screen.
That’s weird. They must be talking about him. Julien tries to avoid the leaderboard, but his curiosity is too much, and he scans the names for his own.
He’s fifth.
Holy shit, he’s infifth place!
Well, he’s running with low fuel and the other teams are probably sandbagging like Thomas is, but it’s still proof Julien belongs here. Even after threeyears, he still has it. He can pick up exactly where he left off.
After some minor adjustments, he’ll be winning in no time.
A tap to his helmet and Julien looks up. Why is Thomas out of his car? Isn’t he driving this session?
“It’ll get easier, frérot.”
Easier? P5 is phenomenal for a guy who drives his computer more often than a real car. A guy who?—
Wait.
Thomas.
Dubois.
With a sinking feeling, Julien checks the timing chart again. Shit.
He’s not the “DUB” Ferraro—he’s the “DUO” Ferraro. The one in seventeenth. The one who would be last place if both Sobbers weren’t reading as “IN PIT” and the Andes hadn’t lost his time to track limits.
Thomas is the Dubois who dragged a sandbagged car up into fifth place.
He leans over the halo and points at the telemetry.“This is where you’re having the most problems. You don’t trust your brake enough, so you slow too early.”
The Andes finishes his second lap and leapfrogs Julien on the timing chart. Eighteenth now. If there was a podium for last place, he’d receive a trophy.
The broadcast switches from the track to inside the Ferraro garage, to the image of Thomas teaching hisbaby brotherhow to drive.
Hisbaby brotheris nearly last place in a top field car. Because hisbaby brotherdoesn’t know anything about racing. He’s only on the team because Thomas is so good he can make anybody—even a nobody like hisbaby brother—a better driver just by gracing them with his presence.
Pathetic. Insulting.
This is the absolute worst-case scenario.
“Thomas.”Julien interrupts his brother’s rant about everything he failed at. “Could you please leave? I can take it from here.”
“Quoi?”Thankfully, Thomas pulls back. “I am just trying to help.”
“I know, but could we do this after practice? I wanna try and figure it out myself first.”
I didn’t ask for help. I’m still an athlete.
Shut up, Rafael.
“Of course,mon chou.” Thomas kisses the top of Julien’s bug and dirt-splattered helmet before he leaves and the entire embarrassing interaction is caught and broadcasted out to the world.
Julien wants to grab his brother and shake him. To yell that he’s twenty-four now—that he’s anadultwho doesn’t needforehead kisses.
Before that, he needs to finish better than eighteenth.
Julien checks the telemetry again and mimes pressing on the brakes as he imagines each turn.
