She passes me my crash helmet as I balance it on the top of my head.
“I’ll be watching.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.” She winks and my heart booms in my chest.
Pulling the helmet down, I move towards the car, fingertips trailing across the halo before I climb in. My hands curl around as I slide down into the tight space of the car. The mechanics hand me my steering wheel and I lock it on, then they pass my gloves. They match my suit—dark grey, light grey, and yellow stripes which run up the side and across the shoulders.
They fix my water straw in and double check with me that everything feels okay. This car is made for me, and I need to make sure it is perfect at all times.
“Radio check.” Marcel is in my ear again.
“Gotcha.”
“Let’s go get them,” he says just as we’re rolling out to the grid.
The same words float through my mind at the beginning of each race or qualifying.
This.
This is what it’s all about.
This moment, just as you’re lowering yourself into the cockpit of the car.
Your mechanics are rallying around you, keeping the tyres warm and finishing their final checks. The engine vibrates under you, your fingers tingle as they lock around the steering wheel. You wait for this moment for what feels like forever.
This is where I was born to be. I’m free as a bird when I am tucked in here. No outside noise. No distraction.
Just me and the car.
Pulling into my spot, I sit tucked just behind my start line. I watch as the driver in third, Griffin, rolls forward slightly.
“Griffin has rolled off his start line,” I mutter into the mic.
“Noted.”
“Formation lap, Royce.” Marcel says as I push forward and follow the cars in front.
On the first straight, I swerve left and right slightly to keep my tyres warm, weaving around to get heat in the rubber. Filtering back to the grid, I feel the sweat prick at the back of my neck. My fingers tighten around the wheel before I flex my fingers.
“Okay, Royce, it’s a short sprint down to the first corner. Focus, eyes to the lights.”
I don’t respond. I never do on this radio message. It’s pretty much the same at the start of each race.
Inhaling deeply, I watch as each light turns red and I count down in my head. My heart stops. My fingers tighten. My breath goes shallow.
Foot to the floor, I pull away and get a good jump on Griffin, sliding down the outside of the track. I cautiously move across and up to third as I take the corner.
“Up to third,” Marcel confirms.
I shift down out of the corner and into sector one, gaining speed on Landon who is ahead of me. I stay steady, close to get a tow, but not close enough to make the overtake.
I fall back into fifth, but only momentarily until the two cars ahead of me pit. Gliding over the apex, the back end of my car gives out slightly, sliding but I catch it and I internally want to kick myself. It’s the same corner from qualifying.
When I’m driving, it’s as if I have tunnel vision. Everything else around me blurs, and I only focus on the car in front of me.
My eyes drop to my steering wheel, and I see I am already on lap fifteen. Checking my mirrors as I break out of sector two, the car glides around and pick up the pace on the straight.
