“I don’t need his help,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She almost meant it. Without exception, Leo had been nothing but kind to her, but she’d been so mad at her inability to manage the car and her lapse in judgment over the weekend that she’d taken her wrath out on anyone in her way. Doubly so on Leo when he’d tried to give her some pointers during a break in his own practice.
She started to shake with the letdown of adrenaline and ego. Janet stepped into Mack’s personal space. “If you’re going to act like a snotty little girl, I’ll treat you like one. Yes, it can be frustrating to learn a new car. Yes, it takes time, and no, we do not have time. But acting like an asshole does nothing to help you or your team. I thought you were a grown up. Act like a professional or you can go back home to Nowhere, Indiana.”
Around Gasoline Alley, the sounds of racing churned as teams returned to their garages. Teams laughed and discussed strategy and setup, drivers chatted to mechanics and team owners, crew members industriously moved equipment. In the garage bay next door, Mack could hear Leo talking with his engineer. She stood alone with her attitude and the pile of gear she’d dropped on the ground, feeling like she’d already screwed up her last chance at the Indy 500.
Texts From Wes Williams to Mack Williams
Mack[5/12, 8:10 p.m.]: Thanks for listening. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop crying. Today was fucking hard.
Wes[5/12, 8:10 p.m.]: u never have to thx me for anything, Spec. I love u
Mack[5/12, 8:10 p.m.]: I’m so embarrassed. I acted worse than Shaw as a toddler. Remember the time she had a meltdown in the snack aisle at Wesselman’s? A million times worse.
Wes[5/12, 8:11 p.m.]: Did you bite someone?
Mack[5/12, 8:11 p.m.]: Ha! No.
Wes[5/12, 8:11 p.m.]: So maybe only 10x worse
Mack[5/12, 8:11 p.m.]: Gee thaaaaaanks
Wes[5/12, 8:12 p.m.]: all you can do is move forward tomorrow.
Mack[5/12, 8:14 p.m.]: I wish it were that easy. These cars are harder than anything I’ve ever driven.
Wes[5/12, 8:14 p.m.]: wut about ur team? Raisman?
Mack[5/12, 8:15 p.m.]: What about them?
Wes[5/12, 8:15 p.m.]: get to know them. ask for help
Mack[5/12, 8:18 p.m.]: Yeah. Ok I’m going to bed. Goodnight dad. I love you. Kiss Shaw for me.
Wes[5/12, 8:18 p.m.]: g’night Spec. u’ll figure it out. U always do
Chapter 13
11 days until the Indianapolis 500
“Try to release the anti-roll bar as you exit the turn.”
Jimmy’s instruction crackled through Mack’s earpiece and she cringed in frustration. For the second practice day in a row, Mack’s speeds were abysmal.
She’d vowed to show up fresh and friendly, but instead she arrived twenty minutes late because she’d forgotten to put her Nomex in the washing machine the night before. Like her clothing, the day stank. The crew treated her with an icy tolerance she knew she deserved, and the car didn’t seem to think she was worthy either.
For the last hour, she’d plugged through the same pattern: run a dozen laps before coming back into the pits so the crew could make adjustments to the car, Janet would offer her opinion on what Mack was doing wrong, then she’d go back out to run laps. This time, Mack held her tongue and tried everything, but nothing worked. Somehow her speeds kept gettingslower. Gusting winds swept the track, and Mack lifted her foot off the accelerator in turns two and four to keep from smacking the outside. On her last run, she’d hardly managed two hundred fifteen, which would not only keep her out of the race, but create unsafe conditions for other drivers on the track. Which she knew because more than one driver had screamed at her spotter, and in one case, directly at her while Mack caught her breath on pit lane.
Meanwhile, Leo was running in the top five, making practice look like a lazy amusement park ride. She knew she owed him an apology for yesterday, and yet she ignored him in the garage that morning, as immature as her ten-year-old daughter when she didn’t get her way. Mack suspected he’d be kind and forgiving, and she didn’t want his absolution. Did not deserve it. She’d managed to avoid him before practice, but shamelessly watched him on track, admiring his consistent, steady laps.
Back on track once more, her hands hurt from gripping the wheel, her hips ached with the unfamiliar reclined position, and she’d sweat through her fire suit so thoroughly she could feel the moisture pooling in her ass crack. Mack held her breath as she steered into turn two, grimacing as she pushed left as hard as she possibly could, her wrists sore from the previous day’s effort. The back end of the car pulled hard to the right, the front end wanting to go directly into the wall. As she headed down the back stretch of the track, Jimmy’s voice crackled over the radio.
“How’s it feel?”
“Almost lost the back in two but also have push. Understeer still there.”
The line buzzed with the quiet line of the open radio. “Better or worse than yesterday, or can you tell?”
Mack wrestled the high-strung car through another two turns before radioing back, “I’m trying not to hit the wall on every turn. Car wants to go straight.”
