“For funsies, obvi.”
Did she just abbreviate obviously,out loud?
Jesus Christ.
“Don’t you have work to be doing for Elio?”
“Nah.” Amanda pops her gum. “I’ve already dealt with everything I need to today.”
“He won’t need you after he’s done with his simulations?” I ask doubtfully.
“If he does, he can just text,” she says cheerfully. “So, coffee?”
“I guess,” I say dubiously.
I haven’t been assigned a workstation just yet, though Oliver mentioned he could find something for me in theAnalysts Cave, as he called it, when he was on his first cookie.
For now, the cafeteria is as good a place to work as any.
“The coffee here totally sucks, but it’s better than nothing. Follow me!”
The cafeteria is anythingbuta cafeteria; it looks like the dining court of a high-end mall. Smooth countertops line the far wall beneath a row of mounted TV screens, each of them cycling through race highlights on mute. An actualcafésits in the corner, all dark wood and brushed steel, with a barista working an espresso machine that probably costs more than my rent. There are different seating options—a few long, communal tables claimed by clusters of engineers hunched over laptops, and severalsmaller, round tables near floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the factory floor.
Ten minutes later, Amanda’s dragged me to one of the round tables in the corner of the room, and we’re seated beneath faintly buzzing overhead lights. Both of us are armed with oat milk lattes with vanilla cold foam. I had no say in the order; Amanda insisted it was the best thing to get.
I had no idea what a fucking oatmilk latte was before today, and I’m never having one again. It just tasteswrong.I like my coffee cheap and black.
Amanda’s rapidly typing away on her phone, while I’m scanning through Oliver’s email and the many,manyrace files he sent over. The files from the last six months open right up, but the archived data will take alotmore work to get through. There’s tons of good information—I might actually be able to record and formulate all the variables I need for my algorithm from this alone. Then, all I have to do is translate a hundred thousand lines of raw data into something my program can understand, train it, and test it.Supereasy stuff.
“Sooo,” Amanda drawls. She’s already halfway done with her cup, while I’ve barely managed to take two sips of mine, and only out of politeness. “How are you liking the team?”
“It’s fine,” I murmur, scanning stats from last season. There’s great information here that’s not publicly available and will beimmenselyuseful for training my algorithm.
“Yeah? Got any favorites?”
“Sure.” I’m barely listening, and I don’t feel like pretending. If insulting my clothes and insisting I get a bullshit latte is Amanda’s idea of a fun time, I don’t think we’re going to get along very well.
My brows slam down when I see major discrepancies in Elio’s driving. “What the fuck crawled up Elio’s ass on September 13th?”
“Oh, last year?” Amanda pauses. “I think that was the day after he caught his girlfriend cheating on him.” I look up, surprised, and she leans forward conspiratorially. “Get this; she was with his own personal trainer.”
I blink slowly. That’s actually… surprisingly helpful information.
I scroll a bit, finding another odd-out race. “What about October 11th?”
“An article came out that speculated he’s gay,andI fucked up his matcha order. He had a meltdown and nearly fired me.”
This shit belongs on reality TV. Seriously, the Kardashians would be jealous.
“Uh-huh.” I hadn’t considered that emotions should be a programmed variable, but they obviously have a huge impact on driver performance.
“So, do you think anyone’s cute?” Amanda asks. “Personally, I think the team’s filled up with hotties.”
I recognize Amanda’s type. Chatty, prone to gossip, but not necessarily malicious. Strangely enough… that might make her genuinely useful. Maybe itwouldbe a good thing to make nice with her—she’s just answered questions I’d have spent weeks scratching my head over.
“Not really.” What Idothink is that Amanda’s trying to case me and pull information out of me, though I have no idea why. Right now, I don’t particularly care.
“No?” a look of utter confusion wipes away Amanda’s smile. “Really?Not even Elio?”
