‘Okay. Okay, yeah. What scenario?’
Afonso pauses for a moment. ‘Scenario B. We fight back.’
I swallow. Fighting back is a gamble. I’m not suffering tyre degradation right now, going this slowly, but if I go in for the fight and he fazes me enough, it’s possible.
I think of the indoor turf in Leblon, and I picture Shantal onthe field as I darted around her with the ball. I remember the way she saved her movements for the moment when she knew they’d hold value – when she knew she could take advantage of my exhaustion, sneaking an orange-cleated foot around mine and towards the ball. Explosive motions, or whatever she’d called it.
I chuckle quietly. Time to say a little prayer.
‘Car going in on the next lap.’
With a careful exhale, I adjust my grip in preparation for the fight. He’s right up behind me. When we restart, we’ll get in easily – his medium compound tyres are brand-new, same as mine.
In front of me, the safety car moves aside, and it’s up into the ramp. Green flags wave clear ahead.
I just slightly accelerate into the next gear, turning to close a potential gap when Miguel lurches forward behind me. The fight is on, and Miguel is pushing with as much aggression as he has. No order from the team means open season.
Miguel is the most terrifying son of a bitch anyone would want to see in their mirror, and when he darts into the barest of gaps on the next laps, I’m too rattled to catch it. He’s slipping into it, and the only thing that saves me from obliteration is the end of the turn, when we straighten up, and I’m still slightly ahead.Crap.
It’s a hunt for the next few laps. I up my pace just enough to keep him from closing in. He’s got DRS – he’s pushing harder than I am. I need Miguel’s tyres to have suffered just enough to slow him down, preferably within the next few minutes.
‘Delta closing. One point five. One point three. One one five. He is about point three faster. Point five faster,’ Afonso reports to me as we log lap after lap.Faster?How is this guy goingfaster?
All I can do is push. I push until we have three laps. I holdhim off, defending like my life depends on it – which it might.No gap. No gap.
My tyres are the first to cross the line on the last lap.
I’m practically dizzy, light-headed with shock when it hits me that Idid it. We’ve won the first race of the year, which is exactly what Afonso is yelling as I yell with him.
‘FIRST RACE, DARIEN!’
‘YO! WE DID THIS!’
‘WE DID THIS!’
I pump a fist in the air as I slow my car down close to the fence along the straight where our pit crew have climbed up on the gates and lean over the top with huge grins that I return, even though they can’t see my face. And among the throngs of crew members, hands gripping the fencing, is Shantal.
I’m not completely sure what’s gotten into the woman, owner ofthemost upset scowl under the sun, but she’s grinning like nuts right now, and I’m not mad about it. Sure, that’s in part because it’s her technical genius that helped me in this race. But there’s something else under the surface. Seeing her smile – seeingher– is a dream come true.
My visor is still down, but I like to think that our gazes meet for just a moment when I take the flag from my mechanics and hoist it in the air, waving it over my head as I run my victory lap before pulling up to the P1 marker at the end of the line. It’s unreal, the front of my car touching that board as I stand on my chassis and raise the flag.
Screw the ultimatum. Screw the stakes. I’m here to stay.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Shantal
My heart flutters when Darien drives by the fences, and it doesn’t stop all the way to the podium, beneath which our team stands as the national anthems are played: first that of Brazil, and then Germany, Heidelberg’s mother country. It doesn’t stop when Darien lifts the first trophy of the season, the first win of the season, when he sprays Miguel and Diana with champagne – a predictable top three, I am being told. Even when he gets down from the podium and runs straight to the team with his arms wide, it keeps on fluttering.
I head towards my room in the hotel at the end of it all. But prior to so much as opening my door, I realize I’ve got a guest. Someone new is sitting outside my door in a basket filled with chocolates and tinsel.
I slowly approach the doorframe, where my intruder has made himself comfortable by the threshold. He is a fuzzy white teddy bear with happy eyes and a little smile, sitting in a wicker basket. He holds a plastic heart full of Jolly Rancher sweets ina rainbow of colours. Written across the heart in white cursive are three words: ‘Thank you, Shantal.’
I pick up a little card that sits beside the bear. Written inside in messy but bubbly handwriting is a short explanation for my visitor.
Shantal,
Like I said. I hope you remember. You deserve your flowers. This isn’t nearly enough but this was the best bear I could find. I hope you like him, and give him a good name.
