Chapter 39
JULES
AUSTIN, TEXAS
Ash’s sweaty hand seizes my arm.‘LOOK! IT’S TIME!’
Flashes of blue and white sneak through the railings.
‘I seepom-poms, Julesy!’
We launch to our feet and start screaming their names as the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders skip onto the track, much to the annoyance of the die-hard motorsport-loving pricks around us, mumbling not-so-quietly about women and races. We hold our breath through the opening bars of ‘Thunderstruck’.
American races are so different to European races – it’s like the Super Bowl with fast cars. There’s an NFL-style driver presentation, celebrity appearances, military flyover, concerts, experience zones, and, my favourite, cheerleaders. In Europe, the racing is the centrepiece. Both work for me – in Europe, I’m part of motorsport circles; here, I’m part of celebrity culture.
‘This is the best moment of my life,’ Ash breathes.
I tear my eyes away from their hallowed routine. ‘Not, like, when you passed the bar?’
‘Nah, I was too tired. Do you think my cutout of Reece will freak her out?’ She wafts a giant cardboard face belonging to one of the DCC’s most famous cheerleaders.
‘Yes,’ I retort immediately. ‘I told you that in the hotel. Keep it on the floor. It’ll be a good sunshade when they’re done.’
Ash nods firmly. ‘I wish Minnie were here.’
‘Me too. Screw real jobs.’
She cackles.
We gasp as the pom-poms are thrown on the floor and they launch into high kicks that look even crisper than on the Netflix show. I can’t even do a handstand. They jump into splits and we flinch as they land on the hard concrete, beams unwavering. This would never happen at home. Brits would never hurt themselves in the name of enthusiasm.
Ash pounds her hands together. I wouldn’t be surprised if the girls could hear her all the way down there. ‘Sublime. Ten out of ten.’
‘I’m starting to think you came here just for this – not to support your best friends,’ I comment as we sit back on the burning stand.
She shovels popcorn into her mouth. ‘That’s absolutely true, and I regret nothing. We saw ‘Thunderstruck’live.’
‘Fair.’
She awkwardly fans herself with Reece’s big face as the track clears and the drivers make their way to the front. I can make out Tiago with no effort – a beacon of colour amidst shades of blue and black. I can’t see much but he looks good. Relaxed, coifed, and cooler than the other drivers.
‘I’m baking,’ Ash moans.
It’s bloody hot. Half the spectators around us are already red. Lucky we bought cowboy hats in the paddock or we’d have heatstroke by now. ‘You should’ve been in Miami. It’s so humid, you could slice through the air with a knife.’
‘Polite decline.’
Just when I thought it couldn’t get more American, a country singer starts singing the national anthem like it touches her soul.
‘God,’ Ash winces. ‘America.’
I’m about to agree but then I remind myself that Tiago’s from here, and he’s shown me a side of it that’s far from the endless hype and pageantry. Family and food. Loyalty and generosity. Inclusivity and warmth. Though Austin could be a different continent to Miami for how different it feels.
I cringe when a celebrity I don’t recognise yells, ‘Start your engines!’ into the loudspeaker.
‘Jesus,’ Ash mutters, turning her attention to her phone.
I hope Nyla’s getting some good content down there. I thought I caught a glimpse of her during the grid walk but I haven’t seen her since. Queen Serena Williams is supposed to be here.
