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Going into that first corner, I can see the tires twitch. Jameson hangs in too late.
Megan grips my arm. “If he lights up the rear tires again, he’s done.”
“I know.” I’m already running down to the garage and Jameson’s engineer. “You need to reduce the tire pressure when he comes in. He’s not driving clean enough. If he lights up the back again, he’ll lose control.”
The engineer looks at me but finally nods.
It’s neck and neck for the top four. I see one more case of oversteer in a corner and my heart is in my throat.
On the team radio, Jameson’s lead engineer tells him to pit the next lap. “I recommend scaling back pressure for the rears for stability.”
There’s a pause. “No.”
Jameson heads for the pits and all I can do is watch.
My heart is in my throat when he goes back out without making a single change to the car.
This isn’t what I meant when I said we should take a risk. All of our projections were based on him driving perfectly, not on edge.
When I return to the railing, Megan’s motionless beside me, eyes locked on the timing screen. “He could clean it up himself.”
I look at her. “He has to be perfect.”
I wait for him to make a mistake, holding my breath until spots appear behind my eyes.
But it never happens. He cleans up his corners. He drives as if we never fought this morning, as if he didn’t walk in on me and Theo last night.
Cheers go up from the stands, the thousands of fans who came to see the future of F1 racing as Jameson flies past the checkered flag in first with seconds to spare.
“He won! We won!” Megan grips me as she jumps up and down, watching from the wall as champagne explodes and fans erupt.
Awe fills me. It’s one thing to know you have a chance at being first, another to achieve it.
As Jameson’s name and photo appear across the digital scoreboard, I’m giddy.
But I’m a little numb, too.
The ice sculpture is overkill.
When we were told about the gala after the first race, I wasn’t expecting red carpets and spectacle. Still, it’s the life-sized F1 car, expertly cut from a single block of ice and surrounded by roses on the dais, that puts it over the top.
“I want to drive it home,” Raj says wistfully.
Zane snorts. “All the way from Austin? You’ll freeze your balls off.”
“It would be an improvement on the scooter,” Megan decides.
The celebrations after the race are out of this world. The drivers put it on the line today, and ARI corporate did their part tonight.
“Glad I brought a backup outfit.” Megan nods to me. “It looks better on you anyway.”
The black shift dress is slit high up one thigh. The shoes are black sparkly heels, and Megan found another classmate who lent them to us “for a good cause.”
“No one cares what I wear,” I insist, tugging down the skirt as a breeze blows through, making me shiver and long for a sweater.
“Incorrect,” Theo says, descending. “We are all very grateful for this dress.”
He pulls me into a hug, his chest hard and warm through the formal clothes.
