Page 1 of Too Fast To Fall
Gus
One thing is true of all dogs, including me. We crave attention. And love. And belly rubs. But more than anything, attention.Love is my weakness. I need it. I’ve been like this since I was a puppy. When I don’t have love or attention, I get in trouble.I feel bad when it happens. But is it bad to get in trouble if it eventually leads to love? I think not.
Today I’m in trouble again. Another unhappy dog sitter and my human, Emilio Baquero, are arguing. I’m stuck in the middle.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Baquero,” the dog sitter says. I don’t remember her name.
Emilio is sitting on the couch in his driver’s room. I love him so much. He’s the best. I hate that he’s been having a hardyear. His parents aren’t together anymore. His girlfriend left. His season isn’t going well. I don’t know much about beinga Formula One driver, but I don’t think it’s easy.
“I don’t know how to say this, but...” That’s the dog sitter again. She sounds frustrated. She points at me. I try to makesense of it. Of what she’s trying to say. Hold on. Is she?Oh, God.Is she going to say what I think she’s going to say? Am Ia bad boy?
“Gus is a nightmare.”
I am so relieved. At least I’m not a bad boy. My reputation is intact.
“A nightmare?He’s the sweetest dog in the world.” Emilio is right. I am sweet. I’m adorable. Floppy ears. Golden coat. Paws that are toobig for my body. You know what they say about big paws. Ha ha.
“He’s... he’s... an escape artist,” the dog sitter says.
An artist? Interesting. I want to love her for saying that. I don’t. She’s the worst. Why did I escape? Please refer to myearlier commentary about love and attention.
“You’re quitting? Now?” Emilio asks.
I hate seeing him sad. I nudge at his arm with my nose. He smells like he’s been in the car. Kind of sweaty from practice.I still love him. No matter how he smells. He’s my guy.
“I have a race tomorrow. Qualifying is in a few hours,” Emilio says.
I whimper. I’m sorry. I feel terrible. All I wanted was some love.
The dog sitter grabs her bag. She opens the door. “Not my problem.”
And... she’s gone.
Emilio sighs. He cups my face in his hands and peers down at me. He has nice eyes. A little sad, but still full of love. “Whatam I going to do with you, Gus?” He ruffles my ears. “I wish I could find the right dog sitter for you. Someone nice. Who’lllove you like I do.”
I wag my tail so fast I’m surprised I’m still standing. That’s exactly what we need. And as soon as Emilio finds this person,I swear I will not let them go.
One
Emilio stalked through the garage after qualifying, sweaty and frustrated. A twelfth-place finish, meaning he’d be startingon the back half of the grid in the race tomorrow. Not what he’d hoped to achieve. Not even close.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” his race engineer, Tom, said. “Your lap times have really improved over the last two days. You’remaking strides. It just might not feel like it after last year.”
Last year.Emilio’s driving life had been dramatically different then. He was racing for Vermillion, on top of the world in a car thatflew every race weekend. He’d felt invincible. And he was. He’d reached his greatest goal in life. He’d won his first worlddriver’s championship at the age of twenty-nine. Then things went to shit for reasons that had nothing to do with driving.He still wondered if he’d made a tragic mistake. His stint at his new team, Mega Racing, wasn’t off to a great start. Thusfar, he’d finished behind his teammate, British driver Xander Bishop, at every race. It was still early in the season, butin Formula One, if you finished behind your teammate, you were a loser. There were only two of you—someone had to come inlast. Emilio hated coming in last.
“Thank you for your hard work. We’ll see what we can do in the race tomorrow.” Emilio stepped closer to his engineer’s screen.“How is Xander doing?” It was the closing minutes of the third and final stint in qualifying. Soon, they’d know where Xanderwould be lining up on the grid tomorrow.
“Unless something dramatic happens, he should be able to hold on to P5.”
Seven places better than me? What in the hell am I doing?“I’m going to endure the media pen. Can’t wait to get that out of the way.”
“Good luck,” Tom said.
Emilio emerged from the back of the garage and was greeted by Isabel, one of the PR handlers for the team. She was clutchingher clipboard and wearing a fake smile. “There he is.”
“Don’t spin it. I sucked.”
Isabel started for the media center. “Don’t say that to the eight drivers starting behind you tomorrow.”
