Page 27 of The Fast Track

My entire garage comes out to parc fermé to cheer: Roz bouncing up and down, waving her arms like she’s at one of the Ibiza music festivals she’s constantly telling me we needto go to; Mom with her giant DSLR glued to her face; the mechanics clapping and high-fiving one another. Looking at them, I feel the way the photographers make me look on Orbital promotional posters. Powerful. Unconquerable. On top of the world.

10.

Milton Keynes, United Kingdom

Orbital Racing Campus

Orbital Technology Center (OTC)

My next check-in with Frankis the first one where I haven’t felt like I’ll come out getting on a plane back to Chicago. No way they’ll cut my contract short, not when I’m officially a podium finisher and now a contender for the Drivers’ Championship. I’m still a chunk of points shy of Cameron and Sasha Devin in the standings, but it’s early enough that it can still be anyone’s season, including mine.

“Very nice work in France,” Frank says. “Exactly what we’re hoping to see.”

“Thank you.” I beam. Before I can help myself, I add, “There’s way more where that came from.”

I cringe. Apparently, I’m in my cheesy-motivational-poster era.

Luckily, Frank doesn’t seem to notice my corny faux pas.He leans forward in his mesh swivel chair, forearms resting on his industrial-style desk. “I’ve got a bit of news I’d like to share. I’ve been informed Jack Florent’s retiring at the end of the season. Grayson’ll be promoted up for next year.”

My pulse flutters. Grayson getting an F1 seat means his F2 seat will be up for grabs. Orbital can technically hire whoever they want for this spot, but as a general rule, teams like to promote from within—good endorsement and advertising for their young driver programs—which means there’s an excellent, excellent chance the open spot will go to me.

Or Cameron.

My heart vaults into my throat. “Have you decided who’s going to take the F2 spot?”

Frank shakes his head. “Not yet. We’re not likely to finalize the decision until the end of the season.”

“I think I would be a great candidate,” I blurt out, wishing for once Mom were in the room with me. She’s so much better at the unabashedly-selling-yourself thing than I am.

“We think you are too,” Frank says. I can’t tell if he’s being sincere or just placating me so I don’t blather on. “That being said, there can be so much change still. Lou Wilson prefers to preserve optionality at this point in time.”

Translation: They’re going to torture me and wait until the end of the season to announce if it’s me or Cameron.

“Is there anything I can do to increase my chances?” I ask.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” Frank says with a frustratingly inscrutable smile on his face.

I leave Frank’s office with my head whirring and my palms sweaty.

There is an open seat at Orbital F2.

There is an open seat at Orbital F2, and if I play my cards right, it can be mine. All the best drivers move up the ranks quickly. If I can secure an F2 seat after one year in F3, it’ll get me noticed and promoted to F1 that much faster.

Fantastical scenes dance through my mind. Driving at F2’s top speed of 200 mph. Leveling up one more step. Being only a breath away from F1.

I round the corner and bump head-on into Cameron.

My tote bag drops, its contents spilling onto the polished linoleum—lip gloss, hair ties, and, much to my horror, an entire week’s supply of tampons.

“Where’re you skating off to?” He snorts.

I fall to my knees and scrabble toward the tampons, shoveling them into my bag as fast as I can.

Cameron bends down next to me, a Tampax Light dangerously close to his white sneakers. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice as he picks up my phone charger. “You wanna head over to Lot 19 now?”

In the excitement of Frank’s news, I completely forgot next up on my schedule for the day was an FC-80 building session.

“Right, of course. Lot 19.” I wonder if Frank’s told him about the open F2 seat already. I sincerely hope not. I want to be their lead horse, the only one Frank gave a special heads-up to.