Page 3 of The Fast Track

“Excuse me, everyone, may I have your attention?” Lou taps into a handheld mic.

The hubbub dries to whispers, dregs of conversation wrapping up as all eyes pivot to the Big Boss.

Lou clears his throat. “We’re pleased to welcome everyone to Orbital’s kickoff for the racing season. Today we have with us our F1 drivers, as well as our junior drivers. We’re proud that among this group we not only have the reigning F1 champion, who came up through Orbital’s very own academy”—Lou pauses as cheers and claps burst from the guests—“but we also have a diverse group of young drivers in the pipeline.”

At theD-word Cameron, along with countless others, gives me the side-eye. The afternoon sun filtering in from the floor-to-ceiling steel-reinforced windows suddenly feels stifling. I tug at the edge of my starchy collar.

Lou continues on, “At Orbital, we fashion talent for the future. As part of this initiative, I’m happy to announce the launch of our mentorship program. Each of our young drivers in F2 and F3 will be paired with one of our two F1 drivers for individual coaching. We hope this will provide hands-on guidance to our juniors as they seek success.”

“Did Lou seriously say I’ll be getting an F1 mentor?” I turn to Roz.

She nods eagerly. “Brilliant, right?”

“I’m pleased to announce…”

I cross my fingers.Please let me get Dietrich. Please let me get Dietrich. Not that Jack, Orbital’s other F1 driver, isn’t also a respected talent. He’s just not Dietrich “Golden Boy” Lange, who controls his car like it’s an extension of himself.

A few feet away from me, Cameron stiffens and stares intently at Lou. He doesn’t notice me watching him, and I know he’s silently manifesting Dietrich too.

“Cameron Evans, Pat McCombe, and Caleb Reid will be paired with Jack Florent. Justine Kwong and Grayson Holmes will be paired with Dietrich Lange.”

Yes.

Yes, yes, and yes. Lou Wilson can’t tell me apart from a server and my own teammate thinks I’m a PR intern, but someone somewhere in the Orbital behemoth has decided I’m worth investing in, at least a little.

When they film my future biopic, this is going to be the turning point of the movie, followed by an epic training montage set to an inspirational rah-rah instrumental by Brian Tyler.

I give Roz’s hand an excited squeeze, eliciting a disgruntled “Ow!”

Lou hands off the mic, and the hum of conversation slowly resumes.

“This is so awesome.” I look over to where Dietrich is standing. The circle around him has grown five deep, and Iwonder how many sponsors I’m going to have to elbow aside to ask about our first meetup.

“Congrats!” Roz squeals. “Is this a dream or what?”

“A dream. Definitely a dream.”

Her eyes lock on to something behind my shoulder. “Oh my god, Grayson’s waving at me.”

I start to turn, but she grabs my shoulder. “Don’t look,” she hisses. “Or he’ll know we’re talking about him. Omigod, what do I do?”

“Go congratulate him,” I say, grinning. She’s harbored a crush on the F2 driver ever since she bumped into him and his “miraculous, life-changing” abs at the gym. “He got Dietrich too.”

“You’re right.” Roz takes a deep breath. “Calm, cool, collected,” she mutters, then waltzes off into the crowd faster than you can say “puppy love.”

I’m left standing by myself between the car displays, next to a glossy banner about the history of Orbital’s Young Driver Program. My right hand, the one not holding my drink, feels lame hanging there by itself. I place it on my hip. No, that’s what Britt would call “too confrontational.” I can hear it in her peppy accent now. I fold my hand across my stomach and tuck it in the crook of my left elbow. Too slouchy and insecure.

As I’m debating using my free hand to hold my phone—I can pretend I’m answering texts to seem busy and important and not awkward—Cameron walks by with Georgios Kallergis, our reserve driver.

“… crazy she was assigned to Dietrich,” Georgios is saying.

“Has she driven outside of the States?” Cameron replies.

“It’s all some tick-the-box publicity exercise. Her last category was FR Americas; that barely has competition.”

I don’t catch the rest of their words as they drift farther away, but their muttering leaves me with no doubt about what they’re chuckling over.

Heat spreads across my face. It’s one thing to read biting social media posts about how you’re the obligatory diversity hire from faceless strangers on the internet. It’s another entirely when the sentiment comes from your own team. Georgios isn’t wrong that the junior series in Europe is much tougher than the US equivalent, like making valedictorian at Harvard versus Illinois State. But still, beating out twenty-five other drivers—even though none were what any talent scouts on either side of the Atlantic would call “highly promising”—counts for something, doesn’t it?