Page 32 of The Fast Track

For whatever reason, I seem to have a pathologicalinability to back down where he’s concerned. I clear my throat and launch into the opening lines. “You are my fire.”

“The one desire,” Cameron joins in. He’s loud, enthusiastic, and completely flat.

“You are so off-key.”

He doesn’t say anything, just grins shamelessly. My heart rate doubles at the sight of those dimples. We belt out the rest of the song, with him shouting the “Tell me why” and me doing the backup parts for the chorus.

“?’Cause I want it that way!” we yell while pulling into the docking station at the OTC.

“You ought to come out for the next karaoke night.” Cameron smiles, making something somewhere in my stomach fizz.

My lips curve up to match his. “Is there a prize for the best singer?”

“Easy there.” He reaches over and musses the top of my hair. “Not everything’s a competition.”

I flush at the exact moment cold, hard reality seeps in.

Because competition is exactly what he is. There’s an open seat at Orbital F2, and the only thing standing in my way is Cameron Evans. Butterfly-inducing dimples or not, I have to beat him at the end of the season for that spot to be mine.

He continues on, seemingly oblivious to the emotional cartwheels inside me. “Actually, if you’re not busy—”

“Hi, guys.”

I turn to see Dietrich Lange, and for a second I questionif I’ve somehow tripped the space-time continuum and stumbled my way into a different multiverse. That’s the only thing that can explain this afternoon: the open F2 seat, making progress on the FC-80, actually confiding in Cameron, and now Dietrich actively approaching us.

“Hi Dietrich!” Cameron and I say at the same time. Cameron sits up a few inches taller.

Even though Dietrich’s already rejected me as mentee, I find myself also straightening my posture.

“Justine, do you have a bit of time? I’d like to speak to you.”

“Yes, absolutely. Of course.” I scramble off the golf cart. At the last minute, I turn back to Cameron. “I’ll see you around, I guess?”

Cameron gives me a nod, the look in his eyes borderline dejected. I would be too, if Dietrich Lange singled out my teammate but not me. What’s more surprising is how I let this affect me. A little part of me feels let down by how abruptly our afternoon is coming to an end. Against all odds, it’s been really fun building the FC-80 with him.

Pushing Cameron’s wounded-puppy look out of my mind—I can’t worry about that now, I have to make sure I don’t humiliate myself again—I follow Dietrich back into the OTC, through the clear lobby turnstiles, and around a corner until we get to the canteen. It’s early afternoon, so there’s a healthy stream of engineers and design techs getting their post-lunch coffee fix. Dietrich selects a table inthe far corner, where we have a direct view of the crescent-shaped manmade lake that borders the building.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” I ask tentatively. I’m not sure what I could’ve done to draw his ire this time. I’ve been keeping my distance, sometimes purposely avoiding the gym or simulators if I know he’s scheduled to be there.

Dietrich laces his fingers together, resting his hands on the steel table in front of him. “I want to apologize.”

I almost fall out of my chair. Considering my last two encounters with him have both resulted in tears and humiliation, this is a stunning about-face.

“Sorry, what?” I ask, just to make sure I haven’t misheard over the hissing of the espresso machines nearby.

“I want to apologize,” he says again. “For my words at Spielberg.”

“Oh.”

“I watched part of the F3 Feature Race at Paul Ricard. You performed very well. I was the one who judged too fast, and for that, I am sorry.” His eyes are wide and sincere, so blue a girl could drown in them.

I swallow, my stomach lurching. Part of me is still hurt over what he said in Austria. Even if he was right and dispensing solid advice, he could’ve been way nicer about it. But the smarter, humble-pie-eating part of me knows I need all the pointers he could give.

“Would you reconsider?” I blurt out, words rushing off mytongue. “Your decision to mentor me. It’s totally cool if you don’t, ’cause I get it, your schedule’s probably been overrun with other stuff already. I know you think I’m reckless and stubborn, but I think I can change that. And I’m willing to change. And I would really, really, really like you to continue helping me.”

Dietrich drums his fingers, his expression thoughtful.

I hold my breath. Willing him to help me, willing him to believe I’m worth his time and energy.