Page 41 of The Fast Track

“Hey. What’s wrong?” He’s taken a step closer, eyebrows knit together in concern.

Over my many years on the circuits, I already know it’s not worth the time or energy to explain something like this to someone who looks like him. They never get it in the end, no matter how well-intentioned they are in the beginning. “I’m a-okay!” I do my best to summon a peppy smile. “Let’s pack it up and get going, shall we?”

I move toward the FC-80 parts, but he grabs my wrist.

“First of all, I’ve never heard you use that phrase.” He tugs, turning me gently back toward him.

“You’ve only known me for three months,” I say, trying to ignore the way my skin is buzzing beneath his fingers.

“Second of all, you’ve got the talent of a homeless poker player.”

“Your idioms suck. This is like the second or third one you’ve completely made up.”

He clicks his tongue. “Don’t blame me for your astonishingly poor vocabulary.”

I’m about to tell him I’m testing above 700 on my SAT Reading and Writing, thank you very much, but it reminds me why I’m depressed in the first place. “I’m fine. Let’s just clean up and get out of here.”

“Something’s clearly bothering you.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” Irritation creeps into my voice. I wish he would let this go and let me sulk in peace.

“Come on.” He crosses his arms. “The whole reason we’reout here in this arse-end part of campus is because Frank got sick of us sniping at each other. We’re supposed to be bonding. You can tell me.”

“Do you really want to know?”

His face lights up with an earnest flush. “You can tell me. Real talk.”

“I don’t think you can handle my real talk.” I regret it the second the words are out of my mouth. How did I manage to turn something serious into sounding like flirting?

“Try me.” He winks. “You’d be surprised at what I can handle.”

It’s disturbing how much his cheesy wink unsettles me. I didn’t even know I liked winks; they’ve always felt so corny.

“Fine. I’m worried word about my studying is going to get to Frank, and it’s going to reflect poorly on me when he’s thinking about who to give the F2 seat to.” It occurs to me that telling him this is maybe not the best idea, given he’s the one Frank would be giving the seat to.

Cameron bursts out laughing. “That’s it? Your face looked like the world was ending.”

My stomach shrivels into nothing. He doesn’t get it at all. This is exactly why I didn’t want to go down this rabbit hole in the first place.

He’s still smiling like I said something funny. “I promise it’s not that big of a deal. If Frank knows about your SATs, he’s gonna know about my A-level, too—we’re even.”

“No, we’re not,” I say. “And we won’t ever be.”

“Hang on, I’m losing this thread. Are you mad at me?”

I look up. He seems a little exasperated, a lot confused. “I’m not.”

“Then why’re you looking at me like you want to throw that spanner in my face?” He gestures at my hand, which I belatedly realize is gripping the tool so tightly my knuckles are starting to pale.

I aim the wrench at the open toolbox fifteen feet away. It flies in with so much force, the cover slams shut upon impact. “Better?”

Cameron lets out a low whistle. “Okay, Miss Olympic Cricketer. Care to explain what’s going on in that head of yours?”

He’s staring expectantly. I get the feeling we’re going to be here all day until he drags the truth out of me.

I sigh. “Have you ever been called a ‘tick-the-box publicity exercise’?”

“Kwong.” He blanches, and I’m glad he knows what I’m referring to. It’d be ten times worse if he couldn’t even remember the thing I’ve been torturing myself over. “You can’t take that to heart. Georgios was just jealous you got assigned the best driver in F1 for mentor while the rest of us were stuck with a geriatric retiree. We didn’t even know you could drive then.”