Page 91 of The Fast Track

Changing the rules one by one. I can’t wait to tell Roz.

“Anyhow.” Frank clears his throat. “Good job, both of you. What a way to bring home the championships.”

Hearing Frank say the words out loud feels like running through sprinklers in the middle of a heat wave.

“Hell yeah, team champions!” I grab him in an excited hug, hopping up and down.

“Right.” Frank frees himself and steps back, his mustache twitching with a smile. “I was told you’re late for the ceremony. Would’ve sent one of the mechanics if I’d known the cause of delay.”

“Sorry, we’ll head over now.” Cameron grins. He grabs my hand, laces his fingers through mine, and tugs me gently in the direction of the podium.

“I better not see you two necking up there!” Frank yells.

Cameron ignores him and plants a kiss on the top of my head as we half walk, half jog to the cooldown room. “By the way, just so we’re clear,youwere at fault for preseason testing.”

“No way.” I squeeze his hand. “You were the one who didn’t leave enough space.”

We make it in time to hear Cameron’s name being called for second place.

“Hurry,” the same FIA attendant who got caught in the middle of our Sasha Devin showdown hisses.

“This isn’t over; we’re continuing this conversation after,” Cameron calls over his shoulder before jogging out.

I take a moment to catch my breath, picking up the Winner Caps set out in the room. I’ve been dreaming of this moment—a triumphant season end—for so long. Now that it’s finally arrived, alongside so much more than I expected, it’s surreal in the best way.

The announcer booms over the loudspeaker, “First place, this season’s F3 Drivers’ Champion runner-up, Justine Kwong.”

I jam the cap on, thread my hair through the ponytail hole, and jog out onto the stage.

From the platform, I can see Dietrich, arm still around Hannie, standing with Otto Warner and some of the other Orbital F1 team who’ve come out to watch. He gives me a nod, his eyes twinkling in the morning sun. Next to them, Roz and our mechanics have thrown their arms around one another, swaying and belting “We Are the Champions” off-key.

Mom stands a few feet away, next to none other than Mateo Bianchi himself. She looks so smug and gleeful I know she has to be cooking something up.

The award presenter, some local state rep wearing a whitecowboy hat, beckons me forward and hands me two trophies—one for the race and one for the Drivers’ Championship. I hold on to both, savoring the moment.

Then I thrust the trophies up over my head, and the crowd goes wild.

28.

Milton Keynes, United Kingdom

Orbital Campus

OTC

Lou Wilson’s office has floor-to-ceilingwindows and an unobstructed bird’s-eye view of the OTC lake. If I had Zen scenery like this, I would use my office a lot more than the three, four times a year he comes in. But then, I’m not a billionaire.

“Justine. Please sit.” Lou sweeps his arm across his wide onyx table. It has only four seats, though it could easily fit a ten-course Thanksgiving dinner.

I choose the chair across from Lou. The leather padding smells like the inside of a new Lamborghini.

“Morning, Justine.” Frank gives me a reassuring smile, though today, I don’t need it.

“Now, I’m sure it won’t come as a surprise, but after much consideration and discussion…” Lou draws out his last word for effect. “We’ve decided you are our choice for the F2 seatnext year. Here’s your contract. Please review and have it back to us within the week.”

I automatically reach out to receive the stack of paper Lou slides in front of me. The contract is printed on thick, textured parchment. It’s funny to think I would have kissed the ground to have gotten this, to hear Lou say the magical words, only a few days ago.

“Congratulations, Justine. I know it hasn’t been the smoothest of seasons, but you prevailed, and we’re very excited for next year.” Lou smiles benevolently, as if he wasn’t the one who decided to fire me after the tabloid article, leaving me to fight my own publicity battle after using me as ammo all season.