Page 6 of Until The Lights Go Out

“Don’t,” I seethed out. I couldn’t hear his name. Not today of all days.

“The advice that he used and won the Formula Two championship with. I know you know. I know we don’t talk about it, but I know you watched those races.” She was right of course. I had watched my rival win using my own advice, a strategy I had teased him with. I had watched it under the covers on my phone late at night while I was trapped in the hospital with pins in my leg after the surgery. Unable to move or leave or do anything other than relive the crash over and over again in my head. Wondering why he never showed, never came to see if I was okay. With me out of racing, Theo Bauer won the championship. He got everything I had wanted. He took the trophy, which led to the sponsors and the connections and the money that got him even higher. That got him a rookie spot in Formula One a few years later.

He lived my dream, what once was our dream.

“Listen, I know today sucks. I know this is the worst possible day for this to land on, but I think you could actually do something you love again. I think that the universe is giving you a second chance at being in the racing world. But the offer expires at midnight. I forwarded you the email. Just read through it and think about it, okay?”

“Sure, Lace, I’ll think about it,” I agreed hesitantly.

“I love you. I think this would be a really amazing opportunity,” she said before hanging up. I leaned back and stared at the ceiling for a while, my phone lying in my limp hand.

Could I go back to that world? Serena would be ecstatic, borderline manic about the news. She was still racing these days, being the coolest role model to women around the world and breaking barriers down daily. She would tell me to go for it, to not let anything take away my dreams.

I just thought my dream died the day I almost did. I forgot what it felt like to even dream about a career in Formula One. It used to consume my every thought; it was all I worked for. It was a dream that Theo and I had shared. Just two kids trying to prove we were worth something in a great big world.

3

MAISEY | 12 YEARS OLD

“Hey, what the hell was the late brake at the sixth turn?” a pitchy voice was shouting at me. I turned to see the light brown floppy hair on a too-tall Theo Bauer stomping toward me. He stood a head taller than me now, unlike the years before. I hated how he now physically looked down on me. I held my ground as he walked toward me, a scowl on his face, his helmet swinging in his hand.

“My turn? You tried to run me off on Turn 5!” I shouted back, heat rising. I could feel myself flushing with embarrassment. I had made a small error, which made me almost hit Theo on Turn 6. But he had made an intentional move on me, trying to scare me off the curve I needed around Turn 5. I was flustered and almost hit the dang wall on the next turn. Which was unintentional, though obviously Theo’s fault.

“I did not!” he shouted back, his neck turning red in fury. It always did that. We always did this. Shouted at each other till we were red in the face or till one of our parents dragged us off. Mom had said I needed to keep my cool, that we were getting old enough now that—as kids who had an actual shot at racing professionally—we could be watched or scouted. Theo Bauer was my enemy on the track, my biggest rival. I could see Theo’s dad round the corner while Theo was throwing his hands in the air complaining about the racing incident. Like it was my fault. I shot him a ‘Shut up!’ look, but he missed it and kept running his mouth off about my stupid pink lightning bolt design.

“Shallots!” I whisper-yelled at him. He froze immediately, standing ramrod straight in response to our code word. It was a stupid code word, sure, but also totally hilarious. It would stop our bickering or talking immediately, knowing Theo’s father was around. Iger Bauer was the worst. The complete and total worst human ever. He was pushy in that kinda scary way. Rumors swirled around that Iger was the worst kind of shadow. The Bauers came from what my dad called old money, which also made them think they were owed things. I didn’t really understand what that meant, but I knew Mr. Bauer was the worst. So I shot out my hand in front of me.

“Good race,” I said and nodded at Theo sternly as Mr. Bauer approached.

“You too,” Theo replied before I started to turn. I turned into my own father, who was giving me a ‘You’ve been caught, kid’ look.

“Iger, good to see you. Your boy is doing excellent, but maybe teach him not to run my daughter off the track.” My father crossed his arms, looking rather severe. He was almost matching Mr. Bauer., though I assumed that was the point. My dad, Jonas Andrews, was a racing legend. He retired from racing in Formula One when I was two years old, then immediately got me in my own kart. I had been kicking up dust from a kid kart, which led to where we were now in cadet class races. Our karts now had small engines in them and could even get up to fifty miles per hour.

“Jonas,” Iger acknowledged my dad with a sharp nod. “Maybe she should stick to playing with dolls. Leave the racing to the men,” he snapped and made a point to look at me with pity. It made the anger boil up in my stomach. I felt the embarrassing flush on my pale skin taking over. Theo said sometimes I got mad enough that I was red all over, just like my hair.

Theo stepped from side to side, looking at the ground uncomfortably. I crossed my arms, squared my shoulders, and sent Mr. Bauer my brightest smile.

“My Barbies are racecar drivers too.” My hands went to my hips as I glared. “And one day, I’ll wear bright pink to win a championship. Girls can do anything boys can do,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. Mom always reminded me that if I had the courage to stick up for myself, to do it with an even voice, because silly old men with outdated thoughts didn’t respond to emotions well. Dad would roll his eyes and tell me to be as emotional as I wanted, that everyone was allowed to have emotions or be as dramatic as they wanted. He watched men who played soccer get tapped and fall to the ground all the time.

My dad stood behind me, my own personal scary bodyguard. Tattooed arms crossed over each other, and the smirk on his lips told me he was proud of my response.

“Good Lord, Jonas,” Mr. Bauer shook his head. “Let’s go, Theo. You shouldn’t concern yourself with little girls who aren’t your real competition.”

“Can’t wait for my girl to make you eat your words, Iger,” my dad laughed and pulled me into his side.

Theo glanced up at me quickly with sad eyes before quickly following after his father, a silent apology. We almost had our own secret language of looks now. No words needed. And the ‘I’m sorry’ was clear between his brows.

“Proud of you, Kid.” My dad patted me on the shoulder.

“I hate him,” I groaned.

“Mmhm,” my dad hummed his response, probably assuming I meant Theo, or both. But I could never hate Theo, not really. When I picked up my bag that had been discarded to the ground while Theo and I were arguing, I noticed a familiar off-white lined piece of paper folded into fourths sticking out of the side pocket and smiled. We had picked up on this habit of sneaking each other notes. It was the only real way we could communicate. All our moves and whereabouts were tracked by adults, and everyone assumed we were deeply hateful rivals. We were rivals, but we were also sort of friends.

I didn’t open the letter till late that night. Leaning against the window, I let the moonlight help me read the words from Theo’s latest letter.

Maisey,

Did I overhear your family calling you pumpkin the other day? I mean it fits with your bright red hair and all I guess. Do you like the nickname? I don’t really have a nickname that works, or no one’s ever given me one. Theo is too short. My dad has been on me lately. I wanted to go to the movies for this kid in my class who had his birthday, and dad was so mad I even asked. Told me to put in more hours on the simulator. Do you ever wish you did a different sport? Sometimes I do, but maybe my dad would be the same about hockey or football or whatever. Who knows now. I’m too good to give up anyways, you wouldn’t have anyone to compete with! I can’t have you taking trophies without a little fight. Thanks for that tip last race, by the way. Pretty sure that’s why I beat you. Maybe you shouldn’t be telling me all your secrets. I think I’d miss that though.