Page 36 of Crash Course

The drive to the lake is about ten minutes of winding roads. It’s the other direction from school, and I’ve heard of people partying here at night, but in the day it’s peaceful.

I help him out of the car and we sit on a picnic table together, both of us seated on the flat top with his leg propped on the seat.

“I’m taking the Fastback to the academy,” I say. “It’s my car. You made sure my name was on the ownership.”

“Looks like a dumb idea now, doesn’t it?” The wry edge to his voice gives me a tiny bit of hope as he opens his coffee. “I don’t want you in that world.”

“But you were in it,” I insist, thinking of the framed photo at the Ashfords’ mansion. “I saw a picture of you with the ARI team on the grid next to a trophy.”

He doesn’t say anything. A few birds call over the lake.

I pull my jacket tighter around me. “You never told me you won a championship.”

“I went to the entire race calendar for years.”

My mouth falls open. So much for being a factory mechanic who spent a few lucky weekends trackside.

“It was a part of my life best left in the past.”

His meaning is clear: He’s not interested in talking about it.

There’s no making sense of that. If I’d spent that much time on the F1 circuit, working on the fastest cars with the fastest drivers, I’d never shut up about it.

I have so many questions. “Was it a total thrill?”

He shifts back on his palms, staring out into the trees. “It was unbelievable, Shay.”

Anticipation thrums in my veins.

I picture being trackside for all those races, a different landscape every week. Working with the most talented engineers, mechanics, drivers. Everyone pulling together for a common goal. It doesn’t matter where you come from or who your friends are. What matters is who you are on that day.

I think of Jameson that night at the ARI garage, the way the car ripped through the track, how my heart galloped off with it.

“But you walked away.” I turn toward him.

He scans the scenery as if he’ll find the answers there, but I sense his mind is somewhere else entirely. “The team and I encountered differences we couldn’t reconcile. I couldn’t bring myself to be on the grid anymore.”

He’s lying. I can feel it.

I bet the truth is that he adopted a little girl and couldn’t keep racing at the track.

My heart aches at the thought of him missing out, but also that he’s kept it from me all these years.

Birds chirp from the trees as we finish our coffees. I wait to drain the last drop before asking another question. “What about your record at the academy?”

He sets his empty cup on the tabletop next to him. I half expect him to shut me down again. He doesn’t.

“I taught a mechanics course for a semester after our championship.” His eyes soften a little.

“So what you’re saying is that it’s the best place to learn about cars. If you taught there, it must be.” I’m pretty proud of my mic drop moment, but Dad only shifts forward and brushes off his hands.

“Ashford Academy might give you the education you need to work in this business,” he says, wincing as he shifts to avoid putting weight on his bad leg. “But I don’t want you working at Ashford.”

“Dad…” I’m up too, steadying him.

He collects his empty cup and waves me off. “I mean it.”

Landing a full-time job with the most prestigious team on the grid still feels like a wild fantasy. “You realize there’s almost no chance that’ll happen.”