“Your parents foundme.”
“And what about my girlfriend, huh? She justfound youover in the visitors’ section?”
“What’s your problem?” Matt spits out. “Afraid she might find out you have a type?”
Roberts shoves him against the wall.
Matt wasn’t expecting it, so instead of bracing himself, his body just bounces off.
He blinks for a moment, confused. Despite their vitriol, their fighting hasn’t escalated to blows since they were pre-teens. “What the fuck, man?”
“Don’t youdare!”
Robert throws the meeting room door open hard enough to smack into the wall behind it. He disappears as it closes behind him, stomping all the while.
Yeah, okay. That was a pretty low blow.
“What if we both get into Formation 1?”
“That’s nearly impossible. There are only twenty drivers in the entire world. They'd never choose two drivers from the same town.”
“Shuddup, that’s why I said, ‘what if’. You’re supposed to play along.”
At the time, Matt had imagined it would go much better than this.
The rain is worse than Matt expected. There’s a solid wall of water between where he’s parked in tenth and the lights at the very front.
If he can’t see the lights, then no one behind him can either. Hopefully the lack of visibility won’t affect his chance at staying at the edge of the points.
The car in front of him lifts off the brake, and Matt’s reaction time is good enough to hold tenth place off the start. Unfortunately, since he took his cue from the person ahead of him, he can’t make an early leap like he planned.
His quick reaction might’ve also helped Robert, who was parked behind him but is now in eleventh place. The shadow of the other Andes haunts his mirror as Matt tries to push harder.
Robert tailing behind is one of the worst-case scenarios, but at least Matt gets some small satisfaction in being the car that gets to kick up water and spray the shit out of him.
The grip is so bad it feels safer to keep to the dry line that the nine cars ahead of him have already carved out than to venture off. If Matt gets too reckless—if he gets too cocky and tries to pass too early—he’ll find himself in the wall.
Strategy and tire management. Hold out for a red flag. That’s how he’ll win.
Twenty-five laps down and the shower doesn’t let up. If anything, it feels harsher than ever. The wind and rain batter him relentlessly, pelting his helmet with sharp droplets at two hundred miles an hour.
Water seeps through Matt’s gloves and his fingers are frozen where they grip the steering wheel. His entire upper body is soaked, and his arms shake with how hard he holds steady.
Robert keeps dipping off the dry line, testing the grip of the slicked surface before sliding back over. He’s kicking up water unnecessarily, just further blinding?—
Son of abitch!
Robert swings, powering around the outside, and manages to slide right in between Matt and the McLean ahead of him.
“Don’t do anything reckless.”
“Speak up.” That was Matt’s position. That was hischance. “I can’t hear y’all over the rain.”
“Don’t fight. I repeat, do not fight.”
Everything’s still blurry, still distorted by the rain collecting on his visor, but Matt stays glued to the back of Robert. He tests the grip of his tires on the water, and it’s not nearly as bad as it looks.
He trained for this. He can do it.
