It was a testament to how much she loved him that she even asked at all. Soon enough, Mateo was walking right beside her, up the sidewalk of the biggest house he’d ever seen in his life. In one hand, he clenched the fabric of his mother’s long skirt. In the other, his fastest toy car.
The lady who answered the door was really tall and really skinny. She welcomed them in with a, “And who is this young man?”
“Teo,” Mateo answered quietly, towards the ground.
“Mateo,” his mother repeated, louder.
“And how old are you, Mateo?”
“Cinco.”
“Five,” his mother translated.
Mateo nodded but continued staring at the ground. The lady wore shoes, even inside her own home. They made her look even taller, the sticks propping her up.
“My son, Bobby, is four.Qua-trow.” The woman turned suddenly and yelled out, “Bobby!” No one came, but the hallway echoed, repeating the name back to them. “I think he’s in the playroom. Would you like to meet him?”
Bobby had bright blond hair, just like his mother. It would darken over time, but in that moment, he looked almost angelic.
“Wanna play cars?”
“What is your favorite…” The announcer looks down at his card like it’s difficult to remember the most important part of a single sentence. “...Alcoholic drink?”
The crowd murmurs with anticipation and the Red Boar drivers smile at each other with a glint in their eyes.
“Beer,” Lucas says. Straight to the point and exactly what’s expected from a German driver with beer sponsors.
“Personally, I like myself a lilVodka Red Boar.” Sam commands the fan stage like it was erected for him, and the crowd goes fucking ballistic.
Does he even drink Red Boar? Or is there something in his contract that demands utmost loyalty to the horrible substance?
The Red Boar drivers and the announcer look to Matt, because he's the one who stupidly decided to stand next in line.
“Azulve Tequila.” Matt tries to ignore the decibel differencebetween Sam’s answer and his own, but it’s like a golf course out there.
Some guy coughs about a hundred yards away.
“And you, Robert?”
There are more cheers at the mention of Robert’s name than there were to Matt’s answer. Matt doesn’t notice.
“I like a shot of tequila.” Robert waves at the crowd as they scream for him. “If it’s free, even better.”
A fan in the crowd shrieks, “I’ll buy you a shot!” which starts a group chant of “Shot! Shot! Shot! Shot!”
Matt can literally feel Robert's stare on him, that smug, arrogant fucker. He’s just waiting for a reaction—waiting for him to flounder—but Matt won’t give him the satisfaction.
For Bobby’s fifth birthday party, his family rented out a karting facility.
Most of the kids were from Bobby’s preschool. Mateo didn’t know a lot of other children, so he was quickly overwhelmed by the number of screaming kids gathered in such a small space.
Bobby must have sensed his unease. He stuck close to Mateo the entire afternoon and tried to introduce him to the other kids who also liked cars.
By the time the group decided to go racing, Mateo was nearly shaking—vibrating with excitement to get outside and drive his own car.
He watched enough Formation 1 and played enough Cool Wheels to know where to drive. He cut the corners, followed the race line, allowed for a wide swing around the hairpin turn—exactly like they did on the TV.
He just couldn’t figure out when to brake. Mateo kept his footon the gas and bounced off the tire-lined barriers and other cars more than a few times.
