Until then, I’m not supposed to show that I like Arthur. At all.
And I can do that.
It’s only pouring down rain, and Arthur is about to drive as quickly as possible in it, and I can’t show that the noise and smells and excitement of the garage are scraping down my spine, dragging me apart. And that doesn’t even matter, really, because everyone is tense. I hug my bag to my chest, feeling the bulky weight of the Panasonic camera in there. He’ll be fine. He’ll drive. Then I’ll give him this camera and ask if he’ll film me per the philosophical advice of my Texas neighbor.
As if reading Arthur on my mind, Delaney adds in a low murmur, “He knows how to be safe. I promise. He just needs to stay alive and score some points.”
Stayalive? That’s an actual reminder she’d say to him? “Hehasto be okay. He has to. They wouldn’t have me film this if something could happen.”
An emotion that might be compassion softens Delaney’s eyes. “Sure. Yeah. Nothing bad can happen.” She shifts, growing quieter. “Did he talk to you?”
Never a good question. “About?”
To me, Delaneyisconfidence, the kind of strong and radiant woman I aspire to be. So, to see her draw her fingers over her lips, eyes dropping to my knees… my stomach sinks.
“They cleared Faust to race again.”
No, I want to say.They can’t do that, because there’s a narrative to this story. Arthur is the comeback kid. He gets to redeem himself in Italy. That’s how stories work.
“We know they won’t put him back in until after the Netherlands race,” she continues. “And about today… Cameron told me once that a million things can go wrong during a race. Fuel, parts, temperature, steering wheel, adjustment, gearbox. You have to trust your team, and that nine hundred people did their jobs right. That’s the secret nobody’s going to tell you, Lilah. All of us are taking a leap of faith together every race weekend. He’s used to this feeling. I promise.”
My throat tightens. I think about the garage cheering when Arthur won. How the pit crew moves as one with his car, pulling in and exhaling out, a choreography of synchronized bodies. Cameron’s voice on the radio, the fans in the seats, Sarah like glue, Delaney like strength.
And me. I’m a part of this team, too. For now.
So I put on my headphones and hold up my camera as the last light above the track turns red.
Nobody breathes—except for Arthur, low and soft over the radio. Rain drizzles in a thick fog over the track, throwing an opaque silver screen across the gray surface, and I watch the cars wait for the lights to go out from behind my camera. Footage I can play back later, combing through the seconds to understand how life works.
Then, the lights are out.
Rain shoots from the tires as the cars snap forward, so fast my stomach lurches. “Easy.” Cameron’s voice fills my headphones. “This isn’t King power hour. Mind your grip.”
There isn’t a reply. I can barely see Arthur’s car on the screen; everything is gray.
“Do you copy, King?”
“I got it,” Arthur bites back. “I can’t see anything. My visor’s blocked already. I need to open it.”
“Hawke’s right behind—”
Arthur lets out a blurred expletive as the red blinking lights on the back of the cars tangle in the fog. “Tell him to quit riding me,” Arthur growls, frustration darkening his voice. I’ve never heard him this angry before, and even I know that there’s very little Cameron can do when it comes to the other drivers.
“We can tap out,” Cameron says. “It’s okay.”
“I’m not quitting.”
More lights, and a cherry-red car pulls around a corner. The turn in the track must be breaking up the fog somehow. Arthur will be able to get more visibility once he’s closer. He just needs to make it a little bit farther and he’ll be safer. Every lap, there will be a chance for him to see clearly there, and that’s good.
He can do this. This is Arthur. He can do anything.
“All right. Visibility’s better in ten,” Cameron says, seeing the same break in the fog that I do. “Don’t worry about your position. I’ve got Holmes in my ear, they’re going to call the race in the next two—”
I don’t know what Cameron says after that.
Everything happens in the span of a breath. There’s this noise, like a metal door slamming shut, and the screen that shows Arthur’s camera blurs as a gold car slams into his, and then the barrier, bouncing and then twisting around, steam pouring from the tires and enveloping the camera. I’m staring in shock at the silver as there’s another harsh bang, and I look at the bird’s-eye screen: three cars skidding down, down, out of the fog, crumpling further as they turn all wrong, the golden Leone car flipped over, a sight as sickening as a broken bone. A fourth car emerges behind the pileup, its front-right wheel ripped off.
I think I say something. I don’t know. My hand’s over my mouth, and I’m standing, and I hear Cameron yell that the car’s okay and ask Arthur if he’s all right. Fingers grip the back of my sweatshirt and I turn, finding Delaney’s wide eyes. She’s just as shocked as I am, and my heart plummets.No, I think.No, you can’t be scared. You know how this works, and what’s actually bad, and you said you trust all 900 of us, so you can’t be scared.
