AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on my head. “You don’t have to leave you know, don’t run away for them,” he says.
“I’m leaving for me, Cody. For me.” I mumble into his side.
“Then you do you, little sister. Go find what you’re looking for. See the world. Run far enough that you find yourself.”
I squeeze him harder and nod. I refuse to cry over my parents, though. They don’t get my tears anymore. “I’ll come home and visit you when I can.”
“Pfft, I love you but I kind of hope I never see you back here again,” he chuckles.
“Ugh, me too!” Aria announces and launches herself into us to join the group hug and the three of us nearly fall onto the sidewalk giggling.
Thank god for her comic relief and a big brother who never lets you down.
Four
Photo: Lennox Gibbes and Celeritas Arrive in Melbourne
staceyq1998: how can anyone be so hot after a 20 hour plane ride? sigh…
llamalover4life: he’s washed up and needs to retire. and maybe shave.
fortytwodogs: Nooooooo! No shaving! He’s so delicious when scruffy!
purplelipstick99: girl, did you see the pics of him with Kate Allendale?! I’m so jealous. :(
fortytwodogs: Yes! I’d cut a bitch to be that close to him. I wonder what he smells like.
michael650004: smells like failure
mustbetoast: hasn’t driven well in two years, fire the loser!
atsronautfeet11: I don’t care how he drives as long as he does it naked
kiltsandkites: Scotland stands with you, Lennox! Bring us home a victory!
ieatlemons: speak for yourself, mate. dude’s an asshole.
Lennox
There’s a loose thread on the hem of my black Cerelitas polo and I’ve been picking at it endlessly. I want to pull it off but it’s cinching the seam up instead and won’t budge.
“Lennox? Lennox?” I glance up and one of the crackpot F1 journalists in the pre-race driver press conference is standing with a microphone looking at me like he’s waiting for me to deliver an epiphany.
“Sorry mate, can you repeat the question?” The crowd giggles because it’s no secret I don’t pay attention during these, not that any other driver does either. They’re all bullshit with the same tired questions and we deliver the same tired answers.
Or, I used to deliver the same tired answers. Now I don’t give a shit. That’s what happens when your loyalty is abused and you’re stabbed in the back enough.
Case in point, the first burning question from this reporter comes, “What is your strategy for the first race here in Melbourne?”
“Well, I just came up with this late last night and I’ve been thinking a lot about it so I’m glad you asked.” The twenty-five or so journalists in the room all quiet themselves and dial into the profound words I’m about to speak. You’d think they’d learn. “I thought, and this is pretty radical, I thought I might try to win the race.”
The journalist huffs audibly into the mic and sits back down with a smarmy purse of his lips. The two drivers sitting behind the media table with me chuckle.
Every single interview is the same and has been for all the years I have been driving. They ask the world’s most inane, boring questions or they purposefully exploit the smallest mistake or weakness to sell their bloody rag sheets in the grocery aisles. All of them out for themselves with no regard for anyone else.
Creating drama where there is none.
Pick pick picking at the scab.
