Page 33 of Falling Fast
‘I know.’ I can’t help sounding smug. ‘I used to play a lot with my brother. Plus, I interned at a gaming developer last year.’
‘Well, you’re way better than Corey.’ He turns to look at me. ‘We should play again sometime.’
‘Maybe.’ I twist my face away because I’m suddenly veryaware of how close we’re sitting. I’m pretty sure that when we started there was a good foot of air between us. Now there are only a few centimetres. I’m close enough to feel the heat from his body. It’s a good thing my feelings are so firmly under control or I might think that my pulse is thumping for some reason other than self-consciousness. I can’t move away without making it too obvious either.
I slide my tongue over my lips as I try to think of some non-awkward reason to get up, like maybe I need to stretch? Or get a drink? There’s a fridge in the corner. I could get myself another bottle of water.
‘Ava …?’ Leif speaks just as I start to move.
‘Ye-es.’ I stop halfway out of my seat.
‘About my attitude when we met … and afterwards. I … I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional.’
I drop down again, staring at him in silence for a few moments. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged any kind of issue between us. A warning voice in my head tells me not to make a big thing of it, that I should just accept his apology and move on, but I’m still buzzing from the game and now that he’s brought it up, I don’t want to let him off the hook so easily. Intentional or not, his behaviour towards me still hurt. I think I deserve some kind of explanation.
‘You know, I was so excited about meeting you in Monaco,’ I say finally, aware of my foot tapping. ‘You were one of my favourite drivers and you wouldn’t even talk to me. You made me feel pretty crappy.’
‘Dritt.’ Ironically, he looks even more horrified now than he did the first time we met. ‘Ava, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.’
‘Even when I started at Rask, it felt like all you ever did was scowl at me.’
He hangs his head. ‘The thing is … meeting you was a shock. You reminded me of somebody from my past and … it threw me. Then all the social media stuff.’ A muscle flexes in his jaw. ‘I just don’t like talking about myself.’
I bite my lip as I process the words. I was expecting some kind of lame ‘I was having a bad day’ type of excuse – nothing likethat. He sounds so sincere I can’t help but believe him. ‘So you’re over it now?’
‘Yes. And I’m sorry for how I behaved. Truly.’
‘Then, I guess, apology accepted.’ I cough because my lungs feel constricted, like there isn’t enough air in the room. There’s a warm, thrumming sensation in my chest too, one that was supposed to be under control. ‘So does this mean we’re … friends?’
I blink as something flares in his eyes, a flash of emotion, before he opens his mouth and –
‘All done!’ Corey bursts through the door abruptly. ‘How’s it going?’ He looks at the screen. ‘No way! You’ve finished the strike already?’
‘Yes!’ I’ve just leapt so far across the sofa I’m practically perched on the edge. ‘But we can do another quick one, if you like?’
‘Awesome.’ Corey slaps Leif on the shoulder. ‘Your turn to perform. Emika’s just grabbing a snack from catering.’
‘Right. I’ll go find her.’ Leif hesitates, like there’s something else he wants to say to me, before he gets up and heads for the door. ‘See you two tomorrow.’
‘Bye.’ I watch him go as Corey settles down on the sofa beside me. He sits almost as close as Leif just did, only this time I don’t feel anything at all.
It’s race day. Let’s do this!
@RaskRacing, 22 June
ELEVEN
I WAKE UP WITH my heart pounding, body drenched in sweat and a familiar hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. Instinctively, I press my palms and the soles of my feet into the mattress and stare hard at the ceiling fan above my head. I know from experience that if I close my eyes my brain will start filling with images from my nightmares again, so I keep them wide open, unblinking. I wish that I could turn the light on as well, but Sarah is fast asleep and I don’t want to disturb her.
I don’t have this dream very often any more, but I guess all the commotion of the past few days has sent my anxious subconscious into overdrive. Technically, it’s not a nightmare so much as a memory, a flashback to the time I felt my most powerless, when the safe, happy world I’d always known became a much darker, scarier place. But it’s easier to pretend that it’s only a bad dream, a figment of my overactive imagination, and not the worst experience of my life.
When my racing heart calms down, I reach for my phone and burrow under the covers to read the analysis of yesterday’s qualifying. It’s 4 a.m., but I know I’ve zero chanceof getting back to sleep, at least not without dreaming again, and there’s no way I’m going to risk that. On the plus side, it’s finally race day, which means I’ll be heading home tonight. I just have another fifteen hours to get through.
Scrolling through statistics soothes me. Leif and Corey qualified well again, in P7 and P9, proving that Belgium wasn’t a fluke. It might not sound like much – teams like Quezada and Fraser wouldn’t exactly be thrilled with those positions – but for Rask Q3 is a major accomplishment and I feel proud to have been a small part of it. The last two days of minding Leif have also been way better than I expected. Ever since he admitted to not hating me, we’ve been nothing but polite and professional to each other. We haven’t revisited the conversation, because we said everything that was necessary. Only … as hard as I try to forget it, I can’t help wondering what it was he’d been going to say before Corey burst in.
Sarah wakes at 6.30 precisely, stretching her arms wide and smiling like some princess in a fairy tale. I didn’t think real people woke up that way – she even looks fresh-faced. Meanwhile, my mirror tells a different story. My skin is puffy and it takes half a stick of concealer to hide the bags under my eyes.
Fortunately, I don’t have much to do today. The press mostly leaves the drivers alone before the race, so until then, all I have to do is accompany Leif between the garage and the motorhome, and fetch him anything he needs. Theoretically, it should be easy, except that stepping outside is like walking into a sauna. It’s 7.15 a.m. and the temperature is already twenty-five degrees. I’m afraid to think how hot it’s going to be when the race finally starts at 2 p.m. At this rate, theasphalt will be melting. I send a quick update to Dan and Maisie, accompanied by a string of hot-face emojis, then climb into the shuttle bus.
