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He glances back at the truck. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
I might not technically have my dad’s blessing, but it feels that way. When I drive the Fastback to campus, I swear the entire day is brighter.
I’m also giddy to see Theo, who texted me on my way.
Theo: I have something for you.
Shay: ?
The photo loads as I slam the door and head toward the building.
Shay: This better not be a dick pic, Ashford.
Once the photo appears, it’s him wearing a white tank and a sweaty grin.
Theo: This is me getting through my workout knowing I’ll see you later today.
He just happens to be in the gym, showing off seriously ripped arms.
Okay, yum. I save the photo to my phone.
For posterity, of course.
In my first class of the day, we’re making ride height tweaks to optimize grip on different track conditions. The second focuses on cornering force, using software to model lateral loads through corners at Spa and Monaco.
They’re a reminder that we’re going to use this in the real world—if we’re lucky.
“As Luca said, one student will qualify for an internship with ARI next year,” Vogel says. “Your performance at the academy will form the basis for that evaluation.”
I sit up straighter.
Maybe it’s hard for my dad to see me here at Ashford because he doesn’t realize how much I want it. Or he’s afraid I’m setting myself up for disappointment.
But if I got that internship, I’d be working on actual F1 cars in a matter of months. I’m not only going to get my credits—I’m going to land this internship and make him proud after all he’s given up for me.
“You okay?” Megan asks.
“I think I need another ten hours in the day to catch up.” I adjust my bag on my back and fix the hair that’s fallen out of my messy ponytail as we head down the hall toward lunch.
“Did you catch last weekend’s race? Ignite is going to give ARI a run for their money,” Raj comments as we dig into our paninis in the cafeteria.
“That’s just talk. They’re too new, too chaotic and undisciplined,” Zane says.
“Until they aren’t,” Raj tosses back.
“Here’s hoping ARI locks down a car for next year. I don’t want to score an internship and be working on a losing team,” Zane gripes.
Jameson and Theo walk by with their entourage across the cafeteria.
I’ve been watching a lot of footage of them racing. Theo’s a straight-up street fighter. Everything is instinct with him; he never gets thrown and reacts to whatever chaos takes place on the track.
Jameson is sheer power and finesse. He knows what’s going to happen before it does, putting the car in exactly the right position to be its fastest.
Either of them is the last person another driver wants to see in their mirror.
Sometimes, I watch their films a little longer than I have to—as Theo gets out of the car, grinning, the bleachers of impassioned fans erupting in the background. As Jameson pulls his helmet off, staring up at the screen for a replay with those icy blue eyes.
I’m still thinking about it when I head down the hall after lunch and collide with someone coming the other way. My bag flies off my arm, my belongings spilling out onto the floor.
