22. Exhilarating
Exhilarating
Elio
“Are you sure about this?” Lucy says, her eyes roaming over the expansive outdoor karting track. There’s a hint of fear in them. “Having grown up with public transportation, driving isn’t exactly my strong suit.”
“You’ll be fine. Little kids are doing it. See?” I gesture to most of the crowd out here.
“That’s my point. I’m going to kill one of them.”
I chuckle, putting an arm around her before catching myself and yanking it back. Are we in a professional setting right now? I don’t want to overstep. “Aw, don’t be so dramatic. Plus, I think I’ve proven my skills on the track by now. We’ll balance each other out.”
“Um, I’m not sure it works like that,” she says, dancing on her feet.
“Please, Bella . Stop worrying. You’ll have fun, I promise. You don’t have to go fast.” I hold her gaze for a second, witnessing the moment her eyes soften and she finally chooses to trust me.
We walk to the sales counter, which is set up under a tent. Pietro, the owner, recognizes me instantly.
“Elio! C iao. Come stai? ”
We exchange a few words in Italian, and I introduce him to Lucy, who offers a forced smile.
But Pietro isn’t the only one who spots me. Once I’m done paying for the karts, and Pietro leaves to get them ready, dozens of kids crowd around us, asking for selfies and autographs on their helmets.
“This is amazing,” Lucy whispers before whipping her phone out.
I guess this will make great content for the website, and honestly, it represents my life pretty well.
I always love signing autographs for kids.
I remember being exactly the same way, enamored with Formula 1—how fast the cars were, how serious the drivers all looked, the risks th ey were taking.
I might have gotten started watching the races from a hospital bed, but I was already hooked.
Back then, if I closed my eyes long enough, I could see myself behind the wheel.
I still remember every sensation that hit me the first time I went karting, and I know these kids feel the same.
I take loads of selfies and sign a lot of helmets, enjoying the pint-sized racers’ bright smiles and eager jumps.
That’s one part of the job I wasn’t aware of when I was young, but it’s definitely one of my favorites.
Who wouldn’t want to make people happy with just a smile or a fist bump?
Our karts are finally ready, and it’s time to hit the track. Lucy, who was relaxing during the fan zone session, is back to being stressed out. She’s biting her nails, her wide eyes locked on the waiting karts.
“Let’s go have some fun,” I say, taking her hand, and she follows with less reluctance than I expected.
“Maybe we should clear the track, just in case,” she murmurs, glancing around at the other racers sitting in their karts. There are a couple of adults, some teenagers, and a few younger kids. Her eyes are hopeful when she turns to me. “You have the power to demand that, right?”
I give her a pointed look. “I’m not going to ask anyone to stop racing because we’re here. That’s just silly.”
“But it’s for their own safety.”
I chuckle. “It’ll be fine. Come on. Do one lap, and if you don’t like it, you can stop.”
She blows out a breath. “Okay. But any deaths that result from this will be your responsibility.”
I shake my head as we walk to our karts, the smell of gasoline and hot engine oil mingling with the fresh, earthy scent of fresh-cut grass nearby, all of it blending in a way that feels oddly nostalgic.
“Are you serious?” Lucy says, looking down at the kart. “There’s no way I’m going to fit in this thing. I thought they’d be bigger.” She sways on her feet, her cheeks reddening.
“Of course you’ll fit.” Why does she always make comments about her weight as if she’s morbidly obese? Her body is perfect, just the way it is. “Come on.” I extend my hand to help her into the kart. She glances at my outstretched hand, then at me, and finally she takes it.
“Are you comfortable?” I ask once she’s seated.
She shifts back and forth to feel it out. “Yeah. It’s roomier than I thought.”
“Told you.” I wink. “Now, put the helmet on. As soon as Pietro waves the green flag, we can start racing. Right pedal is for accelerating, left is for braking. The brakes are a bit sensitive on these newer models, so press it down smoothly. Use your side mirrors before passing, and try not to bump into anyone.”
“Easier said than done,” she says, gripping the wheel. “But I think I’m good to go.”
I put my helmet on and slide into the kart next to hers. After adjusting my mirror, I give Pietro a thumbs up. He waves the green flag, and off we go.
Being back in a kart is a surreal feeling.
It must be over ten years since I’ve raced in one.
It’s slower than I remember, and I almost feel like I’m not moving at all.
I’m also not a huge fan of the sitting position, or the amount of exhaust billowing around us, but it’s still kind of fun.
What really makes my heart swell is, after the first lap, I see Lucy accelerating and passing kids with a bright smile on her face.
Finally, Pietro waves the checkered flag, and all the cars skid to a stop. I finished seventh out of ten, not wanting to beat everybody, and Lucy finished in fifth position. When she removes her helmet, a radiant smile spreads across her flushed face.
“Looks like someone had fun after all,” I tease, grabbing her helmet.
She rolls her eyes. “Fine, it was pretty awesome. Fifth position and no casualties? I’m proud of myself.”
“So am I,” I say, my own smile reflecting hers. “Now, let’s take a picture with our karts before we go. It’s tradition.”
She looks around, and sure enough, everyone is doing it. I take her picture, and she takes mine. Then, I take a selfie of the two of us.
“Show me,” she says, glancing at my phone.
I hand it to her, and her eyes widen.
She shakes her head. “Oh, no, no. I look horrible! How do we delete this?”
I snatch my phone back. “We’re not deleting anything. It’s a great picture. And you could never look horrible, Bella .”
We lock eyes, and for a second, I think I’m going to be brave enough to kiss her, right here in the middle of the kart track. That was another teenage dream of mine, to be honest.
Breaking her gaze, she scoffs. “Sure. Helmet hair and splotchy cheeks. I look like a real model.”
She really does, but I don’t want to push it. So, I just shake my head—keeping things professional, as I should.
“Anyway, thanks for taking me,” she says as we’re stepping off the asphalt.
“It was fun, and I have a better idea of what you feel when you race. At a slower pace, obviously,” she says with a chuckle.
“But the will to win, the thrill when you pass someone or when you reach the finish line? I get it now.”
“I know.” My smile widens. “In Formula 1, that sensation is multiplied. The speed, the adrenaline, the feeling of flying, the need to best your opponents. There’s nothing like it. How can you not fall in love with that?”
Suddenly, I’m lost in the emerald of her eyes, and that rush I get during a race?
I’m starting to feel it whenever I’m with Lucy.
Triggered by her smiles, a simple touch of our hands, or the endless depth of her eyes.
I’ve never felt that surge of adrenaline for anything but Formula 1.
Never felt the tingles and the electric charge.
And that’s as scary as it is exhilarating.