19. Nevaeh
The first race of the season is in Bahrain.
Gillian and I arrived a couple of hours ago, along with a few other people like the camerawoman, Fallon, and Gillian’s makeup artist, Liz. Luckily, the rooms are small enough so everyone got their own. It allows my anxiety to take a breather instead of overthinking what it would mean to sleep in the same room as three other people I hardly know. They all seem kind and welcoming, but it doesn’t mean that my overthinking simply shuts off.
My anxiety is an expert at coming up with every worst possible scenario only to terrify me with it. It makes life ridiculously difficult more times than not. Every decision I make is a battle in my mind, tearing me in two different directions: yes and no. Do it and don’t do it. Stay and run. It’s exhausting, I won’t lie, but eventually, I win those fights with my head, too. All it takes is patience, resilience, and determination. I don’t have all or any of these things every single day, but I try my best, and that’s good enough for me.
I’m sitting on the bed, a towel wrapped around my body when I see a message light up my phone. This is the first time I’ve traveled anywhere without Nova or Mama, and they’ve been texting non-stop to check on me. They’re both worried about this huge step that I took, especially because I am terrified of flying, and being on my own isn’t my favorite thing either, but I’m so proud of myself for the way I’ve handled things so far.
For people without anxiety, it wouldn’t seem like a big feat to get on a plane and not have an anxiety attack and completely break down, but for me? For me, it’s a huge step. It’s pure, liquid motivation, too, making me feel like I can do this.
Gillian gave me a couple of articles to edit before tomorrow. He likes the way I edit them, so he’s been giving me more and more over the past few weeks I’ve been at Griffin Sports. I hate the work. It’s tedious and not at all what I thought I was signing up for when I took this job. I thought I’d be doing what Mrs. Lu and Ms. Martin said I’d do: write my own articles, but Gillian treats me more like an assistant. If I hadn’t been an assistant for three years during my internships at university, I probably wouldn’t mind as much. Neither would I mind if it wasn’t for my bosses telling me how different this job would be.
My screen lights up with another message, this one from a very handsome F1 driver I’ve been doing my best to keep out of my head. It was working, somewhat, but it doesn’t help when he texts me and reminds me how sweet he is.
I let out a laugh before typing.
That damn Adrian.
I smile to myself. We may not be able to be anything but friends, but that’s alright with me.
No one gets hurt this way.
I should let him concentrate on the weekend, but the selfish part inside of me wants to take advantage of his offer and see him.
Why? I’ve been asking myself that question a lot since I met Adrian. Why is he such a gentleman? Why is he so infatuated with me? Why did he come into my life at the worst time, when everything doesn’t make sense? The list goes on, but these are some of the top ones I can’t stop from swirling around in my head.
After giving the pillow on my bed a good, frustrated scream, I tell him I will go to his hotel. It’s most likely a lot nicer than my little room. I also feel better about meeting him on Wednesday since Thursdays are for fan meet-and-greets, track walks, and other responsibilities that don’t include driving the car yet. Today is only Monday, which means I’ll have two days to overthink and try not to change my mind.
I want to be friends with him.
I like the way he makes me feel, heard and understood instead of filled with pain, hurt, and regret.
My phone rings as an incoming call makes it vibrate on my thigh. It says Unknown as the caller ID, but I hit Answer anyway.
“Hello?” I ask, curiosity now spreading all the way into my fingertips, making them tingle.
“Hi, Nevaeh, this is Valentina Romana. I’m sorry if this is weird, but I got your number from my brother. I’m heading to the Bahrain National Museum and was wondering if you’d like to join me. Gabriel and Adrian don’t want to go. I don’t know if you’re busy, or even want to. You can of course say no. Oh man, I’m rambling, I’m sorry,” Valentina says and lets out a laugh, which makes me smile.
I can’t remember the last time I went on a friend-date with someone, apart from Adrian’s and mine almost two weeks ago. The only real friend I had growing up was Lincoln and the other people I was “friends” with, well, it didn’t work out.
“I would love to go with you, and, no, I’m not busy. I have the day off to do a bit of sightseeing, actually,” I reply while getting up and walking toward my suitcase to take out my blue gypsy skirt and a matching white long-sleeve.
“Great! I will meet you at your hotel in an hour,” she says, so I give her the address.
We hang up, and I get ready for my friend-date with one of the women I admire the most in the world. I never, ever thought I might become friends with Valentina Romana, the queen of Formula One.
I think I want to be friends with her even more than I want to be friends with her brother, but that’s probably because I’d very much like to be different kinds of friends with Adrian.
Valentina is standing in the lobby of my hotel wearing jeans that are slightly ripped at the thighs but not revealing any skin, red sneakers, and a matching blouse, and a perfect smile on her lips, which are identical to Adrian’s. Her outfit is simple, but she pulls it off. Her dirty-blonde hair sits in perfect curls on her head, framing her face and falling effortlessly down her back. She’s trained but curvy, shorter than me by about ten centimeters, and absolutely breathtaking.
She reminds me so much of Adrian, I can’t keep the smile off my face.
When she catches me walking toward her, Val’s face lights up. My heart flutters because I can’t remember the last time anyone was so genuinely excited to see me. I smile back at her and go to hug her.
“It’s really nice to see you again,” I say first, stepping back to look into her eyes, the same as Adrian’s. There is a zero percent chance I won’t see him in every single feature of hers, but, for now, I don’t mind it.
If anything, I like it more than I should.
“The feeling is mutual. Are you ready to go?” she asks, angling her arm so I can hook mine through hers.
Happiness consumes me, causing the smile on my face to remain the entire cab ride to the museum. We share casual stories about ourselves, but I’ve never been one for small talk, and I won’t pretend to be now. One specific question pushes to the top of my mind, and I ask it before I can stop myself.
“You probably get this a lot, but how did you stay so strong when fighting to drive in Formula One? The misogynists built barriers, and yet, you kept pushing. How? If you don’t mind my asking.” I add the last sentence because I realize this is a lot more personal than I meant for it to be.
If I’m being honest with myself, I envy her for accomplishing what was impossible for me. Achieving your dream. Getting everything you worked so hard for. Living the life you envisioned for yourself.
Valentina turns to me with a small grin, assuring me I didn’t overstep any boundaries.
“Adrian, actually. He gave me strength, and, every time I wanted to give up, he pushed me to believe in myself. All the failed attempts and opportunities didn’t matter to him. With his help and connections, we tried over and over again, fought for my place in a driver’s academy. Eventually, the Velocità Rossa academy took me in, I got to prove myself, and now, I race for Alfa Adrenalina.”
Alfa Adrenalina belongs to Velocità Rossa. It makes sense that she got a seat with them after impressing every single person at the driver’s academy. I don’t have to ask them to know if it”s true. Valentina was called upon as a reserve driver twice last year, racing once for Gabriel and once for Adrian. The second one didn’t end so well, and I cringe at the reminder, but the first time did. She kicked ass. As soon as the first race was done, I read everything there was to read about her. Getting accepted into an F3 team, a subcategory of Formula One. Getting kicked out of the team for no apparent reason. Doing test drives and setting amazing lap times but getting rejected. Getting a spot at the Velocità Rossa Driver Academy.
The way Adrian supported her also makes me like him more, and that’s a big problem.
“Then again, I’m just amazing, so maybe that’s why,” Val adds and laughs.
“I know you mean it as a joke, but I’ve read a lot about your journey into F1, and I think you are incredible. You’re a role model to every girl in the world who gets told they can’t make it because of their gender. It’s incredible, admirable, and one of the reasons why you’re my favorite driver,” I inform her and watch as tears fill her eyes, making them sparkle.
I’m about to apologize when she speaks.
“Shit, I’m crying on our first friend-date. So not cool,” she says, but we both chuckle in response.
Her fingers glide underneath her eyes as she wipes the effect of my words away.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Valentina shakes her head, making her curls dance with each left-to-right movement.
“You didn’t, you just made me a very happy and proud woman. Thank you,” she replies and grabs my hand to give it a quick squeeze. “But don’t say kind things like that again unless you want me bawling my eyes out,” Valentina warns, so I offer her a warm smile.
“Okay, promise.”
Soon after, Valentina and I make our way through the Bahrain National Museum, studying the nine different halls and taking in all of the history hiding inside the artwork displayed.
We discuss it like we’re both art experts, but we’re really just pointing out things we love and grinning when the other person attempts to say something very sophisticated about the piece but neither one of us quite manages the proper language for it. We’re having a good time trying though, and the artifacts truly are breathtaking. They’re complex and unique, each one more mesmerizing than the last.
Val and I both stare at the artifacts hung in one hall for a long time.
“You know, Gabriel is an artist too, but he mostly just draws me. Every different position and facial expression of mine he has to capture. I think we could fill an entire room with all of the sketches and paintings he’s made of me over the winter break alone,” she says, a smile lighting up her features as she shares something so incredibly sweet about the man she loves.
“I love that,” I reply, and she takes my hand to lead me toward the next painting of animals drinking water. “Do you draw too?” I ask, trying to get to know her a little better.
“No, I’m very uncreative, but I did start a driver academy with Leonard Tick, so that’s my creative outlet. Well, in a way,” she says, placing a hand on the necklace around her chest. The charm is a Formula One car with the number seven carved into it. Gabriel’s number.
“‘Kids Like Us.’ I’ve read so much about it, even though the academy hasn’t even opened yet. It’s remarkable,” I say while turning my head to watch a blush settle on her cheeks.
“Thank you.” She grins and bumps her hip against mine in a friendly manner. “How about you? Adrian told me you’re an incredible photographer,” she says, making it my turn for heat to fill my cheeks.
“Yeah, photography is my creative outlet. I love taking photos of nature and cars. Those two are my favorite subjects, but I’ve done a few photoshoots with people, too, and the pictures turned out great. So, in other words, yes, I like photography,” I say, rambling in the same way she was earlier.
I’ve never spoken to anyone who isn’t my family about my passion for photography, so I’m a bit unpracticed.
“Will you show me some of your work?” she asks once we’ve seen every part of the museum we could visit.
“You want to see my pictures?”
Disbelief fills my voice, something she clearly detects because she gives my arm a reassuring squeeze and lets an excited grin light up her eyes.
“Absolutely!”
Valentina hooks her arm through mine as we walk back to the taxi pick-up and drop-off area, the setting afternoon sun pleasantly warm.
“Give me until tomorrow. I’ve gotta choose the best ones,” I say with a small laugh that she returns.
“I can’t wait.”