Chapter Matt Hernandez #8
Well, with the amount of food that exists, Matt has a better chance of winning the lottery than getting this right.
Still, he jots down his best guess and shows the camera. “Chicken fingers and fries.”
“You literally think I’m still seven. Unbelievable.” Robert holds his board up to the camera and the director looks surprised.
He prods Matt with, “Why did you choose chicken fingers?”
“Because when we were kids he was obsessed with them.”
“I was seven. That’s a normal thing for kids to eat. We never ate fuckin’ chicken fingers when we were teenagers. Grow up.”
“When we were teenagers we had to eat whatever they had at the track.” Matt prickles with frustration.
“But before we travelled for meets, you ate them for every single meal. Chicken fingers for breakfast isn’t normal for any child!
You’d probably still be eating chicken fingers if Mama didn’t get involved. ”
“Your mom?” the director encourages.
Actually, it is a funny story. Something to knock Robert down a peg.
“Yeah, my mom. She was tired of makin’em, so one time she rolled a couple’a tacos real tight and called them ‘Mexican chicken fingers’.” Matt laughs. “They weren’t even chicken! They were carnitas? I think? I’unno, but it broke the cycle. From then on he ate whatever Mama made. What?”
The director’s grinning like he struck oil and Robert looks pissed.
It wasn’t that bad of a story. Certainly not ‘he got hard when we wrestled’ bad.
“What did you write?”
Robert’s handwriting has always been shit, but it clearly says ‘tacos de carnitas’ with a pointed little ‘(NOT chicken tenders)’ under it.
Robert taps the bottom part with his marker and says, “Still predictable. I win.”
Matt remembers Robert’s favorite track from the last time they did a questionnaire, and Robert misses Matt’s favorite animal. He actually doesn’t have a favorite animal, so he writes ‘snakes’ since Robert used to hate them. Judging by his face, some things never change.
The drivers quickly wrap up filming, thanking the director and social guy before heading out. Their schedules are synched, and it’s weird to ignore that, so Matt keeps close to Robert, even if neither of them wants him to.
“You were right,” Matt says, extending an olive branch. “I don’t know you anymore. I think we just proved that. I’m willing to learn, though. I don’t want us to hate each other.”
Look at how mature he is—letting bygones be bygones. Even with a black eye.
Robert scoffs. “That’s not really up to you to decide.”
Right. “Fine, then. I don’t hate you, at least.”
“There wasn’t any reason for you to. I’m a great guy.”
“And so modest!” Matt replies on reflex. He tenses when Robert stops walking.
“If you’re gonna not-hate me, you need to understand that I respect myself now. I am a good person, and I only want to surround myself with other good people.”
“Like Javier?”
“Yes, exactly.”
Despite what Robert thinks of him, Matt is a good person. He’s such a good person that he doesn’t even mention that Javier was his friend first. That the only reason the two drivers could even communicate with each other was because Matt taught Robert Spanish and Javier English.
Matt’s such a good person that he doesn’t shove anything back in Robert’s face. Especially not the fact that all of the things Robert still identifies himself with—his best friend, his profession, his favorite food—are all things Matt has given him.
Instead, because he is such a good person, Matt stays quiet. Robert can keep on believing that one night almost nine years ago defines who Matt is as an adult. What does it matter to him?
If Robert needs to be the victim, he can keep playing the victim. God knows the entire world has already chosen his side.
The announcer reads her card and looks up. “Which other driver would you choose to do an escape room with?”
The fans immediately cheer, which is obnoxious, but it happens every time Andes shares the fan stage with one of the popular teams. The sea of red-clad fans doesn’t give a flying fuck what Matt has to say.
“The answer is easy, non?” Thomas replies. “Rafael and I are teammates on the track, we can be teammates in escaping the room.”
There’s a full minute of applause before the crowd quiets enough for Rafael to add, “I would choose Thomas as well.”
“None of the other drivers have picked their teammates,” the announcer announces with barely contained glee. “Matthew, who would you choose?”
Matt thinks every room with Robert is already an escape room. Still, he’s a good employee, and he answers, “I think Robert and I could figure it out.”
The Ferraros laugh together, and Matt doesn’t blame them. He doesn’t believe himself either.
“I’d choose Javier,” Robert decides. “That way, if we failed, I wouldn’t want to kill myself.”
Though Bobby’s family had money, campers still needed to fit on the road. After Mr. Miller claimed the only real bed, the two teens were left to either share the convertible couch-bed or assemble their tent outside.
Most times, they were too tired to set either of them up after a long, hard day of racing. Those nights, they rolled out their sleeping bags and slept under the stars.
“I can't wait to join a team and fly places and sleep in hotels.” Bobby sighed once. “I’m a growing boy. I need a bed and food that hasn’t been canned.”
“Your dad said we’re going to look back at this shit and think these are ‘the good ole days’.” There was a stick under Mateo’s shoulder blade that his arms were too tired to reach. That was a problem for tomorrow.
“If those days were so good for him, he’d be sleepin’ outside right next t’us.”
Mateo couldn't fault the logic, so he laughed.
“I like your laugh.”
Mateo stopped immediately. He hadn’t figured out how to laugh without snorting yet.
Robert never snorted. His laughter was perfect and infectious.
“Don’t make fun, I’m tired.”
“I’m not making fun! It’s the truth!”
Mateo huffed, but warmth spread from his center. It was nice to be complimented sometimes, even if it was obviously bull.
“I’m glad we’re doing this together,” Bobby continued. “That’s what I’ll be happy to remember. Not this hard-ass ground.”
“Yeah, at least we’re suffering together.”
“Exactly!”
Matt doesn’t win any points for the next three races.
Neither does Robert, so at least they’re suffering together.
Matt wouldn’t dare say it, though. He can’t utter a word about the good times, just in case Robert feels the need to trample all over them. The need to squash any remnants of their shared past that might remind him that Matt is human too.
That they mattered to each other once.
Now, Matt and Robert sleep in hotel beds. Their team flies them from city to city across the globe. They eat food that has never been canned.
Matt doesn’t snort when he laughs anymore.
He misses the good ole days.
“Who is most likely to… finish their reading goal for the year?”
Matt and Robert both raise their own name signs.
“You have a reading goal for the year?” Matt asks, shocked. Sure, Robert said he doesn’t know him anymore, but how could one person change so completely?
“Of course not,” Robert replies with a cocky smile. “That’s why I’ve already accomplished it.”
Matt barks out a surprised laugh. When he snorts on an inhale, he immediately sobers, his cheeks flaming.
I like your laugh. No. Shut up. Not anymore.
“Who is… the better cook?”
“Don’t lie this time, Hernandez.”
“I’m not! Look—” Matt shows him the ‘Robert’ sign he’s holding up. “I know my strengths.”
“Yeah? What are your strengths?”
“Opening cans. Ordering food for delivery. Reading.”
“I can still read, you little shit.” It sounds threatening, but Robert’s laughing now, too.
That’s new.
The spotlight’s too bright and too warm on Matt's face at the sponsorship event. It’s just a sit-down thing where the drivers perch on stools in front of a bunch of sponsors and their guests before the race.
None of them are fans of the sport, so they ask the same ‘favorite track’ and ‘what would you do if you didn’t drive’-type questions they get asked all the time.
“How do your parents feel about your driving?”
“Well, uh, it’s the family business for me.” Robert sounds surprised to have to explain it. “My father and grandfather drove for FASCAR, so it’s more of the same to them.”
Matt has to restrain himself from explaining how different the two series are. Robert’s the only one in the room who would care, and he’s already heard and recited the same spiel for nearly his entire life.
“And, um, you?” the person with the microphone asks.
In this crowd, nobody knows Matt isn’t as important, isn’t as beloved as Robert. They keep looking to him like his answer also matters, like both drivers are on the same level. It’s almost unnerving.
“My mom is happy I’m able to do what I’ve always wanted to do,” Matt says, with a soft smile. “All of us in Form 1 knew the odds were against us. There’s only twenty drivers in the entire world, so there’s a sense of accomplishment that lives alongside the danger.”
“Do your parents attend the races?”
Robert picks his mic back up. “Mine try, but my father races in rally now, so his schedule’s a bit tight. I watch his races as well, if they fall on our breaks.”
Matt nods and adds, “My mother doesn’t like to, it stresses her out. My father didn’t, uh, he didn’t get to, before he, before—”
It’s been so long, but sometimes it hits just as hard as it ever did.
His father never got to see him race in Formation 1. It’s just a fact. It’s okay to deal with facts, and it’s okay to still be sad about it.
Just say it. He died. It’s a fact and facts can’t hurt him.
Matt can be sad in private, but he needs to say something right now because everyone in the room is just looking at him like he’s a pathetic, stupid little—
The person still holding the microphone encourages him with a, “Before—?” but Robert cuts her off.