Chapter 10 #3
I flush at the exact moment cold, hard reality seeps in.
Because competition is exactly what he is. There’s an open seat at Orbital F2, and the only thing standing in my way is Cameron Evans. Butterfly-inducing dimples or not, I have to beat him at the end of the season for that spot to be mine.
He continues on, seemingly oblivious to the emotional cartwheels inside me. “Actually, if you’re not busy—”
“Hi, guys.”
I turn to see Dietrich Lange, and for a second I question if I’ve somehow tripped the space-time continuum and stumbled my way into a different multiverse.
That’s the only thing that can explain this afternoon: the open F2 seat, making progress on the FC-80, actually confiding in Cameron, and now Dietrich actively approaching us.
“Hi Dietrich!” Cameron and I say at the same time. Cameron sits up a few inches taller.
Even though Dietrich’s already rejected me as mentee, I find myself also straightening my posture.
“Justine, do you have a bit of time? I’d like to speak to you.”
“Yes, absolutely. Of course.” I scramble off the golf cart. At the last minute, I turn back to Cameron. “I’ll see you around, I guess?”
Cameron gives me a nod, the look in his eyes borderline dejected.
I would be too, if Dietrich Lange singled out my teammate but not me.
What’s more surprising is how I let this affect me.
A little part of me feels let down by how abruptly our afternoon is coming to an end.
Against all odds, it’s been really fun building the FC-80 with him.
Pushing Cameron’s wounded-puppy look out of my mind—I can’t worry about that now, I have to make sure I don’t humiliate myself again—I follow Dietrich back into the OTC, through the clear lobby turnstiles, and around a corner until we get to the canteen.
It’s early afternoon, so there’s a healthy stream of engineers and design techs getting their post-lunch coffee fix.
Dietrich selects a table in the far corner, where we have a direct view of the crescent-shaped manmade lake that borders the building.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” I ask tentatively. I’m not sure what I could’ve done to draw his ire this time. I’ve been keeping my distance, sometimes purposely avoiding the gym or simulators if I know he’s scheduled to be there.
Dietrich laces his fingers together, resting his hands on the steel table in front of him. “I want to apologize.”
I almost fall out of my chair. Considering my last two encounters with him have both resulted in tears and humiliation, this is a stunning about-face.
“Sorry, what?” I ask, just to make sure I haven’t misheard over the hissing of the espresso machines nearby.
“I want to apologize,” he says again. “For my words at Spielberg.”
“Oh.”
“I watched part of the F3 Feature Race at Paul Ricard. You performed very well. I was the one who judged too fast, and for that, I am sorry.” His eyes are wide and sincere, so blue a girl could drown in them.
I swallow, my stomach lurching. Part of me is still hurt over what he said in Austria. Even if he was right and dispensing solid advice, he could’ve been way nicer about it. But the smarter, humble-pie-eating part of me knows I need all the pointers he could give.
“Would you reconsider?” I blurt out, words rushing off my tongue.
“Your decision to mentor me. It’s totally cool if you don’t, ’cause I get it, your schedule’s probably been overrun with other stuff already.
I know you think I’m reckless and stubborn, but I think I can change that.
And I’m willing to change. And I would really, really, really like you to continue helping me. ”
Dietrich drums his fingers, his expression thoughtful.
I hold my breath. Willing him to help me, willing him to believe I’m worth his time and energy.
After what feels like the world’s longest second, Dietrich speaks again. “You were patient at Paul Ricard.”
“I promise it wasn’t a one-time—” I start, but he holds up a hand.
“Listen, please. That’s what I need you to do if we’re going to get you to Formula 1.” He smiles. That bright, light-up-your-entire-face smile I’ve only seen on TV so far. Witnessing it live, I feel like Fourth of July fireworks have gone off inside me.
I leap out of my chair and hug him. “Thank you so much.”
Dietrich jerks back in surprise, but loops his arm around my shoulder and pats it once.
“When can we start?” I ask. “Orbital said once a month, so do we count from now? Or maybe our last meeting? Or—”
“Too many questions too quickly.” He chuckles. “I have an idea. Would you like to come shadow me at the British Grand Prix?”
“Oh my god, are you serious?” I screech, fighting the urge to hug him again.
The British Grand Prix takes place at Silverstone, one of the most storied circuits.
Every legendary driver has raced there. Some people want to spread their ashes there.
Just watching the race in the grandstands would be incredible; shadowing Dietrich for the race weekend is beyond my wildest dreams.
“I guess that’s a yes?” He grins, blue eyes twinkling.
“Hell yes!” I yell, feeling like I just scored another podium.