Chapter 16
Mom doesn’t release her death grip until the elevator doors ding shut behind us.
“Was that your teammate?” The way she says it, it’s not a question.
“We were hanging out with Pat and Georgios,” I say, my heart still galloping like it’s going to burst out of my chest. “It was a team get-together bonding kind of thing.”
“Is that what they call it these days?”
I blush. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going down to London.”
“You never listen to me. I told you I changed my mind—I’m taking the morning train tomorrow instead.”
She must have dropped this news at breakfast, somewhere between planning the next photo shoot and complaining about her accountant. I make a mental note to do a better job not zoning her out.
The elevator opens on our floor, and Mom resumes the perp walk, like I’ll run away and go make out with Cameron if she gives me an inch of wiggle room. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to get involved with your teammate.”
“Why not?” I ask defiantly, even though I’ve been debating the exact same thing and I did, in fact, pull away first—not that Mom seems to have noticed.
“Do you think a distraction like this is really what you need right now?” She unlocks the door and we step into the apartment, kicking off our shoes.
I don’t answer. She’s right; it’s what I’ve been trying (and failing) to remind myself all night.
Mom sets her Boots bag down on the counter. “For tomorrow night,” she explains, taking out a pack of mints and blotting paper. “It’s going to be all eyes on you when you’re next to Dietrich Lange.”
My heart sinks. The last hazy wisps of my what-ifs with Cameron vanish as I realize that Dietrich, who by all measures should be the boy of my dreams, has barely crossed my mind all evening.
“How come you’re so cool with Dietrich but not Cameron?” I challenge. “Is it because he’s a big F1 star?”
Mom gives me a look. “Who is your biggest competition at races? Who are you up against for the F2 seat? You’re a smart girl; you can do the math.”
I can. And Cameron and I are an equation that does not result in a rational answer, no matter what dimensional plane we’re on.
“Gougou.” Mom sighs. “I get it. You’re a young woman. With young woman hormones and needs—”
I will the ceiling above me to crumble so I can get knocked in the head and develop amnesia and never have to remember Mom using the words hormones and needs.
“—but you’re so, so close to the finish line. You’re top three in the championship; you’re a front-runner for the open seat next year. We’ve wanted and worked for this for so long. Are you really willing to risk it for some boy?”
Left unspoken, like a fifteen-ton elephant in the corner, is the specter of Dad and the lesson he inadvertently imparted: Trophies stick around; people do not.
Mom’s right. I’m on the brink of having everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve been working for.
But somehow it no longer feels like enough.