Chapter 9 #2
Yes, I took driver’s ed, and I got a learner’s permit, like everyone else, so I know how to drive.
It’s just that sometimes I would get that funny anxiety feeling when I was behind the wheel, that tightness in my chest, the shortness of breath while I was trying to keep my eyes on the road through excessive blinking.
I couldn’t shake the creeping thought that I wasn’t safe, that I was destined to die in some fiery crash, so I just stopped driving altogether.
It wasn’t a huge deal. Robbie or Mom or Charlotte was perfectly fine taking me to any tournament I needed to get to.
We didn’t have an extra car for me anyway.
The seat belt in this kart straps across both shoulders, and unlike the notoriously treacherous Rainbow Road, our track is lined with safety railings, so I most likely won’t be flying off as we go around any turns.
I’m sure I’ll be good here, and none of this was worth mentioning to Diego.
Not after yesterday. Not after my fall. I’ve had enough embarrassment in front of him for a lifetime.
We’re all the way in the back of the group, behind the birthday party. Diego gives me a thumbs-up when I look over at him. God, it was so sweet of him to plan this. If I can get out of my own way, I can have fun here. I deserve to have fun.
The start of the race isn’t dramatic. It begins with a practice lap, to get a sense of the track, and all of it feels perfectly fine, nice and easy.
But slow and steady won’t win this race. That’s immediately clear when Diego almost sideswipes my kart and zooms past me as soon as we get a green flag. He’s probably been raring to go back there, annoyed at my grandfatherly speed, and now he’s grabbing his window to pull ahead.
As he screeches off in front of me, something inside me ignites.
I grip the steering wheel and start the chase, weaving through kids and karts, up and down the track.
I approach a corner and throw my weight into the turn, my tires screaming as I drift around the bend, going full-on Princess Peach, slinging shells, dress whipping in the air, hand on my tiara.
Lap after lap, I’m gunning for Diego, competition forcing my anxiety to take the back seat, until—
Slam! Some motherfucker rear-ends me, and I lurch forward. But these karts were built for a little abuse, and there’s no stopping me now. I use the extra boost to push ahead, shoving my foot harder on the pedal. It’s the last lap, and Diego’s kart is in sight.
I fly past a pair of kids just trying to have a nice time at the party.
Sorry, guys. They’re competing against my ego and my unquenchable thirst to win, which means this won’t end well for them.
My foot is glued to the gas pedal as I inch next to Diego, who’s stuck behind one of the party parents.
He’s forced to brake on the final turn, and I cut him off rounding the corner, clipping the side of his kart, knocking him into the railing…
And I narrowly pull ahead for the win.
I know his ranking doesn’t transfer from tennis to go-karting, but it feels amazing to beat a world number two in anything at anything.
“Almost got me,” I say to him as we park our karts.
“We’re going again,” he shouts to me as soon as he removes his helmet.
“Okay, yeah.”
“We’re going again,” he repeats, passing me, sprinting to the front of the line for the next race. I can’t read him under his damn head sock, but I hear the pinch of intensity in his voice.
There’s one thing we both have in common, one thing that unites every single professional athlete.
We hate to lose.
—
All it takes for nature to be restored is Diego’s winning the next two races, and he’s back to his fun-loving self for the next hour or so we’re at the go-kart place. We even stop to play a few arcade games before he has one more idea for the night.
Our car picks us up outside, and Diego hands his phone to the driver, a map open on his screen. “Phil, can we make one more stop—here, please? It looks like we’re right around the corner.”
Ten minutes later, we’re in a park, a warm breeze in our hair, and Diego’s an inch away from me, looking out across the dark water of what I’m pretty sure is the Hudson River.
“So, we snuck in something New Yorky after all,” I say. In front of us, glowing in the night, is the Statue of Liberty in all her green glory.
“I hate to tell you this…”
“What?”
“Technically,” Diego says, turning toward me, “the Statue of Liberty is also in New Jersey.”
“Goddamn it. First go-karts, now her? Can’t New York have anything nice?”
“Yeah, I did a press event there last year and got the whole history. The city of New York runs it, but it’s on the New Jersey side of the river,” Diego says. “Do you know how tall she is?”
“Bet you’re gonna tell me.”
“Ninety-three meters.”
“The tallest woman I’ve ever seen.”
“And with those toned arms,” he says, “she’d make a very good tennis player.”
“It’s kinda nice that we haven’t talked about tennis the entire night,” I say, just now realizing that we haven’t.
“I needed the escape.” He has no idea how much I needed it, actually—a break from my nerves.
I’ve barely checked my phone the whole time, barely thought about the tournament and everything and everyone I’m up against starting Monday.
Diego makes me nervous in a completely different way—and I think it might be the good kind of nervous.
“I needed the break too. It was a nice way to take my mind off things,” he says. I know what I need a break from, but I wonder what his specifics are. “Thanks for coming with me.”
It’s funny that he’s thanking me for attending the night he fully arranged and paid for.
“And very much likewise…yeah,” I reply, in the most awkward phrasing anyone’s ever uttered. But the streetlamp above us is making his eyes sparkle and all of this feels overwhelming and I can’t believe I’m standing here with the hottest, most talented man I’ve ever seen.
He chuckles, and we linger on each other a moment longer than usual.
Okay, this part—this part—feels like a date, and I want another and another and another. He initiated this one, and it’s my turn to step up.
“Do you want to hang out again tomorrow night?” I ask.
He hesitates. “I have a match on Monday…”
“Yeah, I do too. A school night for both of us,” I joke. But then my eyes narrow as I realize what that means. “Wait. So we’re…”
“Yep. We’re on the same side of the draw,” he says. “It’s you and me in the fourth round, Hardy Boy.”
Oh shit. That nickname is really growing on me. But also—
Shit.
I stand there as this new reality settles over our lovely evening of not worrying about tennis.
We’re both here for one reason, and it’s not to make friends, or boyfriends, or go on adventures in New Jersey.
It’s to win the US Open. In the end, it will always be about the win.
And we’re standing directly in each other’s way.
Not at the final or the semifinals. In the middle of the fucking tournament.
Diego, however, doesn’t seem concerned about this, and the teasing continues. “You look surprised,” he says.
“Why do you say that?”
“Just…everything that’s happening on your face…” he replies, tilting his head. In his defense, my emotions are generally prominent staples on my face. “Did I spoil it? You’re not one of those guys who don’t want to know who they play, are you?”
“Well, no, not normally, no. But I was giving it a shot this time around.”
“Sorry. I have a big mouth.”
“Eh, I think it would have come up eventually,” I say, scratching the back of my head, my mind spinning.
“Yeah, and who knows if it will actually happen. Let’s see if I make it that far.”
I almost scoff. The whiplash from this guy’s extreme confidence to modesty takes a degree in psychology to understand.
If he makes it that far? If I make it that far is more like it.
And it’s just my fucking luck that I would start with Volt and could have Mr. World Number Two a few days later. The US Open is trying to murder me.
“Okay, it’s way past my bedtime now,” he says through a yawn from that big, beautiful mouth of his.
“Say goodbye to New Jersey.” He starts walking, and in a daze I follow him.
“And to answer your question,” he says, hanging back to sling an arm over my shoulder, “yes. I’ll let you have a rematch tomorrow.
We can’t go too late, though. It’s a school night, after all. ”
He pats my chest, and there’s my fluttering heart again, flapping hard and high enough to lift me out of this spiral—for now.