Chapter 21
The days leading up to Spa, our next race, are a blur. Cameron and I try to meet up as much as we can, but he has his parents crammed into his two-bedroom apartment, and I’ve got Mom tailing and haranguing me even more than usual now that she knows there’s a good chance I’m moving up categories.
Happily, Pat’s father is flying some business partners to the Belgian Grand Prix on his jet, so Cameron and I get invites to fill the extra seats.
Three hours next to him on a luxe private plane—even if we’re surrounded by billionaires I should be sucking up to—is universes better than an eight-hour road trip with Mom.
The plane is already mostly filled when I enter.
The cabin, paneled with dark rosewood and lined by coffee-colored leather recliners, screams “money.” Pat’s father holds court toward the back with a group of older men, some of whom I’ve definitely seen on the cover of Mom’s Forbes magazines.
Pat and Cameron sit opposite each other in one of the quads—four armchairs facing into one another.
“Morning, Kwong.” Cameron grins, and my heart jumps. I don’t think I’ll ever get bored of that smile, even though we were snacking on chip butties at his grandparents’ less than twelve hours ago.
“Morning,” Pat echoes, his eyes glued to his Nintendo Switch.
I slide into the seat next to Cameron, hoping I look casual and suave. Just two F3 drivers sitting next to each other, hitching a ride with their teammate. Nothing unusual about that at all.
“Ready for Spa?” Cameron turns to me, and a blush spreads across my cheeks. I’ll never admit it, but he’s right—I really need to work on my bluffing.
“Hi, Justine. Hello, boys.” Dietrich enters the plane.
I wave happily. He texted me the evening after the gala, a simple Thank you.
That same night Mom reported—with heavy disappointment—that she saw Dietrich hand in hand with a brunette at the local Waitrose.
I couldn’t be more pleased for him; he seems lighter than he has been the entire time I’ve known him.
“Dietrich!” Pat switches off his Super Mario and tries to flatten his bedhead. “Dad said you were riding with Lou and the team principals, I thought.”
“And a plane full of sponsors. Of course I prefer you lot.” Dietrich lowers himself into the armchair opposite me. “What do you have there?” He nods toward the piece of paper in front of Cameron.
“Race prep.” Cameron holds out the extra-large sheaf.
It’s a technical printout of the Spa-Francorchamps circuit, listing in excruciating detail the camber of every turn, the dimensions of DRS zones, optimal acceleration, and braking points.
I want to kick myself—why hadn’t I thought to do that?
And, a small voice whispers in the back of my head, why didn’t Cameron share this with me in all the time we were hanging out yesterday?
Granted, we were mostly listening to his grandfather’s stories about the 1960s Merseyside music scene or making out when his grandparents left the room, but still.
Dietrich looks at the paper, eyebrows raised. “This is impressive. Did you make it?”
“My granddad did,” he says proudly. “Would you want to review with us? If you don’t mind?”
“Sure,” Dietrich says amiably, and Cameron and Pat look like a couple of kids who just got handed golden tickets to the Chocolate Factory.
A part of me feels irritated at Cameron for not sharing this earlier and opportunistically gleaning tips off Dietrich, clearly trying to extend his championship lead.
I would have done the same, but that doesn’t make it less annoying.
I pay close attention as Dietrich walks us through every anecdote he has about Spa for the next hour. Best ways to take corners. Best strategies for cold weather, hot weather, rain or shine. To my surprise, Cameron and Pat chime in with their own anecdotes too.
When we’re halfway over the English Channel, Cameron slips his hand under the foldout table and laces his fingers through mine.
I instinctively glance at Dietrich and Pat; luckily, they’re too engrossed in a discussion about Eau Rouge’s safety upgrades to notice.
My earlier irritation lightens a little and I give his hand a squeeze.
After all, I’ve still picked up useful tips from the group discussion.
And I’m still Lou Wilson’s lead horse for the F2 seat.
From what Lou mentioned at the gala, he’ll be watching live, probably the only F3 race he’ll attend in person this season.
Spa will be the perfect opportunity to lock it in once and for all.