THE F1 FORBIDDEN TUTOR

ak

set of laps. Numbers scrolled across the screen. Tire degradation. Downforce readings. Sector times shaved down to the thousandth of a second. This was the part of racing nobody saw on te

focus twice i

han yesterday," my engineer said, tapping the scr

narrowing at me across a party, I kept hearing a voice telling me to try being less of myself for five minutes, and none o

er for three seasons, leaned against the car with his arms folded. "Yo

king about

one. I have known you long e

ittle, given everything we had been through together, but the

quipment carts filled the air, sponsors in polo shirts talking into headsets, mechanics wheeling tire sets betwe

wenty-one because I refused to accept anything less than the top of the timing sheet. People who did not follow the sport thought it was only about driving fast, but it was about control, a

y unit, both of them laughing a little too loud at something one of them said, angling

the sponsor dinner tonight," the taller one s

," I said, an

trategy notes I had already memorized, which sounded significantly less interesting

rance, twenty years old and still young enough to find the

d, falling into step beside me. "That is new. Usually you at lea

s pol

three word

ee more than

used earlier, like he was trying to solve a puzzle I had not agreed to hand him.

ng hap

away. Michael told me. He said you did not say a single word the e

weekend, not the sponsors circling for my attention like they always did. Her. The way she had looked at me like I was an inconvenience rather than an opportunity, the sharp edge in her voic

e that. Nobody dismissed me an

and get back to focusing on the only thing that actually mattered, which was winning. It had nothing to

ddle of the night without waking either of us to say goodbye, and my father spent the following decade proving that a man could build an empire out of anger and call it strength. I had watched what love did to two people who once promised each other forever

my thoughts back to a girl I had met exactly

o, before any of this happened, before I had any reason to care about a list of student names attached to the project. I told myself I was simply confirming logistics. I told myself the same thing when I found he

ot give

e I was going or why. The room smelled like polished wood and old paper, students moving between practice rooms with i

n, and through the gap I could see her standing with her violin raised, eyes closed, co

n the hallway a