Page 11 of First in Line
“Which is?”
“First, I continue with rallycross and autocross races so I can get better and have some money on the side. Then I’ll enter bigger touring car races with the SCCA until some scouts notice me.”
“What’s SCCA?”
“Sports Car Club of America. I can enter with my own car, but the fees are pretty high. And I need this old girl to be a little faster. So, I need the money to buy new parts.”
“Okay, let’s say you can do all that and a scout notices you. What then?”
“Well, they’d make me come in for a test to join an F4 team.”
“F4? How many Fs are there?!”
“Just four,” he chuckles. “I’d get into F3 after that, then F2, and when I’ve won enough championships and have over forty FIA points in three years, I’ll get a super license. Then I can be invited to drive for an F1 team.”
“FIA?”
“It’s like, International Automobile Federation, but in French.”
“Oh…” I think about everything he’s said for a moment, then shrug. “Well, that sounds easy enough.”
This time, he lets out a full belly laugh. “Again, it’s only twenty drivers out of tens of thousands, Evie.”
“I’ve seen you drive. You’re very good at it, so I know you can do this.”
He shakes his head with a grin and looks forward again at the closed school. “What about you?” he wonders. “What do you want to do?”
“I think I want to become an architect.”
“Really? That’s cool.”
“Yeah, I think so too. I like to imagine what my dream house looks like,” I explain. “I even have a notebook where I draw floor plans and sketch ideas I have.”
“You’ll have to show me.”
“Sure. I have five dream houses so far.”
“That’s ambitious,” he chuckles.
“You’re one to talk…” We listen to the music for a moment, then I say, “By the way, I’m still not sure what teaching me how to drive has to do with becoming a Formula One driver.”
“I can’t have a girlfriend who doesn’t know how to drive, can I? They’d make fun of me.”
The butterflies that seem to fly around in my stomach every time we hang out return in full force. It’s so intense and powerful that I almost squirm at the sensation wreaking havoc inside me.
“Girlfriend?” I repeat, my voice so unstable it’s a miracle he heard it.
“Yeah. You’re my girlfriend, right?”
I blink several times, confused. I very much want to be his girlfriend, but he’s never asked. And I thought he only wanted to be friends since he hasn’t even tried to kiss me.
“I am?” I ask, twisting to meet his peculiar eyes.
He seems just as confused as I am, as if our status was evident to him this whole time.
“I mean… Why didn’t you—” I start slightly panicking. “We haven’t—even kissed or… I don’t know. Held hands.”
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he grabs my hand on the car’s hood and wraps it in his, entwining our fingers together. Gosh, that feels amazing. I love holding his hand.
