Page 141 of Full Throttle

“Copy,” Juliette said.

Noise sounded over the radio: the pit crew running onto the track, no doubt, armed with tires and wrenches. Juliette’s heart was a cannon. Please, she thought, her eyes flicking to Anthony’s car. Please go into the pits.

Because Dominic was right: Anthony’s tires were shot. He’d be desperate to change them. And if Anthony thought she was pitting, he’d pit too. That way they’d come onto the track in the same positions.

Anthony approached the pit lane. Juliette’s heart pounded. Acid clawed up her throat and she felt dizzy, as if the track were splitting in two. Her tires whined in protest. Whatever happened next would decide the race. Please, Juliette thought desperately. Please buy it. Please go into the pit lane.

Please do it.

Anthony drew closer to the entrance. He made no sign of turning off.

Please.

Anthony turned, zooming into the pit lane. Juliette hurtled past into first place.

The team erupted into cheers. Everyone in the stands jumped to their feet, waving flags of every size and shape. Juliette let out a breath. A dizzying sensation filled her, like a kite snatched up by a gust of wind.

Holy shit. It had worked.

It had actually bloody worked.

“Oh, you evil bastards.” Hamish sounded delighted. “You threw a dummy.”

She grinned. “Sinclair bought it?”

“There’s lots of swearing,” Hamish reported gleefully. “He’s not happy.”

Juliette exhaled. “Yeah, well, I still need to make it across the finish line.” Her tires resembled Swiss cheese. She wouldn’t last for long.

“Nine laps,” Hamish said. “You can do it.”

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then again, he wasn’t driving the car, so perhaps that made it easier.

Juliette glanced in her rearviews. Anthony was only a few seconds behind, and he was on fresh tires. And he had rage. Lots and lots of rage.

No matter what, it was going to be close.

Six laps to go.

Juliette shifted gears. Five laps to go. Four. He was drawing closer. She was losing pace. Another lap passed. Another.

One lap to go.

Anthony pulled up beside her, his car spitting sparks. Juliette gunned it forward. The finish line rushed up—

Chapter 44

Then…

“Are you nervous, duck?”

Juliette glanced up. Her father crouched beside the go-kart, his dark hair damp with the muggy July drizzle. He was wearing a stained T-shirt with Shakespeare’s face that said, No Holds Bard! which normally would have embarrassed her, but she knew it was his lucky one. He’d dug it out of the laundry that morning.

She shook her head. “I’m just cold.”

Her gaze strayed to the fizzy juice at the finish line. What type was it? Grape? Apple? She hadn’t been able to touch her breakfast that morning, which Cap assured her was normal. I had to pull over halfway through my first race so I could vomit up my Weetabix, he’d told her, which hadn’t done much for her nerves.

Her father’s blue eyes were serious. So like her own, people liked to say. Cap had the same shade of violet too, although he was always smiling, so she supposed that it was harder to see the similarity.