Page 48 of Until The Lights Go Out

Like more nights like this.

Like every midnight.

Like her staying when the stars disappeared.

Like her never leaving at all.

15

MAISEY | PRESENT

RACE WEEKEND ONE - AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX

“Alright, we’re live in thirty,” one of the PitSpark producers called, pointing at me from behind the camera setup. It was officially the first race of the season. Over the last week, I had gotten the socials all set up for the PitSpark Paddock Report. A younger generation of fans had flocked to it after the first video of the short interview with Theo from preseason had been posted. I was proud of it, proud that I was proving I could do this. And while the content side and laid-back interviews were fun, I was the most nervous for this: the real-time interviews during a race. This would be the brunt of my job for the season.

I nodded, already running through the talking points in my head.

Confident. Clear. No rambling. No overthinking. I knew statistics and strategy well; it was hardwired into my brain. I could do this.

“Andrews,” Tom—the lead strategist for Kaz—leaned over my shoulder, tapping the screen. “If they box lap eighteen, we’re undercutting. It’s tight, but it’s there.”

“I see it,” I said, already adjusting the graphic, “but only if degradation holds.”

“It will.”

I raised a brow. “You hope it will.”

He smirked. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

I snorted and pushed back with a smile, “Bold of you to assume they’re paying you for optimism.”

He laughed, clapping me lightly on the shoulder before heading back into the chaos of the garage. I exhaled slowly, centering myself.

“You’re up,” the producer said. We were having live commentary during the race.

And just like that, the switch flipped.

“Welcome back to the PitSpark Paddock Report,” I said, voice steady—practiced, but still mine. “We’re looking at a really interesting strategy window opening up here for Kaz Energy Racing…”

The words came easily. They always did once I started. I walked through the data, broke it down, made it digestible without dumbing it down—something I’d worked hard to get right.

Something I really wanted to convey was that real data didn’t need to be gatekept and complicated. I wanted new fans to learn, for people to see a woman doing this and doing it damn well.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see people watching, a couple of engineers. Someone from Kaz’s media team, a young girl who worked in admin for their socials, gave a bright thumbs up.

By the time we cut, I barely had time to breathe, knowing we’d be back on in a handful of laps or if there was a safety car deployed beforehand. That always made things interesting. My phone buzzed in my back pocket, Serena’s name flashing across the screen. I grinned instantly, ducking out toward the quieter side of the paddock as I answered.

“Tell me you saw that,” I said, putting my headphones on and slipping out of the garage.

Serena’s face filled the screen—helmet hair, sunglasses pushed up on her head, still in her race suit at her own practice a world away in America, but still beaming.

“I saw it,” she said. “You’re insufferable now, by the way.”

I gasped. “Excuse you? I was brilliant.”

“You were so polished,” she teased. “Who are you and what have you done with the girl who once tried to explain tire strategy using snack metaphors?”

“Those were effective,” I shot back. “Everyone understands snacks.”