Page 25 of Crash Course

I straighten. Someone will have a chance at working on the grid. Not someday, but a few months from now.

“Holy shit,” Megan says numbly as we file out.

“This is unprecedented,” Zane says. “I figured Luca was an asshole, but I didn’t see him holding a pro-racing edition of the Hunger Games.”

Once we reach the hallway, we’re ushered by staff toward two lines in the foyer to pick up our name tags.

“Catch up with you guys at lunch?” I tell my friends once I get mine.

I run to the bathroom, still thinking of Luca’s announcement.

Not the driver one—the engineer one. It’s a dream job for someone who wants to work with F1 cars and experience the thrill and pace of the grid firsthand.

A tingling hum vibrates through my chest, filling my body.

When I emerge, the main hall is busier than before. Lunch is opposite the atrium, which is now swarmed with people.

The crowd is at my back, my front, my sides. I fall into the flow of traffic, craning my neck to see if Megan or the guys are anywhere near.

But it’s not any of them I meet first. Jameson’s voice at my ear is cold enough to freeze me in my tracks.

“Tell me what the fuck you did to my car.”

8

Shay

There’s no way out. Hundreds of students and ARI staff fill the space, all of them going nowhere quickly.

Jameson’s tall and imposing at my back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I pray for the crowd to move faster, my pulse racing.

No such luck.

“You put a limiter on my engine revs.”

My mouth falls open. “Then why did you ask me?”

“To hear you say it.”

The crowd moves, and Jameson’s body brushes my back. My ass.

Breathing is suddenly impossible.

“You hacked my ride, Townie.” His voice is close to my ear, his words a whisper. “I know it was you. If I tell someone you did this, you’ll be expelled in five minutes.”

Reality slices through the haze of awareness. Getting expelled would mean no engineering degree. No garage with my dad.

I fist the strap of my book bag in my hand, my palm healing but still rough. My finger brushes the ring hanging from my necklace. Deep in my chest, the sensation I felt Friday night starts up again. The rebellion that had me breaking into his car in the first place.

No. I’m not going down like this.

“But what a fascinating five minutes it’d be.” I sound more confident than I am. “I’m sure the administration would love to hear how you hit me with your car. Probably the police, too.”

There’s a beat before he responds. “They won’t arrest an Ashford.”

I shrug, and that tiny movement has my shoulder rubbing his chest through our clothes. I clock every spot we touch.