“What the fuck was that, Miss Castillo?”
“That, Mr. Donatello, was me telling you to fuck off.” I flip him off causally without a sign of anger or frustration. He throws the helmet to my right and I look over as it plops next to me on the cushion. Bringing my gaze back up to him, I take a sip of my water keeping eye contact.
“Do you know what you just did, little girl? Not only did you do that in front of cameras, but you also did that to me. What did I say about disrespect? You’re just a brat who wants attention, and that’s what all those cameras saw out there. So, what do you want the world to see, huh?” he scoffs.
I scoff right back. “Don’t call me a little girl, old man. I didn’t disrespect you. I actually did everything I could not to. If I wanted to disrespect you, I would have given you a nice long monologue in front of all the cameras.”
“You don’t call that disrespect? I guess you were educated poorly. Because to me, that was the definition of disrespect. You don’t even know what you’ve walked into, do you? This is a lion’s den, and you’re just a mere kitten who has never had to suffer the consequences of your actions. Well, here, at the sport you love so much, you can’t act like a five-year-old having a hissy fit with her father.”
“You want to talk about disrespect? You not trusting my judgment or even asking me why I wasn’t going fast before telling me to go faster shows your disrespect loud and clear.”
“You talk about trusting judgment, but you don’t even trust mine. What you ask for, you never give back, and that’s the problem here. You simply have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. You don’t know the massive weight on everyone’s shoulders to make that car perform. Apparently, that’s something your pretty little head can’t grasp.” I just stare at him for a while, so I don’t say something I’ll regret.
“You call me a little girl, then come up to me and tell me that I don’t understand this game. I know this game better than you, that much is clear. Because when the car needs to truly perform is when we race, not practice. When I race, I’ll get you podiums and points. Me feeling comfortable and confident in that car lets you keep that enormous salary you love so much. It also gets me a title. It gives me a future in this sport that I work for every day. So, if that means pissing you off, that’s fine by me.” I shrug.
Lucia walks in just as I finish my sentence.
“Sorry to interrupt, but you’re scheduled for an after-practice interview for Elektra’s YouTube channel.”
Nodding at her, I grab a hoodie, throw it over my head and put on a cap.
I look up at him with disapproval.
“The seating needs adjusting maybe an inch or so, so I can sit more comfortably. Nash can probably make it a little wider for overall comfort.”
I turn around, open the door, and shut it behind me.
ChapterTen
Maria Alejandra
It’s race day, and I don’t know how to feel.
I love the buzz and electricity that runs through me as I get ready to walk through the paddock. But this morning that feeling was not present. I woke up in a horrible mood, as always. I am not a morning person. I feel like I’m always tired no matter how much sleep I get.
I’ve never loved the sun, I’m sure that’s a weird statement coming from a Mexican, but I only like the sun when I am thoroughly prepared for it. That’s why I love the rain so much, I guess. It keeps me calm.
That can even be applied to my career as a racer.
When conditions aren’t considered great on the grid, is when I drive the fastest. Which is weird to most, but there’s no point in lying that I dominate in the rain. I prefer it as such. It can be difficult to control at times, but the thrill of racing through the water and having it perfect at every turn keeps me calm. When precise control needs to happen, you lose yourself a little in the perfection of it all. The rush of possibility of spinning out at any second gives you a reckless nature.
But that might be the hothead in me, I like the feeling of being out of control. It’s freeing in a way. To feel like you don’t need to be in control releases you from expectations. It releases you from the control society has on your life and doesn’t cage you anymore.
I’m not saying that control isn’t needed, it is. Especially in this sport, but sometimes just saying fuck it can take you farther than saying fight it.
You can’t control an engine malfunction or a tire slashing on the last corner of a race. But you can control how much you give every single day, and that’s the control needed from every hard-working bad bitch out there.
That’s what I try to project even on a day like today. Where pressure is the definition of my sorrows.
I take a deep breath before opening the door to my black Mercedes GTR. I can already hear the shutter clicks from the cameras being held by F1 publicity. Closing the door behind me, I start to walk through the crowd wearing one of my best outfits.
I’ve always thought that even though I’m a part of a sport that’s considered relatively conservative, that doesn’t mean I can’t wear what I want to work.
I walk through the paddock verification gate in my custom all black Doc Martens and black ripped shorts, gracing the bottom half of my body. On my upper half is my custom Elektra hoodie that I had made by my best friend Violetta’s little sisters, Chanel and Cleo. The teams black and white colors adorn it, while the word ELEKTRA reaches from the front to the back of the hoodie. The large graffiti font letters give it a street style look and my black sunglasses cover my face. Jet-black curls sprawl everywhere around me as I hold my phone in my hand.
I wave at the cameramen as I walk past them. Finding the team building is easy enough as it’s the first building on the walkway.
Making my way through the automatic glass doors, I walk into my future for the next few months. Imagining a time where I might be able to fight for the Driver’s Championship.