Not like you’re already planning the Instagram post announcing your seat.
“But the deal isn’t settled yet so that’s why I need this favor from you,” I hush him while hiding a massive smile after his outburst of joy.
“There are no favors in our family, this is a basic obligation. You, your publicist, and manager are welcome on the jet. I just have to get some things settled first.” He hugs me again, nudging his face in my neck right next to my ear. “You always make me proud, princesa, remember that.”
“Stop, you’re going to make me cry.” I push him away, playfully.
“And you know how I feel about it, because you feel the same way,” I say again.
He just looks at me. “This is an occasion where crying is necessary, I will bet you that once we get back homePapá llorará, nuestros primos van a llorar, y yo probablemente voy a empezar a llorar.This was your dream, and you worked your ass off to make it a reality.” He has both hands on either side of my shoulders. “You did it,” he whispers with a proud look in his eyes.
Those three words break me.
I start crying. No, I start sobbing.
I end up wrapping my legs and arms around my brother. León carries me inside his car calling off his two minions in the process. I ended up crying in that car for what seems like a lifetime, but it was only for an hour.
He’s the only man in my life that I trust completely, not even my father comes close to the trust I have for León.
Not like I have much trust in my father.
When I finally stop crying, he chuckles.
“So much for chartering the jet at 7:30,” I laugh. “At least Lauren and Lucia had time to get ready. They’re probably waiting for a response.” Pulling out my phone, I see ten notifications from both of them.
I text them the location and the new charter time. I get out of the car and come face to face with my luggage in front of me. I spin around to face my brother.
“You let them touch my things,” I say in a harsh tone.
“Did you want to take forever and not get to Mexico on time?No verdad?” He pulls me into his escalade and calls out the location to the driver. Leaning back against the seat and sighing, I look out the window.
I know I’m ready. Ready for anything that wants to come my way. I’m in it, and I’m going to obliterate anyone who stands in my path.
Because I am Maria Alejandra Castillo, and I am going to be the first ever female F1 driver.
ChapterThree
Maria Alejandra
Stepping off my brother’s jet, I feel the cool breeze of Mexico City rush against my face. I sweep my dark curls just an inch behind my shoulder stopping them from completely covering my features.
The obsidian curls on my head are my own personal statement.
Length wise it reaches right above my breasts, the curls twisting and turning into an almost barbaric form. I love how untamed they look and how free they stand atop my head. These curls represent who I am and how I want the world to see me.
The media and the image that is presented to the public of who I am is reckless and untamable. Not like it’s a bad thing, but people tend to perceive it in either two ways.
1. I’m a bitch.
or
2. I’m a whore.
I prefer the bitch notion if I’m being honest. The media likes to manipulate who I am into a single image. That image most likely participates in the notion of what a woman needs to be.
Sadly, F1 is way behind in the concept of equality. The sport is filled with old white men who want the world to adapt to their idea of what other people should be. I don’t blame them. I blame the people who taught them to be this way.
Time needs to pass in order for the advancement of societal ideals, morals, and technology. It’s basic fucking science, but these men are still stuck in the 1800s spewing all their misogynistic bullshit.