Page 12 of Tipping Point

Callum might battle his car, but he’s doing so masterfully. On the straight, he pulls away slowly while I push back against the heavy force pressing down on my chest as we increase our speed.

He over-commits at the next corner and I come down the inside, our cars coming close. Touching in a slight bump, he ends with a skid as I pull away through the inside.

My heart is thumping in my head, pushing back hard against the seat as I floor it for the straight. My neck and shoulder muscles are clenched tight. I have to keep them rigid for the entire race.

“P eleven.” Erik sounds incredulous. He shows no emotion when he communicates while we’re driving. It’s all cool and collected.

When I drive like this, it scares me.

Why am I driving like this, today?

Sweat is pouring down my face and I blink my eyes angrily. It’s as hot as a furnace inside the car. I take a sip from the drink tube, but the water is lukewarm already.

We’re down two laps of fifty-eight.

And I’m P twelve.

If I can place tenth, that’s a point for Delta Victor.

I want it. I want that point.

It scares me.

I think of the girl with the green eyes and the auburn hair and I am reaching, grasping at the fury I need to finish this race.

It’s my last year. I’ve done what needs to be done.

Erik’s voice crackles over the comms, but I don’t hear it. He’s feeding me lap times and time gaps between me and the driver up front, Callum behind me.

He counts down the laps.

Lap nine.

Lap twenty-two.

Lap thirty-eight.

I pit for new tyres and come out behind Callum. He hasn’t pitted yet, so I’m not worried.

My hands are cemented to the wheel, sweat pouring off me. The race is taking its toll on me.

Callum pits and Rheese Knox is ahead of me. He races for Ainsworth-Sinclair and he’s a ball buster.

We’re tearing down the circuit approaching the high-speed chicane at turns eleven and twelve and I’m right on his ass. I stay there for two more laps. I hang around in his slipstream and use the advantage to close the gap. When we approach the braking zone, he feints to the outside, and I surge forward, but he darts back to the inside, brakes late, and carries the speed into the corner. Our tyres kiss in a puff of smoke and I brake hard to avoid it escalating.

He pulls ahead on the straight.

He’s reckless. It infuriates me.

Two laps later, we’re back at the turn, but I’m ready for him.

It’s play-by-play, the exact chain of events like before. Rheese is daring, but he’s predictable. This time I don’t brake when our tyres come together, bounce away, and come back.

The car is shaking underneath me, and we spin out slightly in the corner. Rheese takes the corner on the inside and goes over the curb, gaining the advantage.

“Penalty,” Erik says over comms.

Rheese gets the advantage by going off track to gain his position. It’s illegal. He’s being penalised.