Page 17 of Tipping Point

Qualifying kicks off and startles me back to the present.

They are off. The usual bunch up at the start of the race, tyres bumping into each other, plumes of smoke and sparks flying through the air as the drivers push themselves, push their cars, jostling for a good position.

Ollie’s up ahead and pulls away easily, with Jasper right behind him. The Velocity Racing fans go wild.

Lucinda is on her feet and cheering along with her pequeño rebaño as the deafening sound of the cars and the crowd drown out the realities of everyday life.

I recall the reply that Dixon sent when he finally got my message.

DIXON (03:47) Now bring it to life.

* * *

CAMILLE

“He said what?”

It’s Amy. She’s on video call. I prop up my phone against the big, mirrored wall behind the sink in the bathroom.

“I’m not his type.”

“Fuck that guy.”

“Uh-huh.” I lean forward and add another layer of mascara, blinking it on.

“You good?” she asks casually. It makes me laugh.

“I’m fine. Stop worrying.”

“Okay, okay, just checking. How did today go?”

I stand back to admire my reflection. I’m in my underwear, fully shaved, with my hair still up in the towel. I untwist it and it falls wetly past my shoulders.

“It was great. I filmed Ollie afterwards in the media room. He’s all smiles, but you can tell he’s taking his time to think things through before he answers.”

“No, you can’t. But you can.”

“What?”

“Dixon always says you pay attention to people when they don’t talk. That’s your thing, why you get so much insight.”

I lean forward with my hair dangling down and rub the mass of curls between the folds of the towel.

“He’s never said that to me.”

She snorts.

“Anyway, it was great footage,” I continue.

“How’d the other guy do?”

“Rheese?”

“No, the rude one.”

“Oh. Irish placed like seventeenth, and two cars spun out, so he got two spots for free. Nothing like last week.”

“How’d he do last week?”