I have to win this round; failure isn't an option now. With determination pulsing through my veins, I accelerate my speed as I enter the third lap. The crowd's cheers fade into the background as I focus on the track ahead. I finished second in the first lap and claimed first in the second; now, victory in this lap is essential if I want to win the bet that hangs over me.
"Fuck!" I mutter under my breath, feeling Fernando breathing down my neck. I can see him gaining ground, a fierce competitor with relentless drive. I know I need to maintain the distance between us if I hope to cross that finish line first. Pushing my speed limits to the max, I feel the strain of my engine, but there's no room for hesitation or doubt. Fernando is just four seconds behind me, and I have ten seconds left until the finish line. The stakes are high; it's not about the prize money for me—it's about the satisfaction of denying Fernando a chance to gloat. The thought of him whining about the loss for years is unbearable.
As I round a bend, I catch a glimpse of Fernando in my rearview mirror, steadily closing the gap. Now we're neck and neck; my mind races as I scramble for a clever strategy to ensure the race doesn't end in a draw. I quickly reduce my speed by a notch, trying to stay on level with him, and it works.
"Great!" I think to myself. Now I just need to unleash all the power my car has as we approach the finish line. We're down to three seconds, and I start counting down in my mind.
"Three, two, one!" With a surge of adrenaline, I slam my foot on the accelerator, feeling the jolt send my head smacking into the steering wheel. It hurts, but the pain is a small price to pay for victory. The shouts of exhilaration from the crowd drown everything else out. I glance around and spot the sea of red bandanas waving joyously in the air, a sure sign that I've won. People place their bets on the sidelines, sporting bright bandanas to showcase their allegiance—I've always been associated with the red ones, representing my red car and my status as a regular competitor at these races.
I begin to apply the brakes gently, my heart still racing from the thrill. A part of me wants to put an end to the charade with Katy—my supposed girlfriend—but I can't risk jeopardizing the support from my father. He's convinced that Katy and I are happily dating, and he's been nudging me about engagement plans, completely unaware of the agreement I made with Katy: we would present ourselves as a couple in public, but keep our relationship strictly platonic.
Initially, she resisted the idea, but something changed her mind along the way, and I never bothered to delve into why. As I carry Katy in one arm, moving toward the winner's canopy, I feel a mix of frustration and obligation. Part of me wants to drop her right there, but I know it would spark a scandal given everyone's perception of our relationship.
As I finally come to a stop, I'm instantly surrounded by a throng of friends, fans, and well-wishers celebrating my victory. Handshakes and pats on the back are exchanged as I strut toward Fernando, ready to revel in my triumph.
"What does it feel like to lose?" I taunt him, circling him with a smug grin plastered on my face, relishing the irritation creeping onto his features.
"What do you think it feels like?" he shoots back, his frustration palpable.
"I don't know, maybe you can enlighten me since I'm not the one crying here," I reply, attempting to walk away, but Fernando is quicker. Before I know it, I'm tackled to the ground, and we start rolling around, wrestling like little kids, laughter and jabs filling the air. After our playful scuffle, we finally pull ourselves up from the ground, both breathing heavily.
"Well done, babe!" Katy exclaims as she leaps onto me. I instinctively support her with one arm to keep her steady while I adjust my stance. Katy has been my childhood friend, but the romantic façade she adopts complicates our friendship. I've never corrected anyone's assumptions about us, and it seems we've both fallen into this comfortable routine. Our parents have dreams of uniting us in marriage, but the idea makes me uneasy, while Katy appears fully supportive of the notion.
As we approach the winner's canopy, I gently lower her to the ground before sinking into a chair. She plops down on my lap, grabbing a bottle of water and offering it to my mouth. I sip, allowing the cool liquid to quench my thirst as she wipes a stray drop from my lips with her thumb, a gesture that feels simultaneously affectionate and frustrating.
"You did so well out there! Seriously, any other racer would have either lost or settled for a draw, but you pulled off such a smart maneuver," she praises, her eyes dancing with admiration.
"Really?" I ask, looking up into her eyes. Even though the idea of dating Katy doesn't sit well with me, I can't bring myself to treat her badly. We've shared too much history, and somehow, I still find myself responding to her with genuine kindness.
"Of course! If you take your racing career seriously, you could make it big," she insists, her eyes shining with conviction.
"Are you suggesting I turn racing into a profession?" The thought has crossed my mind before, but the impending confrontation with my parents about it stirs a knot in my stomach.
"We both know you are more than capable of making it work. You'd find success if you pursued it," she encourages, her faith in me unwavering.
"Thank you, Katy. I will think about it." I appreciate her support; she has been my biggest cheerleader from the very beginning.
"Well, I'm heading home now," I announce, trying to steer the conversation to a close.
"Should I come with you?" she asks, already gathering her things.
"No, you can't," I reply firmly.
"Why not?" She looks confused, her brow furrowed as she continues packing.
"Because I'm not going back to my apartment. I'm going to see my family," I clarify, not wanting her to follow me down this uncomfortable path.
"Oh, I can… wait, you're not serious, are you?" her voice trails off, surprise tingeing her tone.