Thank you.I won’t lie.That was hard, because there’s not nearly as much going on as on an F1 grid.
Caleb messages me back:
Well, you made it look easy.BTWI envy that grid. I hate getting bombarded by the media when I’m in race mode.
Ugh. I hate that I might make some people feel that way when I’m reporting. But I have a job to do, and that is connecting fans with the sport. Dealing with the media is part of a racer’s job, too. Like today, I was showcasing the future stars of F1. Because some of those drivers will end up on an F1 team in the future, I made a point to try and talk to as many of them as I could.
I’ve also watched enough F1 to know that Caleb will answer a question when he’s asked—the answer is just clipped and abrupt, that’s all. I remind him:
But you do speak when spoken to, so as part of the media, I thank you for that.
He quickly texts me back:
I’m not that much of an arse.
I snicker at that as another message drops in:
You’re going to watch the race in the media centre, right?
A shiver races through me. We did a Connectivity Video Connect last night, and we talked for hours. Again. We never run out of things to say to each other. I shake my head. I can’t believe how wrong I was about him. From TV, I just had this image of an ice-in-his-veins driver who lived for racing.
But I’ve come to realize he’s only that man when the visor is down. There’s a whole other side to Caleb when he’s out of that racing suit.
And I like the man I’m discoveringa lot.
So much so that I’m willing to risk my career chances just to see what he’s like.
But we both agreed it would not be a good look for me to be in his garage for a second day in a row, so I’m going to watch from the media center instead. I message him back:
Yes. I’m going to work for a bit, then get some lunch and head back to the media center to watch the race.I’m so excited to see you race today. Three o’clock can’t come fast enough.
Caleb Collings is typing …
Prediction. Xavier is going to come at me HARD at the start. He’s used to people ceding position to him or drivers ending up off track and claiming he forced them off because he’s so aggressive.
Two more messages drop in, one after the other:
But I’m not afraid of him or his aggression.
I BLOODY WELCOME GOING WHEEL-TO-WHEEL WITH HIM.
Oh my God, just when I think he can’t get any hotter, he does. Calebwantsthe challenge of fighting Xavier.
And I can’t wait to see it.
* * *
I’m a bundle of nerves as I stare at the large screens in the media center showing the race. The cars have already gone on the formation lap to warm up their brakes and tires—with Caleb leading the way in his number 91 chrome-and-black car. As I watch him come back to his starting place on the grid, everything in me is on edge. I’m nervous. Excited. Anxious. I’m a wreck, but in the best way possible. My adrenaline is sky high, and even though this race is sixty-three laps, I don’t see myself settling down until Caleb crosses the finish line at the end.
Because as much as I love racing, I also know the dangers of this sport.
Drivers havediedracing on this very track.
I remind myself that Caleb is one of the best drivers in the world. Hewillwreck sometimes. It’s part of the sport. I just haveto believe that no matter what happens on that track, he’ll be okay.
I tap my foot underneath the table and bite my lip. One of my absolute favorite parts of an F1 race is about to happen—waiting for the red starting lights to come on. I always find myself eager for this moment whenever I watch a race, but now, with Caleb sitting on the pole?
I’ve never been more excited in my life for them to turn on.