A SECOND CHANCE MAY BE TOO HOT TO HANDLE
They say there are no second chances, and for Lily Onassis, ever since she walked away from Formula World driver Max Becker, she's considered this true. Instead of a glitzy, glamorous life on the auto racing...
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LILY
Two hours later, I'm alone in the makeshift office at the paddock, feeling a tiny bit better. One of the first things the crew assembles is the office pod, which kind of looks like a modular classroom or a mobile home. All I care about is that it's air conditioned in this Texas heat.
Now that Max isn't nearby — he and Esteban have a meet-and-greet with sponsors at a restaurant downtown — I feel much more like my old self.
Organized, purposeful, and in control. I've already talked with Anh; she's going to this "Boots & BBQ" party tonight, and I can't wait to see her. And Mom texts with good news: Dad's met with a nutritionist and is in good spirits. My weird parents are apparently getting along well.
Don't worry about us, dear. Dad says to focus on the team.
She then sent a selfie of the two of them. A half hour later I spot the same photo on her Instagram. Which is probably good because the press will pick it up and dissect her caption, taking the heat off me for a but.
"Whatever works for them," I murmur at my phone, then turn back to a lengthy recap written by Jack of the last race. Esteban needs to work on his focus, the team needs to prioritize tweaking the engine.
In reality, Jack writes, we're not entirely certain how to unleash the potential for Max's car. Max's driving is in top form but we need to slice and dice the data, which isn't correlating with what Max is feeling and experiencing when actually behind the wheel.
I take a minute to absorb this. When winning Formula World races, sometimes it all comes down to milliseconds. Sometimes it's driver performance, like breaking a fraction of a second too late. Other times it's the car and tuning it just so to get the most out of the combined petrol internal combustion engine and electric motors. Then there's the team and the pit stops, and if someone fumbles during a tire change, it can change the course of the race.
Those aren't my decisions, though – it's why we pay top dollar and brilliant engineers to craft the perfect car. I'm merely Dad's eyes and ears. Still, I love the sport and want to know what's going on. I love the technical details of the sport, and that's one of the reasons why I went to work for the racing game designer. I was able to be around the sport, but not in it.
As I'm going over a memo discussing at length which tires should be used for the race in six days, there's a knock on the flimsy office door.
"Come in," I call out.
Tanya saunters through the door, holding a clipboard and a cell.
"Hey there." I move my bag off a seat and she plunks down.
"You look happier," she says.
"Feeling much better. I've spent the last few hours reading through reports, getting up to speed. I think I can do this."
