Pit Lane Persephone

Chapter 14: Lauren (Part 1 of 2)

Sunday, October 6 – Laguna Seca, California

Moving down the buffet line, I add a stack of baby carrots next to the heap of hummus on my plate. "How pathetic am I?" I ask of no one in particular, tilting my head back with a sigh.

My best friend in the whole world peeks around my shoulder. "I'd say pretty pathetic. You made a beeline straight to the veggies when there's a whole other table of desserts."

I smile. Yeah, that's the Cam I know and love. She knows how to cheer me up even when we're hanging out at a race we both could be riding in, not just watching from the VIP lounge.

"That's so not what I meant," I say, scooting along the table.

"Oh yeah?" She pops a chocolate truffle thing into her mouth. Her plate is full of nothing, but sugar. "What then?"

"I have almost three weeks off to relax and do practically whatever I want, and all I've done is hung out at home, rode some dirt track, played video games, went to the gym, and now I'm at a race, which means I've literally done the same things I do most of the time."

"You just described my heaven, girl." Cam laughs, her dark brown curls bouncing around her face. "Seriously, though, what did you expect? This is what you know. This is what most of us know. We don't have friends from class because we were homeschooled. We grew up around the track. You should be happy you get to do what you love."

Crap. I am the worst.

She's totally right. What the heck am I doing complaining? Two weeks ago, I was on the starting grid in Barcelona, surrounded by the best riders in the world in my class. Granted I didn't even get to start because my bike crapped out, but at least I had that chance. I chose to leave this series for something arguably better, but Cam's the one who got pushed out due to lack of funds through no fault of her own. No money means no equipment, no crew, and no chance of racing, so she ended up taking a job as a drivers' ed instructor while she courts new sponsors for next year. Teaching teens to ride scooters and helping suburban dads get through their mid-life crises without killing themselves on their Harleys pays the bills, but it's nothing compared to the racing life. "Oh, sweets, I didn't meant to sound ungrateful—"

I don't finish as a bunch of people in the VIP suite rush to the floor-length glass windows on the back wall. There's a live-feed on multiple screens in the room, but everyone wants to see the action in person. From this second-story space overlooking pit lane, we have a perfect view.

"It's starting, come on." Cam leaves the buffet, puts her plate down at another table, and goes to a free spot at the window.

Feeling crumby for my selfishness, I'm not in as much of a hurry. We got comped tickets from a mutual friend so I guess Cam would be here even without me, and the networking she's done over the weekend could help her find new sponsors. I had actually been naïve enough to think that maybe my old team would have given her my spot when I left, but they ended up using the opportunity to test out various wild card riders for the rest of the season.

The nearest flat screen shows a field of about two-dozen US Road Racing Association riders coming around the last turn at the end of their warm-up lap. As they take the grid, my heartbeat accelerates. This would have been my home race, and right now, I almost wish I could be down there waiting for the starting signal. Was moving to the world federation worth it? I would've had a podium spot here for sure.

Being the first girl in international road racing doesn't seem so special right now especially when I compare it to how great winning actually feels. Maybe I should have just stuck to what I knew. I guess it doesn't matter now. I'll be back in five weeks for the final race on the world calendar, but I'd be lucky to be in a point earning fifteenth position let alone have a chance at top three among that field.