Page 11 of Jump Start

Usually, putting on my race suit was a thrill—the thought of the race to come, putting our strategies into action, the sound of the engine ringing in my ears, changing the gears in quick succession. It was where I was meant to be. Not here.

“Okay, Thomas, fantastic. Just hold your helmet there on your hip, yes, give us a smile.”

God, I hated this shit.

“I am smiling,” I said, probably a little too monotone for the photographer’s liking. I could see Harper standing off to the side by the lighting reflector, the look on her face undecipherable. I rolled my eyes at her dramatically and a smirk formed in the corner of her mouth. That was something, at least.

I wanted to break through the walls I had created, and at least be her friend. Although I was starting to think that I wanted more.

No, IknewI wanted more.

I just needed my actions to follow. I would get there. I needed more time.

I threw a dazzling smile towards the camera, just for Harper’ssake, which earned me a smile. She hid it behind the clipboard she was holding, and I wanted to yell out and tell her not to hide that beautiful smile of hers. And don’t even get me started on the sound of her laugh.

I had noticed a feeling of ease whenever Harper was in the room. I felt like I could relax my shoulders a little more and exhale a little deeper.

As I watched Harper out of the corner of my eye, I thought back to how testing day had ended. As I watched Harper walk to her car after our conversation, I knew she had tears in her eyes. Why the hell did I do that? She had nothing to do with the shit from my childhood. It’s not like she was one of the journalists always bugging my parents. I felt the constant urge to apologise to her over and over.

As I pulled into my driveway later in the evening, Xavier called.

“What’s the haps, little bro?” he asked just as I turned my car off and the Bluetooth disconnected without warning.

I plugged in my earphones and shoved my phone into my pocket to continue talking.

“How goes it with the journalist?” he continued, not letting me answer the first question.

I filled him in on how much of a prick I’d been to Harper, that the regret was starting to leave a bad taste in my mouth.

“Look, I understand why you hate the media so much, but you’re going to have to deal with it, mate. It’s part of your life now. Move past the shit that happened when we were kids. And this Harper girl sounds hot as hell. What is your problem?” His voice was getting louder with each syllable as a tool went off in the background on his end.

“I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me,” I replied in jest, causing Xavier to laugh.

“You’ve always been standoffish to people you don’t know; I get it. There were a lot of fake people hanging around our family, and I know you’ve been burnt before by girls. This one doesn’t sound that way. In fact, it doesn’t sound like she gives a shit about your past or our family.”

“She hasn’t said much, but I haven’t exactly tried to fire up a lot of conversation either. When I have, it’s not gone particularly well.” I sat down at my racing sim, waiting for it to start up, hands on the steering wheel.

“I know, mate. Look, just give her the time of day. You won’t regret it. And if you need anyone to tell you to stop being a prick, give me a call, hey?” I laughed as I said goodbye to my brother and hung up the phone.

I knew he was right. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to redeem myself after the way I had been behaving. I wanted to somehow protect but antagonise Harper, both at the same time. What was that feeling called?

Six

Thomas

“We have to do something for her. She’s put so much effort into getting to know everyone and what goes on here,” I mentioned to Holly.

“Well, I agree with you, Thomas. I thought that you hated Harper, though. What’s changed? Don’t tell me you have the hots for her now?” Holly rolled her eyes at me like this was a regular occurrence. I shook my head.

“I don’t know. I just think we should throw something for her. No, I don’t have the hots for her…” My sentence ended in the most unconvincing tone.

“Well, I have enough shit to deal with here. I’ll send the email out about the morning tea and you can go and get the stuff for it, okay?”

I looked at her with my eyebrows squished together. “What the fuck? How am I supposed to know what to get?”

She laughed. “Please tell me you did not just ask me that. Go to the shop and work it out yourself, Thomas.”

She then promptly left my office.

---