Page 48 of Octane

Breathe, Sawyer. Pretend this is just another practice run. Take yourself back to the indie league. You dominated over there, this is no different.

But when I open them again, I can’t replace the roaring crowd in the stands with the smaller one that barely filled the bleachers at my old track. I can’t replace the sight of these older and more experienced drivers with the younger drivers in their late teens, early twenties, in my old league.

I wonder how many of them are watching me today. Are they cheering me on, or do they want to see me land flat on my face?

I search the pit for Jackson, but the other members of the Powell Racing team are too far away for me to see. If Jackson is with them, I’ll never be able to find him.

When the anthem is over, Joe approaches me with my steering wheel.

“Okay, Sawyer. Time to load up.”

I can’t speak through the lump in my throat.

“You alright, kid?” Joe asks, his brow wrinkled.

I nod my head even though I am anything but alright.

“First race jitters. All the drivers get them. You’ll be fine once you’re out there.”

Come on, Jackson. Where are you?

Climbing into my car through the open window, Joe passes my steering wheel.

“What’s up race fans! Who’s ready to get this thing started?”

The honorary Grand Marshall is the next voice to come over the loudspeaker. The crowd goes wild as they wait for him to say those famous words.

“Drivers! Start your engines!”

The cheers are quickly drowned out by the deafening sound of forty-three race car engines roaring to life. Joe and the rest of my pit crew take one last look at my car before I follow the other drivers onto the track for our pace laps.

Without a speedometer, the pace car helps us gage how fast fifty-five miles per hour is, so we know how much we need to slow down when entering Pit Road.

Which is exactly where I need to return to right now.

“Joe, I need to come back,” I beg him.

It’s not safe for me or anyone else to be out here when I’m milliseconds away from a full-on panic attack.

“What’s the matter?”

“I may need a wedge adjustment or something.”

I regret saying it as soon as it leaves my mouth.

“We’ll check your suspension as soon as you come in, but you’re still in the pace laps, you shouldn’t be feeling anything yet.”

Duh.

I picked the wrong part of my car to complain about off the bat, but it was the first thing that popped into my head.

“I don’t know, something just doesn’t feel right.”

Joe doesn’t answer. He’s probably turned his headset off and is regretting his placement on my team.

Suddenly, Jackson’s voice rings through my headset, and I feel a sense of relief. “Sawyer, you can’t come into Pit Road yet or you’ll be penalized. You know that.”

“You’re late. You were supposed to come back before the race started.”

---