Page 186 of Trading Paint

I pinched the bridge of my nose before my hand slammed down on the table next to me, glasses and silverware shook on the wooden table. “I’m just trying to enjoy a meal. I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”

There was an ongoing debate among the fans and media about how accessible the drivers are. They think that we should be out there more. If you’re thinking to yourself, they’re NASCAR drivers, not rock stars, how bad can it be?

Let me tell you something here, it is that bad. At the track, and keep in mind this is my first season in cup and only my second season in NASCAR all together, I cannot walk from my team hauler to the garage without a swarm of fans following me hounding me for an autograph. It never fails that someone is always there wanting me to sign their shirt, talk to me, or get a picture. Like I’ve said before, I have no problem conversing with these fans and giving them what they want but at the track in these secured areas, I’m performing my job. At a “meet and greet”, I’m there for the fans.

So it comes down to where does a line get drawn? Are we allowed to sleep or do they want us to be friendly and allow fans and reporters into our motor coaches as well. I completely understand at “meet-n-greets”. That’s what I’m there for. But in the garage where I’m working and more specifically my own personal motor coach that acts as my home away from home, I’m supposed to allow fans there too? I don’t fucking think so.

Emma, who had remained quiet sitting across from me, jumped up knowing I was moments away from throwing something.

“Do you two even have passes to be back here?”

Within minutes, Emma had them escorted away. “Thanks,” I said when she returned.

“They were even annoying me.” She moaned. “You have a meeting with Simplex andDoncoin about twenty minutes.”

And just like that, my only chance at alone time was now gone.

“Of course I do.” I replied standing. “God forbid I have a moment to myself.”

For so long I tried not to let any of this break me but whether you want them to or not, pieces of you are broken away, falling away like ash from a fire.

Everyone wanted a piece of me but I’ll tell you something, there was a piece of me they’d never reach. That wayward defiant who was persistently focused on what he wanted took over to be a champion in the highest-level racing had to offer me, the NASCAR Winston Cup.

28.Roundy Round – Sway

Roundy Round – A slang term used in NASCAR to describe an oval track.

With graduation day here, I had little time to watch the Winston. That being said; guess what kind of mood I was in during the graduation ceremonies?

Yeah—shitty.

I couldn’t understand the purpose of a damn graduation ceremony. It seemed like a silly waste of time to me. On top of that, I had to deal with Jameson’s crush brigade.

Two girls, Amanda Taylor and Erica Ward, were Jameson’s crush brigade.Always have been.And these two hookers decided to go to Western, just like me.

Can you guess, me being Jameson’s best friend, how they felt toward me?

Yeah, so they hated me. To be fair, I thought little of them as well.Especially Amanda.She had these beautiful blue eyes, blonde hair, sort of similar to Chelsea but more beautiful. Funny enough, she and Jameson had kissed a few times when we were younger so ever since then, she liked to throw this in my face.

The immature side of myself, wanted to say, “Yeah well, I’ve felt his camshaft!”

I didn’t though because believe it or not, I was somewhat mature, if you think your average nine year old is mature.

Anyway, back to the point here, if there is one. Amanda and Erica caught me before the ceremony. “Hey Sway,” Amanda’s eyes glanced around the audience behind me. “Did Jameson make it?”

Again, the nine-year old in me wanted to say, “Yes, he’s waiting for me in my bed.” I know what you’re thinking here, hello Sway, a nine-year wouldn’t be thinking about a boy in her bed but that’s not the point either.

“He’s racing tonight in the Winston.”

“Oh right, he’s in that NASCAR thing?” She acted as though it was no big deal.

“Yeah...that NASCAR thing...”

“Do you talk to him still?” Erica asked running her fingers through her red hair. “I thought you two were friends...”

“Yes I talk to him often. And yes—he’s my best friend, wetalkdaily.”

That seemed to catch them slightly off guard, but they recovered fast, unfortunately. “If he’s your best friend...where is he today?”

---