Page 64 of Dirty Air
After about three introductions, the faces and names and jobs all blend together and Fritz can’t remember a thing. He’ll definitely need pictures to study again—maybe he can ask Henry to make another book.
That is, if he even wants to work with him.
There are almost twice as many people as he’s used to, and the garage is a flurry of activity. No one gives Fritz more than a passing glance as he’s introduced, but that’s fine. It’s better for them to stay focused on the race.
When the tour’s over, Lucas drops him off in the visitors’ areawith a set of bystander headphones. Fritz has never felt so out of place in a garage before.
A celebrity he’s never heard of stands next to him and takes selfies with her headphones. She’s wearing an impractically short, tight dress, and a camera is parked on her for cut-away shots during the broadcast.
A couple of serious men in suits stand against the wall and talk low—they might be investors. Maybe mafia. Fritz doesn't know which he'd prefer.
Instead, he settles himself between the average-looking people donned in Red Boar apparel.
“Nice to meet you,” an older woman welcomes him in German. She has a bit of a northern accent.
“You too,” Fritz replies, though they haven’t exchanged names. It happens sometimes, since people know who he is, but it doesn’t make the exchange any less strange.
She inches closer and stares up, dissecting him. “You are very tall, especially for a driver. Skinny.”
Well, she is very short, especially for some old lady. Not skinny. “Ja.”
She tsks. “It’s the stupid weight restrictions. My Lucas is short, so he gets to eat, but it is not healthy to starve the young ones.”
My Lucas.Oh. Now that Fritz thinks about it, Lucas does have a bit of a twinge when he speaks German.
“You are Lucas’s mother?”
She nods. “I heard he has chosen you for his car. A nice German boy.”
Fritz isn’t usually described as nice, especially not by other drivers, but he’ll take the compliment when he can. “Yes, he’s a great man. One of my heroes, actually.”
She hums like it isn’t new information. Lucas is everyone’s hero, but especially the German kids. “That’ll be you one day.”
“I can only hope.”
Lucas starts on pole, like usual. Did he ever get tired of being first? Or did he still feel that rush, the thrill of the win, even after so many times?
Fritz hopes he'll get to find out.
The garage almost empties for the start of the race, and Fritz makes himself look busy by taking out his phone. He’s got two missed calls and several missed texts from Henry.
Fritz’s stomach drops when he opens the text thread.
Hey, where are you?
Your seat’s getting cold.
Nobody’s seen you all day. Are you okay?
Sorry, ignore the calls. Just saw you on tv. Have fun over at Red Boar!
Fuck.
It’s fine. Fritz is an adult, he’s allowed to watch the race from wherever he wants.
Fuck—no. He fucked up. He should’ve told his team he would be over at Red Boar today. They shouldn’t have to find out from the broadcast.
Fritz immediately redials, but cancels the call when he thinks better of it and texts.
