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Who packs this shit inhere?

“Seriously?”Alley asked; her handson her hips. “You’re running late because of your black Pumas?”

I didn’t answer, justcontinued to hunt for the said missing shoe. Eventually I asked, “Who packsthis shit?”

“I do asshole!” sheyelled sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Where’s my shoe then?”

“Fuck if I know.” Herphone beeped so she looked down. “Why do you need it so bad?”

“Because,” I groaned.“I’ve won seven back-to-back races with those shoes on. I need that shoe!” Iproclaimed raising my fist in the air like I was leading troops into battle.Alley laughed. I hardly thought this was funny.

Leave it to me todepend on a shoe to win a race.

Finally I found theshoe and was hauling ass toward the media center for the drivers meeting.

It was the same shit asevery other week at the drivers meeting but the day seemed to pass quickly

“Hey Jameson, how doyou feel about today? Do you think you have a shot?”

“Yeah, I do.” I toldthe reporters huddled around. “I love Homestead. You can pretty much choose anyline you want and make the car stick with the progressive banking. So yeah, wegot a shot at it.”

When I exited the mediacenter, the reporters were once again in my face asking me my thoughts on thisafternoon’s race but this time, the subject changed rather quickly, catching meoff guard.

“So how do you feelabout the sentences handed down to Gordon Reynolds and Mariah Fowler?” Ashleyasked suddenly.

Of all the reportersout there, I knew she’d be the one to corner me on national television. Part ofme was surprised she didn’t help them.

“After what they did tomy family—I don’t think it’s steep enough.” I told her continuing to walktoward the grandstands with as much indifference as I could pass off. I shouldhave shut the fuck up after that, but I didn’t. “They nearly killed my fiancéeand unborn child. Ten years is not even close to the punishment Mariah deservesand two years for Gordon,” I snorted. “that’sjust aslap in the face.” My eyes narrowed at her, the indifference was gone and sheknew it.

I’m not sure what myexpression was, let’s face it, I’m not looking in the mirror—but the expressionon Ashley’s told me she saw what I was intending her to see.

“S-s-so you’re gettingmarried in a few weeks, right?” she stammered, her face flushed as our paceslowed to barely moving.

“Yes I am,” I statedproudly walking away.

Prior to the race, Ihad a meet and greet for the Children’s Hospital. This was always my favoritepart about these meet and greets. I loved seeing all the little smiling facesthat would give anything to meet you.

One particular littleboy was talkative so I encouraged him further by asking questions. I learned throughour in depth conversation that his name was Harlan, and he wanted to be a racecar driver who was also a boxer.

“So you’ve got theboxing chops, huh kid?”

His bright blue eyeslit up. “Yes, I do!” and then he proceeded to punch me in the stomach with histiny fist.

I didn’t flinch ofcourse and instantly saw the disappointment on his face.

“Hold on, I wasn’tready.” I told him and then rolled my neck from side to side, bouncing on theballs of my feet like a boxer. “I’m ready now, try again.”

When he hit me again Ifell to the floor and pretended to scream in pain, this just provoked all thekids to dog pile me, not at all what I planned for.

Thankfully Alleyrescued me from the attack and it was time for the race, and more importantly,to get into race mode.

She handed me my iPodas I attempted to drown out the screaming fans, Spencer and Aiden fighting overthe lastRedBull, and my dad ranting about howI needed to stay focused while threatening to take away my phone.

“Hey dipshit,” my dadsaid with a smirk yanking my headphones out. “You focused?”

“I was until youinterrupted me.” I replied with a smile fumbling with the headphones beforehanding my iPod to Alley.