Breaking the Grid

Vanished

The day wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.

I traded the snug confines of the car for the fluorescent-lit media room. The contrast was jarring—going from the hum of the engine to the sterile silence of the set, where the only sound was the buzz of cameras and the shuffle of cue cards.

"Alright, Blair, just a few videos for the socials," the community manager chirped, already positioning me in front of a green screen.

I forced a smile, the kind that felt a little too tight at the edges. This wasn't my favorite part of the job, but it was part of the deal. I couldn't race without the other side of it—the promos, the interviews, the endless cycle of content.

"Blair, can you say it with a bit more energy?"

I nodded, flexing my fingers like I was back behind the wheel. "Sure."

"Hey, McLaren fans!" I repeated, my voice bright, my expression open. "I'm back on track and ready for the season!"

"Perfect! Now a quick promo for the sponsors..."

I cycled through the motions, my smile on autopilot, my mind still buzzing from the track. I knew my lap times had been good—great, even—but this felt like a different kind of performance. I couldn't push through it with skill alone. Here, it was all charm and polish.

Eventually, the camera lights dimmed, and I was free to go. I changed quickly, my tracksuit traded for a hoodie and jeans, and made my way to my car. It was already late—past six, the sun dipping low, casting the Silverstone paddock in long, soft shadows.

When I turned on my phone, the screen exploded with notifications. My lock screen was a chaotic mess of missed calls, messages, and alerts.

Kyra (8 Missed Calls)
Kimi (5 Missed Calls)

A pit opened in my stomach. I swiped through the texts, my thumb moving too fast, missing some of them, my brain only catching fragments.

I sat there for a moment, just breathing, the cold leather of the steering wheel under my fingers. I wanted to call them back immediately, to hear their voices, but all I could think about was telling them in person. Showing them the smile that felt too big for my face.

I started the car, pulling out of the parking lot a bit quicker than I should have. The roads were dark, the streetlights a blur as I moved through the familiar twists and turns. I was driving too fast, I knew that, but the need to get home was sharp and pressing.

Halfway there, my stomach growled—a sharp reminder that I hadn't eaten since breakfast. The adrenaline from the test had masked the hunger, but now, it gnawed at me.

I pulled into the pizzeria on the corner, the one Kimi always joked about whenever we drove past. Best pizza in town, they say... but is it? he'd asked, every single time, his voice dripping with faux skepticism.

Inside, the place was warm, filled with the heavy, delicious smell of baking dough and melting cheese. I ordered three large pizzas—

As I waited, I noticed the stares. People sitting at the red-checkered tables, their forks paused mid-air, their heads turning. I must have looked like a mess—my hair still damp from the shower at the track, my hoodie slightly askew, and that stupid, uncontrollable smile on my face.

The teenager behind the counter handed me the pizzas, her eyes wide. "Are you... the driver?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I am."

Her face split into a grin. "Good luck this season! We're all rooting for you!"

I nodded, mumbling a quick "Thanks" before I bolted out of there, the boxes stacked precariously in my arms.