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magazineSAVAGE: Schedule, empty Issue 00 035
"Do you guys ever get time to hang out together off-track?" I asked like I was all chill about it; inside I was burning up with the urge to tell him how much I admired him and loved him.
"Chris, schedule, empty," Alan Marti said.
He told me backstage that Christopher Crust had stepped on his foot with the heel of his loafers; he thought he'd messed up and got a little nervous.
"Nobody could know our secret," he confessed. "But I saw him, and the look in his eyes said the opposite. Deep down, he liked it. Glass is hard, but it's really easy to break."
He had this mischievous look on his face.
"In the backstage he cornered me, pushed me into a corner, staring at my lips with so much hunger that his own were burning red from holding it in. He didn't even care if we got caught right there. He just kissed me and shoved his whole body against mine. Thank God no one was close, because if they had been, there was no way I could've hidden my bulge."
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I know. Nobody really believed this. How was it even possible for me to know stuff like that, to publish it in my magazine, and the boys still trusting me... their 'friend' with a secret identity? I don't even understand how anyone believed a word that came out of my mouth or my keyboard... but the readers did. Or maybe they just loved fantasizing about it as much as I did.
I had already built up ten thousand monthly subscribers. Sometimes a little more, but never less, not once in that fiscal year. Any amateur magazine editor would tell you that's not bad at all. It's basically four magazines a month, each subscriber pays 12.99 dollars for the physical issues every Friday. And considering I do absolutely everything myself, writing, editing, design, and digital marketing through my vlogs, I get to live pretty comfortably. Way better than I ever imagined. I work over twelve hours a day and barely rest, but I make enough to live well. After the trash I write and the fact that I can live off of it, if I complained I'd just be ungrateful.
Not everything is great, though. Since my reputation is basically below zero, everyone who knows me and reads me thinks I'm completely unhinged, and everyone who reads me must be unhinged too just for reading me. I have constant identity crises.
I almost lost the thread. Sorry. Anyway, let me keep telling you the story.
It's February 2025. SS10 World Championship Mexico City happens in November, and the boys have all these months to collect points. No first-division team wants the GOT, the Game of Tie-breaker team, so they start their season early. SS10 is the highest division in motorsports single-seater racing: ten teams in total, the world champions.
This afternoon, at the Fort Lauderdale, Florida racetrack, there's the first friendly race of the Crust TeamSport Motorsports team. Meaning the two boys, Alan Marti and Christopher Crust, will race each other in a friendly match, and all the money raised will go to charity homes supporting exiled migrants.
And guess who has a reserved spot as an independent journalist in the post-race press area? Exactly. Me. This time it's way more informal. I get the chance to see them again.
Of course, I also have front-row tickets to watch the race, and Joaquín is coming with me. I could've chosen better company, but here we are.
"I never get why sports fans watch sports for the 'sport' and not for the drama," he said.
"Yeah..." I said.
It's not like there's much to see in person anyway. Most of the time you just see them far away, overtaking each other every couple of minutes. When they pass right in front of you they go so fast you can barely tell who is who.
"Shut up," said a kid in front of us. He looked mad. Amazing how much rage can fit into three feet of height.
"Sorry," I said.
"I don't get why girls even come watch the race. You like the boys in the cars, not the race."
"Girls like races," I said.
"It's not a girl sport," he said. "Girls don't know how to drive."
"Girl..." Joaquín said, "and your folks only raise mean kids. Why you say that about girls?"
"My parents don't say it, but it's true. Tell me, why are there no girls driving for any team?" His face changed when he looked at me. He was a little bit upset.
"Who's your favorite player?" I asked.
"Christopher Crust, of course," he said with a smile.
"One day a girl will show up and beat Crust in every race. That day there'll be thousands of girl fans in Motorsports."
The kid smiled in this really sweet way, turned around, and focused on the race.
The checkered flag was already waving. The engines were barely visible or audible. They were really close. Alan Marti was slightly ahead of Christopher Crust, but in the last seconds Christopher gained strength, pulled ahead, and won the race. The whole crowd cheered and shouted Crust's name.
• 54,868 yards, 17.54 minutes — Christopher Crust
• 54,868 yards, 17.58 minutes — Alan Marti
"Is it true you got offers to sign with Titan?" a journalist asked Alan Marti.
"No. I have a contract with Crust TeamSports until at least 2031."
"And the Cuban community in Florida, do they support you? They say you never talk about them," another journalist asked. "You're the closest thing to the island competing in SS10."
"Christopher has represented the whole exiled-generation community in Florida for many more years, in both SS10 and SS20, always for the city. I've only been on the team for one season and I used to play for Spain. Doesn't it make sense that the Cuban American community has been well represented even before me?"
"They don't think so," Christopher said. "My Spanish isn't that good."
Everyone laughed in a low murmur.
"You're so handsome," I said without thinking when my turn came.
Christopher smiled before saying, "And your question?"
"Do you guys prefer winning or having fun?"
"I've always said the tires come first, then everything else. But trust me, we know exactly how to have fun in this sport."
She smiled. She felt truly satisfied. There usually isn't much space for entertainment press in sports, and they're so respectful that they honor her work in this world almost entirely dominated by men.