"So you don't suck so much after all," his dad said, catching him just as Crust was about to open the front gate. "Gill told me everything. I thought you were using the car I designed for you this whole time."
Franco Crust gave him a hug so tight it made all his bones pop. The boy felt truly incredible coming back to his house. It was strange how everything felt so different, yet the house was exactly the same. It had been six consecutive months; he already missed the comforts.
"Well, well," said Mirtha Crust, his mother, upon seeing him. "Can "you please stop getting tall?"
He laughed as she ruffled his hair.
"I know, none of the T-shirts I took with me fit anymore; my belly button shows, and the dress shirts are all so tight on me. I had to buy clothes because none of the ones I brought with me serve me anymore."
"How are you finding it?" his father asked.
"Great," he said. "Suddenly I just started driving well. I don't know since when I got so good, but it was like that; suddenly it was like we pressed a button and that was it. I was already racing well."
"You've always been good. You've been driving since you were 14; you had had talent," his mother said. "You were raised on tires and smoke. I'm surprised your mind held you back for so long, but well, turns out you've finally gotten the idea."
"How is Uncle Roger?" Crust asked.
"Well, he's recovering. He took a bullet."
"What?!" Crust said, suddenly looking very startled.
"I know, I didn't tell you. I know you, and you were going to get very disconcerted, and he is fine. He brought it on himself."
"Don't say that..." Christopher was saying before his mother interrupted him.
"Yes, Chris, yes. Wasn't he believing himself to be a guerrilla? Guerrillas get shot."
Christopher stood thinking for a moment before letting out a weak laugh:
"How did it happen?"
"He went on a yacht with a bunch of armed men and they disembarked on the island during the protests. As soon as they set foot in Havana, he received a gunshot. Seeing that there weren't that many people at the protests, they simply escaped. The regime just disconnects the island from the internet for any minimal thing... better that way, so he doesn't try it again."
"Mom... don't say that. Before, you were so reactionary. Did you already forget about the island...?"
"Christopher Crust, don't you even put yourself on his side; if on the island they don't fight for freedom, even less us here. The Cuban people have to act, not us."
The boy thought about answering her: "Yeah, and everyone here has the island in their blood," but no, he decided not to even continue. He knew she was only speaking from disappointment and helplessness, and he wasn't going to make her feel worse.
"Love you guys," he said before going up to his room.
A weird current of happiness went up his body. He looked at the corners and suddenly felt small again.
"I'm already getting big," he said to himself.
He turned on the PlayStation and started playing for a while. Motorsport SS10, of course. Not even when he rests does he really rest from being a pilot. It amused him how in the latest update his name already appeared, and even his player looked a lot like him. They almost never make the second division players similar; they don't pay much attention to them until they are officially SS10, but he was already drawing a lot of attention. All over the internet, they mentioned how cool his aggressive style and his security were, how he didn't seem to waver for a single second in the whole race, how he predicted possible problems before they occurred, and how he calculated dangers so precisely. For the first time, they referred to him as "Christopher Crust" and not as "Franco Crust's son."
"Now I am 'Christopher Crust's father,'" his dad said during lunch.
Crust couldn't help but laugh at his Uncle Roger, how he laughed and held his ribs because it hurt. He felt a lot of admiration for him.
"I don't want to see the race from the VIP stands again, Crust," his mother was telling Franco.
"You're right, the VIP zone at the tracks is horrible. We've already spoken to the architects so that the new track being built in Kendall... the VIP zone in Fort Lauderdale sucks."
"I didn't know they were building a new track," Christopher said. "Besides, are you saying you're going to see the race?"
"We totally have to see the race, Chris," Roger said. "Crust TeamSport and, of course, Nesspet Chicago are going to compete."
"Yeah... that's true, they're doing both races on the same day, I almost forgot. Why is it different this year?"
"SS10 WorldCup in Monaco last year was a disaster; there were barely any present spectators, everything looked empty, and the bad weather didn't help us. Now here in Miami, SS10 and SS20 allied to go on the same day so the hype was utilized. Although this year is different. SS20 is sweeping the media, and the track was absolutely bought out since even the pre-pre-sale months ago. Craziest thing."
"You're going to run, Crust. The whole city and all the Crust TeamSport fans are totally hanging on your every move," Roger looked excited. "Even your mother's yoga team has asked me to put you in the squad." She hit him. "If your father has an elite team and his son is the fastest pilot, it would be an insult if you weren't there."
"No, please don't do that..." Crust said.
Everyone at the table looked at him surprised. Even the house staff who were listening to what they were speaking found out about the impact.
"I've been working real hard so they stop seeing me as the Crust's son. No, at least let me run one more season in Nesspet, and if next year I win, well, I enter regularly. I don't want everyone to simply start saying that because I'm your son they are giving me an advantage."
"You know me perfectly," Roger said. "I don't give an advantage to any pilot, even if he's my nephew, but this is a family company, everyone knows it. It's not plugging people in, it's..."
"It's nothing," Christopher said. "Don't do it, please, Dad."
"Not me, don't look at me. I'm not the team director."
"Thanks," Roger said. "I say yes. I will make the offer to Nesspet; if you want you can refuse, but that Gill loves money..."
Roger had a warm smile. He looked at him even though Crust was almost glaring at him. He looked at his father almost pleading for him to interfere, but it is a fact, his father agreed. Crust wondered since when his parents supported him so much, because if he remembers well, they had never done it so openly.
"Don't look at me, I said," Franco replied. "I am going to go on Sunday with a Nesspet flag in one hand. I don't know why the media adores it when I do that, that I put you above Crust TeamSport." He laughed. "You're a rocket, Crust." His eyes were beginning to get damp. "I love you."
"What do you think?" Christopher asked his mother.
"I don't know anything about cars, and I don't know if it's because of you, but every time you run I am watching the race, and I have begun to enjoy the sport, which I had never liked. And without knowing almost anything I see that your technique is perfect, while the others look like they make mistakes, how their cars kick and struggle, while you don't, you go straight, everything on time. You've made me feel genuine passion for the sport."
"When he was in Saskatchewan," Roger said. "God, how he went so sure. His same team from the Nesspet screen were enjoying the race; people who every day see cars, suddenly were enjoying it, and how they all got excited, and how they celebrated. Even to me from here it excited me to see you. Without any doubt, I am your number one fan, Christopher, and I want my favorite pilot, independently of what his last name is, working with me."
"I don't deserve it," Christopher said. "Alan Marti is going to earn his place in the SS10, not me. It's not fair."
"I understand," Roger said.
"Yes," Mirtha interrupted. "It worries you that Alan Marti thinks you are a plugged-in nepo baby."
"What? That asshole? Not at all... it's just..."
Christopher felt a bit nervous suddenly, clumsy; he stood up and left for his room.
"I don't care what Alan Marti thinks," he said to himself.
He stayed a while fantasizing. He imagined himself with the Crust uniform on. How good the white and black fit him. But no, it wasn't fair to him, he was going to earn it. He was just going to reject it and that's it. It's not that he loved Nesspet, although he was already beginning to feel some affection for Sue and for the team, but he wanted to earn it. How did his family not understand?
Before falling asleep, he asked himself what Alan Marti was really going to think if that happened. He earning his place by winning the WorldCup with sacrifice in each of the races, while Crust entered SS10 because of his last name.