The promotional tour commences with the announcement of Escape Velocity, official name omitted.

        At the moment, we're making appearances around LA at radio stations to play our two singles from the album, The L and Overnight Rush, both of which have been well-received.

        All of the hustle distracts from everything else going on. The pictures are losing traction, but it doesn't mean it's completely gone away. I still get a large handful of comments under every picture I post to Instagram about Bruno or Brendon.

        Regarding the latter, our friendship grows with more and more attention as photos of us in New York have surfaced as well. They're not as "scandalous" as the photos with Bruno, but there's enough intrigue to spark conversation. Those comments are easier to handle, though.

        I've come to the point of appreciating even the bare minimum of human decency.

        There's also the matter of my mother. All roads eventually lead back home, and she's attached as concretely as one can be to the idea of home.

        It's been radio silence on both of our ends, but Marty's checks are still getting cashed so I'm not sure what to make of it or how to feel.

        I stay at Brendon's house the night after my explosion, and the rest of the remaining nights Brendon is in Los Angeles. By the time he leaves, she's already gone after having Rami rebook her flight for the next day. He texts me on the way to the airport to let me know but I allow those to go unanswered. Thankfully, Rami is understanding, though he does send Jun over to get after a couple of days.

        Lauren and I stand in front of the mirror, readjusting our outfits.

        "I would get my period an hour before," I groan. I turn to the side and rub my hand over my bloated belly. Curse being a person who menstruates. "Do you think I have time to rip out my uterus before the show starts?"

        Pulling her braids over to one side, Lauren shoots me a look. "Might stain your suit. And that's a pretty suit."

        Too bad I have to return it to the stylist tomorrow. "I'm not afraid to go nude in front of yall."

        "I don't think we have enough towels to clean that up," Jun adds from the couch. "And the process might actually be more painful than the cramps."

        "I'm not sure it will be."

        Someone knocks at the door and we all turn to catch Andy, the talk show host, peeking around the corner. "Hey, everyone! Just want to check and make sure you're all doing okay."

        "We're all excited," Jenny chimes in with her car salesman voice, MARS being the shiny new car she's introducing. "First live performance of the new single and the first time here."

        "We're honored to have you here." He glances down at his watch. "Show starts in a few minutes so I gotta go but I'll catch you all on stage, alright? Let one of our production assistants know if you need anything."

        Jenny nods. "Will do. Thank you."

        I take a final sip of my hot tea and place the empty ceramic mug down on the table. An empty container of watermelon sits inside the trash can from where I tossed it earlier.

        "Last chance to perform a spontaneous hysterectomy."

        Jenny taps her phone. "They want to do a final check of the soundstage, make sure it's good for you guys to go on later. I need at least two volunteers or I'm calling out names."

        Rami jumps to his feet.

        Our babysitter taps her feet. It isn't until she starts counting down that I decide to take one for the team and join Rami.

        "Feel like we should hire someone to take care of this kind of stuff for us," I grumble.

        Jenny doesn't let up on the gas, speed walking down the hallway. The walls are lined with signed photographs of guests that have been on the show.

        "You know I'm not one to gossip, right?"

        I glance up at Rami, framed by a crown of curls and an iridescent glow from the lights above. "Huh?"

        "Have you noticed anything off about Jun and Lauren?" He reaches instinctively toward his friendship bracelet.

        "They're Jun and Lauren. There's always something off about them."

        "No, I know that. But more than usual."

        Although Rami is a much more attentive person than I am, noticing something between them before I do is out of the ordinary. My brain turns to static trying to think back over these last couple of weeks.

        "Maybe I'm overthinking it," he says after I don't come up with anything.

        "Is it something bad or usual for them?"

        He purses his lips. "The usual, I guess. Except not. Something more."

        "And when did it start?"

        "After your mom left."

        After they spent those nights at Maver's.

        I have half a mind to believe something is up between them just by the suspicion in Rami's voice, but if something happened, Jun would have told me by now.

        "I haven't noticed anything." My arm brushes against his when I step out of the way of someone walking down the hall. "Do you think we should ask one of them if—"

        "No," he interrupts. "It's fine. I shouldn't have said anything. Let them do whatever they need to do."

        "But are you—"

        "Stevie! I know you're short but walk faster!"

        Rami takes advantage of the interruption to rush after her, and since I'm vertically challenged, I need to jog to catch up. By the time I latch onto Rami's jacket sleeve, we're by the soundstage, and assistants swirl around us with questions flying by a mile per hour. I don't have time to think about what he's suggesting, and by the time I do, we're already preparing to head to the stage for our interview.

...

"How was it?"

        I slide into the cool leather booth across from Moxie and flash her a tired smile.

        "He's nice," I answer. "But, I don't know, I had this weird vibe—"

        "Exactly! Thank you. Mick has never seen it but I've always thought there was something funny about him."

        "Don't tell anyone I said this 'cause I don't want to get sued for slander or blackballed but I won't be surprised if we hear about him in a few years. You know."

        Moxie laughs. "Welcome to Hollywood. Would take barely a minute to fill a bingo card with all of the questionable men."

        "Questionable is generous." I lift my glass and hold it out to her. "Cheers to surviving a whole conversation of them asking questions you've already answered a hundred times."

        Our glasses clink together.

        "I need a milkshake or something, my uterus is under construction." I flip open the menu and head straight for the dessert. "Have you been here before?"

"Mick and I came here all the time when we first moved to LA," Moxie answers. Her eyes flick around the room and latch onto any remnants from their time together. "It has the tackiest old diner vibes but it's perfect. And the milkshakes are to die for."

"Perfect." I flash her a warm smile before turning back to my menu.

"Bash had a great race last week."

I brush a lock of hair behind my ear. "He's giving the rest of the grid a run for their money."

The Windsor drivers have been trading off P1 and P2 finishes. While new regulations were introduced to level the playing field, Windsor has risen above the rest. I'll be lying if I say I don't feel some sense of pride over them, even if their achievements have nothing to do with me.

Moxie lets out a low, impressed whistle. "Not an easy task to do."

Even though there have only been a few races so far, it's clear there's a fire in Brendon's drive. Better, faster, smarter. The improvement he's shown continues to grow with each race, and I know it'll only go up from here. Seeing other people recognize that feels good.

"It's amazing watching the two of them," Moxie continues. Her eyes glaze over, a smile breaching the surface. "A lot of team members, when they get to the point where they're just battling themselves because no other team can come close to them, it can get intense and trickle down into their personal relationship. But not for them. They just...they get it. They know how to fight without imploding. It's impressive. Makes you wonder how they do it."

"Is it really that abnormal?" I laugh. "I haven't met most of them but the ones I have met seem nice."

"It's not all out in the open," she explains. "Whether they want to admit it or not, they still have an image to uphold. Sponsors they need to keep happy. And they're all fighting to be the number one driver on their teams. A huge part of it is mind games. If two drivers have the same car, what sets them apart?"

"The driver."

Moxie nods. "It can get nasty between teammates. The relationship between Idris and Bash is the best any constructor can ask for."

"I looked up that Kamaka Morris guy," I tell her.

"And what did you think?"

I still have a lot to learn about Formula One, but I've gotten good at reading drivers' styles from watching clips. If there's any driver I can guarantee made an impression on current drivers like Idris and Brendon, it's Kamaka Morris. Aggressive but clean. Doesn't leave anything up for chance. If there's a gap, it's not a question of whether or not they'll take it; it's how quickly it'll get done.

"Routinely listed in the top five drivers of all time." I nod, thinking back to the endless articles praising him, and even more that cry over the injury that forced him to retire. "I can see why he's your dad's favorite driver. Bet he was absolute magic to watch in real life. And he has a daughter too, right? Imagine growing up watching someone like that."

"Yeah," she laughs. "He does. F1 is in her blood for sure."

"Are you sure Mick's the bigger fan? You sound like you follow it more. I haven't heard him talk about it at all."

She tilts her head to the smile, the corner of her mouth lifting. "You've only hung out with him a few times."

"Call it my intuition." I take a sip of juice. "I think you're secretly the fanatic. Probably dying to go to another race."

Moxie laughs and runs a hand through her pixie-cut hair. "Speaking of which, have you heard about the Monaco race?"

Not only is it one of the most popular races in Formula One—some might even say the most iconic on the current roster—it's a magnet for celebrities. Hence the invitation MARS receives to attend.

"We're all very excited to watch the cars go vroom vroom."

"You're cute," Moxie laughs. "We should hang out."

"You're going?"

"Dad's friends got us tickets."

"Any team would be lucky to show you off next to their car."

"Are you going on the arm of a certain team?" She wiggles her eyebrows.

"One of the sponsors invited us."

Moxie smiles at me. Resting an elbow on the table, she places her chin in her hand. "They love you, you know."

"Who?"

She flicks her hand in the air. "The whole F1 sphere. They love that you're friends with Bash."

A hot flush rises to my cheeks, painting me like a watercolor sunset. "I'm a new face to fixate on. It's not a big deal."

"Maybe it isn't." Moxie shrugs. "But I think you should know since you're spending more and more time in that world. People like you there. Let yourself enjoy it."

If there's something more here than just being playful, Moxie doesn't guilt me into feeling one way or another. And as much as I don't believe her, I'm appreciative of her making this something she refuses to let me think otherwise.

"Thanks, Moxie."

"Any time."