[**ON HIATUS**]
Noah Wood is a Mercedes driver. Scrappy, charming, and far too handsome, Noah is one of the best drivers on the grid. But a newcomer is threatening to steal his seat, and Noah must win this year's Grand Prix - or risk being booted ou...
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Something had changed, Noah thought.
Over the next few weeks, Amelia Cartwell was on fire. She finished fourth at the Italian Grand Prix, and then she took podium in Saudi Arabia. Miami, Spain, Azerbaijan... She and Noah raced neck-and-neck, leapfrogging around each other. They never spoke after their races, which only fuelled rumours that they hated one another.
Noah wasn't sure if they actually did.
Well, Noah thought, he didn't hate Cartwell; he wasn't sure if the same could be said in reverse. Whenever they were on the podium together, she held her champagne bottle like it was an AK-47 and he was target practice.
Charming, really.
He took a bite of granola bar, peering out the plane window. Melbourne was a spray of green outcrops against the blue water. It was strange, Noah thought, to be going home; he normally loved his home race, but this time...
Well.
It meant seeing his family. And the family situation was tricky.
"It kind of looks like a penguin," Matthew mused. "Don't you think?"
His face was pressed to the glass, his breath fogging up the window. Cedro leaned closer, bracing his hands against Matthew's shoulders.
"I see a pelican," Cedro said.
Matthew tilted his head. "Really?"
"Yeah." Cedro squinted at the window. "Like a misshapen pelican with a short beak."
Noah lowered the granola bar. "Can we please stop comparing my home to various types of waterfowl?"
"Fine." Matthew paused. "I was just thinking it looked more like a one-eyed rabbit, anyway. You can see that, can't you, Ced?"
"Spot on, fratello."
"I'm surprised you can see anything," Noah said, "considering it's going on ten o'clock."
Noah polished off his granola bar, leaning forward to rummage in his bag. He pulled out items at random — maps, score cards, Excel sheets of statistics — and leaned back in his seat, propping one foot over his knee. It took him a moment to realize that Matthew and Cedro were staring at him.
Noah lowered his map. "What?"
"Is he studying the track?" Matthew asked.
Cedro leaned closer. "That's definitely a map."
"Does he realize it's a map of the track?"
"I'm not sure." Cedro's voice was a conspiratorial whisper. "I don't think so."
Noah tapped the page. "This isn't a treasure map?" His voice was mild. "Crikey. I wish someone had told me."
Cedro kicked his foot. "Seriously, Wood. We've raced this course a half-dozen times. Why are you studying a map?"
