Chapter 7
Ryan waits until dinnertime to ask his
mother to take him to the quarterfinals. He knows what her reaction
will be before he brings it up—she grips her fork a little tighter
because it’s an inconvenience for her, always having to cart him
around, he thinks she hates driving the van as much as he hates
riding in it. And the first race starts at eight, he promised Dante
he’d try to get there as early as he possibly could, and he knows
his mother won’t want to wake up at that hour to take him, not on a
Saturday. So she sighs—he sees that coming—and in a weary voice
begins, “Ryan, tomorrow? Do you have to—”
That’s as far as he lets her get before he
throws his own fork to his plate and wheels away from the table.
“Fine,” he tells her, already upset. He expected this. “I’
