Oscar has to admit it. He wants to throw up from fear. He wasn’t prepared for that, even if he knows that one day or another, it would happen.

He helps you put your long hair under your race suits, careful to not stuck it into the zipper.

« You´re ready, kitten? » I ask as he hand you your baclava.

You‘re only six but you begged your dad to take you to karting. There were other kids near your age, all of them getting ready like you.