My hands are shaking. Not just a little bit - like, full-on trembling. I try to hide it by clenching the steering wheel of my kart, but Mum notices everything. She crouches beside me, brushing some loose hair out of my face. Her hands are warm. Calm. The opposite of me.

“It’s okay to be nervous, sweetheart.” She says gently. “It just means you care.”

I nod, but my throat’s too tight to answer. My helmet’s sitting next to me on the tire wall and I keep glancing at the track like it’s some kind of monster waiting to eat me. The engines around me are loud - kids revving, laughing, shouting - but it all feels muffled, like I’m underwater.

“What if I mess up?” I finally whisper.

Mum smiles. That kind of smile that makes the tight feeling in my chest loosen, even just a bit. “Then you’ll try again. And again. Until one day, you won’t.”

I bite my lip. The kart still feels too big. The track feels too long. My heart is racing like it’s already doing laps without me.

“You’ve practiced so hard for this.” Mum says, her voice quiet but strong. “Remember the rainy day in Wales? You didn’t want to stop even when your fingers were frozen.”

I remember. I’d been soaked to the bone, but I hadn’t wanted to leave the kart. I’d wanted to go faster than the raindrops.

“You were fearless that day.” She says.

“But today’s different.” I murmur. “This is a real race. What if I come last?”

“Then you’ll come last. And we’ll still get pizza afterwards and I’ll still be proud of you.”

I glance at her. “Even if I’m really, really slow?”

She laughs softly. “Even then. But I don’t think you will be.”

I take a deep breath, trying to suck in some of her confidence like air. She helps me slide my helmet on and clips the strap gently under my chin. Her fingers linger there for a moment, grounding me.

I hear the call over the loudspeaker. It’s time.

My stomach flips so hard I feel like I might throw up. But then Mum leans in, presses a kiss to the top of my helmet, and says:

“Go have fun, my little rocket.”