Their hands…weaved together…their bodies in the dance…their bodies rely on each other. I miss you. I miss when we could rely on each other. Us. A world in the world.

First, they stood. Right beside each other. “It’s in the air,” she said. “See?” He looked, but he was either unsure or unwilling.

“We could go to Principle Martin’s office right now. An offense like this would lead to a week suspension at best. Pick up the pen and write.” I sighed and wrote, “Montgomery Sanchez. May 29th, 2005.”

It was not without good reason that they called me the "Greyhound."

That afternoon, she still believed that her father had not meant what he had done. Once the black cloud had lifted, as it always did, he would come to his senses and beg Mum’s forgiveness.

Thibault Defert sits in his racecar in the shelter of his team’s pit garage. His only immutable belief in life is that he was destined to be right here. Now, he would rather be anywhere else.