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It was still grey outside, muddy skies on the dawn of the most important day of Scarlet's life yet. It was set to clear in the morning, before ten, and that was all that mattered. It would not rain, the ground would be firm. The conditions were good. Her debut would go as planned.
She quite liked this grey morning then. Always an early bird, she was. Her alarm was set specifically for this calm routine, calm before the storm. She liked this privilege, to collect herself alone before facing the day. The gloomy skies barely lit the room, easy on her sleep-filled eyes. Vodka's blanket rose and fell with her breathing, thankfully not snoring this time, the picture of peacefulness. The crisp air of an early fall slipped through her open window, pleasantly biting her skin like wind on the racetrack.
She had to change out of her pajamas. This was maybe what scared her most about today. The tailor had delivered yesterday, perfectly on time. Her signature racewear was here, waiting for her, neatly put away in a plastic cover hanging in her closet.
The thought of finally touching her very own racewear carried her out of the bed, which she carefully rearranged, and through a shower. The harsh lights of the bathroom hurt her eyes. She was looking at the tile, absentmindedly. It was only routine. She went through the motions of brushing her hair, shampooing well, drying it out, without once the thought of the clothes leaving her mind. She had always been good at staying on track, eyes on the prize. She pictured the sketches she had made, finally before her, life-sized. She remembered picking out the fabrics, feeling under her fingertips the quality of the weave. Today was the end of a sprint. Today the real race would start.
The sun was peeking over the horizon when she made her way back into the room. Warmer light came in, soft on her eyes. Mechanically, she opened her closet and took the racewear out. Holding it out in front of her, at arm's length, it was almost as if the clothes were standing on their own, facing her. Racewear makes the racer. She would prove worthy of hers.
The white undershirt was weightless on her shoulders. A tinge of fear rose in her heart that the tailor had made a mistake and cut her measurements wrong, but she hasted to put the rich blue overcoat on it and found that it fit her like a glove. The wide wrists on the sleeves firmed her hands. The sharp shoulders squared her stance. The tight waist lifted her up. She fiddled with the jabot, unsure now of the frill in this commanding uniform, but standing face to face with the mirror she puffed up her chest and pictured a green green turf straight out in front of her, and in her eyes she saw herself. An eagerness to run had grown in her winning heart.
"Can you stop checking yourself out?" Vodka's voice came crashing in on her fantasy, tearing her heart in two pieces.
"This is my signature racewear!" she sputtered, whipping her head around to sputter in Vodka's face in the small dorm room. "I have to wear it!"
"Just stop showin' off," Vodka half-yawned. She had no conscience of ruining the moment. She just had to barge in, the second she woke up, without a care in the world for Scarlet's feelings.
Her chest welled up with rage, as always with Vodka, but now filling the cavernous expanse that her pride had carved in moments before. This was her big day. Alone to face the crowd. Why couldn't her stupid roommate let her have this one thing? Why did she always have to insert herself in Scarlet's life, like they were joined at the hip now that they happened to have been assigned the same room?
She couldn't find an insult or a witty retort. She didn't have it in her to treat Vodka to the collected top student act. She desperately wanted to bolt away right now and run run run to the turf, run run run to the finish line, and once she had passed it to keep running more and more and more.
"Shut up!" she screamed at Vodka. "This is my race!"
Vodka had the decency to look sorry, her ears pinned back and her mouth twisted in a frown. She said nothing.
Scarlet turned back, her heart hardened now. One by one, she slipped on the layers of her long socks, greaves, and boots. Methodical, she rolled them up her legs, one piece at a time. Vodka stayed in bed, quieter than when she was asleep.
When she was done and stood back up, Vodka's eyes darted away. Then, before Scarlet had had a chance to grab her duffel bag and run away, she squeaked out something that sounded like "looks cool".
It burned Scarlet's mouth, but she asked. "What?" she articulated with the tip of her lips, hand hovering around her bag.
"Uh, I said, good luck," Vodka finally looked her in the eyes and gave her a shaky thumbs up.
"Thanks," Scarlet smiled, just a little. She couldn't quite keep herself from it. Then she grabbed her duffel bag and made her way out the door to the gates of Tracen academy to meet her trainer for the big day.
Later, a few minutes before ten in the morning, the sun shone on the golden accents of Daiwa Scarlet's finely tailored signature racewear in the paddock of the most important race of her life. As she waved to the buzzing crowd, she shielded her eyes and searched the VIP boxes in the heights of the stands. And there, next to her trainer, next to Machan, Tachyon, Spe, there was Vodka. Smiling so wide she could see it from down here.
The excitement of the race welled up in Scarlet's chest like clouds in the sky. She was gonna run her heart out. She'll show her.