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I LOOK UP AT MY MUM. She looks worried, and she’s holding my hand tight. She always does this when Dad’s racing, but I don’t mind. I know she gets nervous, so I let her squish the life out of my hand because I know holding it makes her feel better.

I don’t know why she gets nervous though. I don’t get nervous, ever, simply because my dad is the best driver in the world. He’s the champion, and he’s about to be the champion again.

I wriggle my fingers a little as they start to feel funny.

“Sorry, darling.” Mum smiles down at me. It’s a tight, worried smile.

I wish she wouldn’t worry so much.

I smile up at her, trying to make her feel better.

She’s really beautiful, my mum, and very tall. She used to be a model, but she gave it up when she had me.

I’m going to be tall like her. I’m already tall for my age. I hate it. I’m ten and taller than most of the boys in my class. I’m all limbs and gangly. Ugh. I wish I were small and petite, like the other girls in my class.

Everyone says that I look just like my mum though, which is a nice thing because she’s the most beautiful person in the world.

My dad says I look like her, too, and that he’s in for a nightmare when I grow up. Apparently, he’s going to keep a cricket bat by the front door to beat away any boyfriends I might have.

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