then?’
‘You said I shouldn’t resist my mistakes. That I should learn from them. So I decided to learn from my last mistake - the other time I skipped my last pit stop, I shouldn’t have. This time, it was okay.’
‘By exactly 4.2 centimetres…’ Syracuse observed.
Jason smiled. ‘My dad once told me you can win by an inch or a mile, sir. Either way, it’s still a win.’
And with that, for the first time Jason could remember, Scott Syracuse smiled.
He nodded graciously. ‘Well done today, Mr Chaser. I can’t possibly imagine what awaits us when you race in Saturday’s tournament.’
He began to walk away.
‘Mr Syracuse!’ Jason called after him. ‘My family’s in town and we’re going out to celebrate tonight.’ He paused. ‘Wanna come?’
Syracuse hesitated for a moment, as if this were the most unexpected question in the world for him.
‘Sure,’ he said at last. ‘That’d be…very nice. What time?’
Jason told him.
Syracuse said, ‘Well, I have some work to do, some lessons to prepare, so I might be a little late. But I’ll be there.’
And sure enough, Syracuse arrived at the restaurant exactly 45 minutes late, just as a classic Chooka’s ice cream cake with the Argonaut ‘s number 55 on it was delivered to their table.
As Syracuse joined them, Jason wondered if he ate takeaway chicken burgers very often. As it turned out, Syracuse handled his greasy burger with ease.
It took all of four seconds for Henry Chaser, official armchair racing expert, to start asking Syracuse all about his professional career.
‘You know,’ Henry said, ‘we were talking about that time you tried to cut the heel in Italy once. That time you got caught in there for - what was it - four hours?’
‘Four and a half,’ Syracuse corrected.
‘What happened?’
Jason also waited for the answer.
When he spoke, Syracuse seemed to choose his words carefully: ‘Let’s just say, I didn’t expect my career to end in New York later that year.’
And with that he looked to Jason, as if expecting him to deduce what such a cryptic answer meant.
Jason thought about it.
‘You didn’t expect to crash out later that year in New York,’ he repeated aloud. ‘Which means you expected to race in Italy again, in future years…’
‘Correct.’
Then it hit Jason.
‘No way …’
Syracuse nodded slowly. ‘You’ve got it.’
‘You were doing research ,’ Jason said. ‘You were reconnoitring the Italian short cut for the next year.’
Syracuse nodded, impressed. ‘Well done, Mr Chaser. To this day, you’re the first person to have figured that out.’
Jason couldn’t believe it. It was so deviously clever. He said: ‘Everyone thought your taking the short cut was a desperate attempt to catch the leaders, but it wasn’t. You had no intention of catching the leaders at all, or even winning the race. You spent four hours searching the maze, working out its secrets so you could use them in future years .’
‘Four and a half hours, thank you very much,’ Syracuse said. ‘And then Alessandro Romba wiped me out in New York later that season and I never got to use that knowledge. Tough break. But I thought your use of the short cut in today’s race - following that Xavier fellow in - was just as clever. I hope you were taking notes as you went through. Because that knowledge will be with you whenever that short cut is used from now on - well, at least until the School reconfigures it.’
Jason beamed at Syracuse’s praise, and glanced over at his father, recalling his words from two days earlier: ‘When you start learning as hard as you can, I guarantee he’ll start treating you differently.’
Henry Chaser knew how much it meant. He just smiled knowingly.
Beside Henry, however, Martha Chaser had become lost in her thoughts again.
At length, Scott Syracuse stood up from the table. ‘Thank you all for a lovely dinner, but I fear I have to go.’
‘Hey, thanks for coming,’ Jason
‘You said I shouldn’t resist my mistakes. That I should learn from them. So I decided to learn from my last mistake - the other time I skipped my last pit stop, I shouldn’t have. This time, it was okay.’
‘By exactly 4.2 centimetres…’ Syracuse observed.
Jason smiled. ‘My dad once told me you can win by an inch or a mile, sir. Either way, it’s still a win.’
And with that, for the first time Jason could remember, Scott Syracuse smiled.
He nodded graciously. ‘Well done today, Mr Chaser. I can’t possibly imagine what awaits us when you race in Saturday’s tournament.’
He began to walk away.
‘Mr Syracuse!’ Jason called after him. ‘My family’s in town and we’re going out to celebrate tonight.’ He paused. ‘Wanna come?’
Syracuse hesitated for a moment, as if this were the most unexpected question in the world for him.
‘Sure,’ he said at last. ‘That’d be…very nice. What time?’
Jason told him.
Syracuse said, ‘Well, I have some work to do, some lessons to prepare, so I might be a little late. But I’ll be there.’
And sure enough, Syracuse arrived at the restaurant exactly 45 minutes late, just as a classic Chooka’s ice cream cake with the Argonaut ‘s number 55 on it was delivered to their table.
As Syracuse joined them, Jason wondered if he ate takeaway chicken burgers very often. As it turned out, Syracuse handled his greasy burger with ease.
It took all of four seconds for Henry Chaser, official armchair racing expert, to start asking Syracuse all about his professional career.
‘You know,’ Henry said, ‘we were talking about that time you tried to cut the heel in Italy once. That time you got caught in there for - what was it - four hours?’
‘Four and a half,’ Syracuse corrected.
‘What happened?’
Jason also waited for the answer.
When he spoke, Syracuse seemed to choose his words carefully: ‘Let’s just say, I didn’t expect my career to end in New York later that year.’
And with that he looked to Jason, as if expecting him to deduce what such a cryptic answer meant.
Jason thought about it.
‘You didn’t expect to crash out later that year in New York,’ he repeated aloud. ‘Which means you expected to race in Italy again, in future years…’
‘Correct.’
Then it hit Jason.
‘No way …’
Syracuse nodded slowly. ‘You’ve got it.’
‘You were doing research ,’ Jason said. ‘You were reconnoitring the Italian short cut for the next year.’
Syracuse nodded, impressed. ‘Well done, Mr Chaser. To this day, you’re the first person to have figured that out.’
Jason couldn’t believe it. It was so deviously clever. He said: ‘Everyone thought your taking the short cut was a desperate attempt to catch the leaders, but it wasn’t. You had no intention of catching the leaders at all, or even winning the race. You spent four hours searching the maze, working out its secrets so you could use them in future years .’
‘Four and a half hours, thank you very much,’ Syracuse said. ‘And then Alessandro Romba wiped me out in New York later that season and I never got to use that knowledge. Tough break. But I thought your use of the short cut in today’s race - following that Xavier fellow in - was just as clever. I hope you were taking notes as you went through. Because that knowledge will be with you whenever that short cut is used from now on - well, at least until the School reconfigures it.’
Jason beamed at Syracuse’s praise, and glanced over at his father, recalling his words from two days earlier: ‘When you start learning as hard as you can, I guarantee he’ll start treating you differently.’
Henry Chaser knew how much it meant. He just smiled knowingly.
Beside Henry, however, Martha Chaser had become lost in her thoughts again.
At length, Scott Syracuse stood up from the table. ‘Thank you all for a lovely dinner, but I fear I have to go.’
‘Hey, thanks for coming,’ Jason
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