Chapter 8 Public Comms

Chapter 8 Public Comms
Tasha’s POV

“YOU’RE distracted. Fix it.”
Carlos’ voice rang sharply through my headset the second I adjusted the telemetry settings on the panel in front of me. Around us, the training bay remained loud with engine simulations, overlapping instructions, and mechanics moving between stations, but somehow his voice still cut through all of it too easily.
I kept my eyes on the monitor instead of looking at him. “I already fixed the pressure calibration,” I replied, forcing my tone to stay calm. “The response lag is coming from your corner entries.”
“My corner entries are fine.”
I let out a slow breath through my nose. “You clipped Turn Three twice.”
“That’s because your setup keeps overcompensating.”
My fingers paused over the controls before I slowly turned toward him. “You’re blaming the setup now?”
Carlos stood beside the training simulator with his helmet tucked beneath one arm, dark eyes fixed on me with that same frustrating intensity he always carried lately. Ever since the accidental kiss, everything between us felt sharper. More personal. Even normal conversations somehow turned into tension.
“I’m blaming you for changing settings without telling me,” he said flatly.
“I literally informed you ten minutes ago.”
“You explained it badly.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “You cannot seriously be making that argument right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because you weren’t even listening.”
Several nearby trainees glanced toward us again.
Great.
I immediately lowered my voice, but Carlos didn’t.
“You keep making adjustments based on instinct instead of coordination,” he continued. “You’re supposed to work with the driver, not against him.”
Something inside me snapped slightly at that. Against him?
I slowly set the tablet down on the workbench before facing him properly. “You want to talk about coordination?” I asked quietly. “You ignored half the data feedback during the run because you were too busy trying to prove you were right.”
His jaw tightened immediately. “I know how to drive the track.”
“And I know how to read the system,” I shot back. “But apparently only your opinion matters here.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s exactly what you said.”
Carlos took a step closer, lowering his voice only slightly. “No, what I said is that you’re distracted lately.”
I blinked once.
Then laughed softly in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
I looked around briefly, suddenly aware of how many people were pretending not to listen. Even worse, some of them had already stopped pretending entirely.
I folded my arms tightly across my chest. “Distracted by what exactly?”
“You tell me.” The way he said it made irritation crawl higher up my spine. “You’ve been off since Luigi started hovering around you every break,” Carlos continued. “You keep missing details during simulations.”
I stared at him for a full second before scoffing quietly. “Oh, that’s what this is about.”
His expression hardened immediately. “Don’t start.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You don’t get to act like this is professional criticism when you’re clearly irritated over something personal.”
“That’s not personal.”
“Really?” I challenged. “Because you’ve been acting impossible every single time Luigi talks to me.”
“That’s because he distracts you.”
I laughed again, sharper this time. “You are unbelievable.”
“And you’re careless lately.”
That hit harder than I expected. Not because I believed him. But because he said it in front of everyone.
My embarrassment immediately twisted into anger. “You know what?” I said, stepping closer. “Maybe the problem isn’t me.”
Carlos crossed his arms. “Then enlighten me.”
“Maybe you just can’t stand the fact that I’m actually good at this.”
Silence dropped instantly around us. A few students exchanged looks nearby. Carlos stared at me slowly, like he couldn’t believe I actually said it.
Then his brows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” I continued firmly, “every time I point out a mistake, you act like it’s impossible for me to be right.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is true,” I shot back. “You hate being corrected.”
“By you?”
There it was. That tone. That arrogance.
My chest tightened harder. “Yes. By me.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re making assumptions.”
“No,” I replied quietly. “I think you’re threatened.”
That landed. I saw it immediately in the way his expression shifted.
“Threatened?” he repeated slowly.
“You heard me.”
“Tasha—”
“You’re Carlos Santiago,” I interrupted, my voice sharper now. “The golden boy of Vanguard. The future heir. The genius driver everybody worships. And suddenly some scholarship student transfers here and keeps matching your performance.”
His jaw clenched visibly.
“So now everything I do becomes wrong because your ego can’t handle it.”
“Tasha.”
“No,” I continued before he could interrupt again. “You want honesty? Fine. You’re not upset because I’m distracted. You’re upset because I’m useful.”
The room had gone so quiet at this point that even the nearby mechanics looked uncomfortable.
And somehow that only made me angrier.
Carlos stared at me for several long seconds before speaking again. “You think I’m intimidated by you?”
His voice came out dangerously calm.
I lifted my chin slightly. “I think you’re used to being the best person in every room.”
“And?”
“And maybe you don’t like competition.”
Something flickered across his face then. Not anger exactly but something deeper and more personal.
Before he could answer, Coach Ramirez suddenly appeared beside us with an expression that already looked exhausted.
“Do the two of you need separate corners?” he asked dryly.
Neither of us answered immediately.
The coach sighed heavily. “Good. Then stop performing for an audience and get back to work.”
A few students quickly looked away.
I grabbed the tablet from the table and stepped back toward the control station without another word. My pulse was still racing uncomfortably hard beneath my ribs.
I hated fighting with Carlos.
Mostly because every argument somehow felt too emotional. Like there was always something underneath it neither of us wanted to say.
The next training simulation started twenty minutes later.
This time Carlos climbed fully into the simulator cockpit while I stayed in the control station with the engineering team monitoring telemetry.
I adjusted my headset while reviewing the numbers on-screen. “Radio check,” I said professionally.
Carlos’ voice immediately crackled through my headset.
“Loud and clear, troublemaker.”
A few nearby mechanics suddenly coughed suspiciously behind me.
I ignored them. “Focus on the track, Santiago.”
“You first.”
I rolled my eyes despite myself and glanced toward the main monitor as the simulation began.
The engine roared through the system.
Carlos handled the first corners smoothly this time, sharp and aggressive without losing control. Even through a simulator, his driving was annoyingly impressive.
“Your rear balance is drifting left,” I informed him.
“You worried about me?”
“I’m worried about the car.”
A laugh slipped through the radio.
Unfortunately, it echoed through every headset connected to the team channel. Which meant everyone heard it.
“Wow,” one mechanic muttered under his breath nearby. “This is getting hard to listen to.”
Heat immediately rushed into my face.
Carlos apparently didn’t realize the entire team could hear him because his voice lowered slightly through the headset.
“You sound cute when you’re annoyed.”
My entire body froze. Around me, several people suddenly looked down at their screens very quickly to hide their reactions.
Oh my God.
I pressed a hand against my forehead briefly. “Carlos.”
“What?”
“You are on public comms.”
Silence.
Then, “…Seriously?”
The entire engineering station burst into laughter.
I closed my eyes in humiliation while Carlos groaned dramatically through the headset. 
“You could’ve warned me earlier.”
“I literally just did.”
“You waited too long.”
“You did that to yourself.”
Another laugh escaped through the radio, quieter this time.
And annoyingly enough, hearing him laugh made something warm twist unexpectedly inside my chest.
I hated that. 
“Focus on Turn Six,” I said quickly, forcing myself back to work.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The simulation continued, but somehow the atmosphere shifted after that. Lighter. Easier.
Carlos kept making sarcastic comments through the radio while I corrected his driving lines, and despite myself, I found my irritation fading little by little.
“You’re braking late again,” I warned him.
“I like danger.”
“You like problems.”
“I like hearing you yell at me.”
Several nearby engineers immediately looked away again, clearly trying not to react.
I pressed my lips together tightly to stop myself from smiling. “Maybe I should mute your headset.”
“You wouldn’t survive five minutes without talking to me.”
My fingers paused briefly over the controls. Because somehow that line landed differently.
The teasing slowly faded during the final laps as Carlos focused harder on the simulation. His lap times improved steadily until the numbers on my screen finally stabilized into near-perfect synchronization.
I stared at the data quietly for a moment.
Then blinked. Because somehow… We worked well together. Dangerously well.
Carlos slowed the simulator to a stop before his voice came through my headset again, softer this time.
“You still think I’m threatened by you?”
I swallowed slightly before answering.
“No,” I admitted quietly.
A beat of silence followed.
“You should still stop looking at Luigi that much.”
I stared at the monitor in disbelief while laughter immediately exploded around the control station again.
And somewhere inside the simulator cockpit, Carlos Santiago finally realized everyone had still been listening the entire time.