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Jake Rolland is a retired Piston Cup racer. Throughout his career, he achieved two pole positions, zero race wins, and zero titles. His career began and ended under the radar, with his rookie season met with minimal excitement and a small fanbase, a tradition that continued into his quiet retirement.
Despite it being his proudest achievement, his racing career comes second place in the things that the public would know him for. The first being his current role as rising-star Cal Weathers’ manager.
And trainer. And head of PR. And the “anything surrounding Cal’s racing that requires an extra hand” guy. He literally has a hand in every aspect of Cal’s life.
He’s the reason Cal eats the right food, says the right things, makes it to races with everything he needs.
He’s also the reason Cal is more than critical of himself.
Why he’s practicing on the sim until his head spins and nausea bites the back of his tongue. Why he’s constantly glancing off to the side in post-race interviews, unconfident. Why he sometimes gets so anxious that he has to scramble to the nearest bathroom and hurl the contents of his stomach.
Cal meets Jake a year before he starts racing in the Piston Cup Junior Series. And for Cal- a huge racing nerd who jumps at the opportunity to meet any past racer, no matter how many of them he’s met through his uncle- having Jake Rolland attend a race of his at the local track is a dream come true.
They hit it off immediately. Cal likes Jake’s devil-may-care attitude, how he shares Cal’s near-obsessive interest in racing history, and how Uncle Strip seems to think Jake’s quite a stand up guy. "He's a lot like you, actually," Strip would say to Cal whenever Jake cares a little too much about what ought to be instead of what is. The two of them have a shared vision, Cal and Jake, that's why they get along so well.
A week later, Jake takes on a small role in Cal’s engineering team. They begin seeing each other everyday and getting fast food after Cal’s races. A month later, he becomes Cal’s full-time manager. He starts running a strict regiment and makes Cal the best racer he’s ever been. But the elephant in the room is that Cal’s mental health is deteriorating, slowly but surely.
A year later, he now stands in a 19 year-old Cal’s living room, watching the kid tear out his hair in distress. Over a salon appointment, of all things.
“Come on, kid. Can’t get your hair trimmed if there’s none left,” Jake tries to joke but the vibe in the room is rancid.
“Nothing about this is fucking funny, dude!” Cal seethes and paces frantically around the tight living room, looking everywhere but Jake’s eyes. “You can’t do stuff like this without my permission. It’s basic human dignity!” His chest is tight as he struggles for breath. He feels an uncomfortable warmth behind his entire face, utter shame for getting upset with something so seemingly trivial.
Jake seems to get that same idea. “Calm down,” he says with a hint of annoyance, “you’re overreacting.”
Jake is right, but only on paper. Looking at this as a standalone incident, the headline is: nepo-baby racer gets unnecessarily pissed off at his manager for booking a haircut appointment without his explicit consent.
But Cal will swear up and down that it goes much deeper than that.
“I’m not overreacting! Why would you do something like this?!” Because this is how Jake operates. Sly omission of details, backhanded comments, and the exploitation of Cal’s most personal sensitivities (i.e. haircuts) that he mistakenly let Jake into because he thought they were friends.
It always seems like Jake’s in the right no matter how much Cal’s gut tells him otherwise. That’s where Jake gets his power.
He constantly finds different, creative ways to make Cal feel like shit. And Cal’s relationship with his own appearance has broken down, simultaneous with his relationship with Jake.
He tells Cal that he’s in over his head. That he needs Jake around to remind him of his errors, because Cal himself is “too egotistical”, too much of a spoiled nepo child to see his own weaknesses. Over time, Cal’s become convinced that he needs Jake around to make any decision. To talk, to think, to breathe. Because Jake is always criticizing him.
But never mind the distress he puts Cal through. The insults about never living up to his uncle, the extreme attention to his weak points, the neverending push against his physical limits. Those things, Cal can somehow look beyond. Those things, he can convince himself he deserves.
The thing that toes the final line is Jake’s control over his appearance.
Cal has shoulder-length hair that he keeps in a half-up bun. Long before the negative opinions that Jake pushed onto him, back when he used to be more confident in himself, he felt good about this hairstyle.
Since Jake signed on to manage him, the man’s insisted Cal kept his hair long because some fans were getting crazy sentimental about it. Just like that, the concept of ‘choice’ became entirely non-existent. Then, he’d turn around and throw around the word “pretty” like he wasn’t on the other side of the many, many conversations in which Cal’s mentioned the deep discomfort it brings.
Cal doesn’t remember when it began, or when it got this bad. All he knows is that he hates looking in the mirror. Hates the way his long hair frames his face; the weight of curls in his balaclava when he’s racing.
It’s merely been a year since he met Jake Rolland, and Cal’s hair makes him nothing but dysphoric.
And even though that’s been his biggest gripe with Jake, he’s still been able to shove it all the way down and not bring it up. Every time he disagrees with Jake, Cal just ends up being made to look stupid anyway. So, why try?
It’s only when Jake books that appointment for a hair trim without informing him beforehand, that all the emotions Cal’s been holding in explode like the breaking of a dam.
Jake rubs at his temple as if Cal exhausts him. “I only did it because you never take care of your own hair, you know this. And you’ve got some of the biggest appearances of your career thus far coming up. How many times do I have to tell you: appearance is crucial to sponsorships!” He says it like an aphorism, “And— Jesus, will you stop pacing? And I don’t know, Cal. Maybe I’m just trying to look out for you, ever think of that?”
Cal wants to scream and hit something. The fact that he does in fact stop pacing on Jake’s command makes him impossibly angrier. He stomps to his couch, slams his back against it as hard as he can. The frame of the couch slams into the wall, loud BANG! resounding in the otherwise silent room. Tears sting his eyes.
“You don’t like change, I get it—” Jake continues.
“That’s not what this is about.”
“—I know you like your long hair. We won’t cut it, it’ll just be a trim!”
The tears fall. “I don’t like it!!” he all but screams, “I’ve made that very clear this whole time!” He quickly buries his face in his palms, pretends he’s hiding only because he’s frustrated.
How does someone so close to him know so little about him? What’s happened to them?
Has Jake slowly lost grip on Cal’s inner world, or did he never care to learn it in the first place?
“It’s because you won’t let me cut it! And you- You don’t let me do anything!” Cal weeps through his hands.
“Well, I think it looks good.” Jake snaps, impatient, “You should keep it long, okay?”
“It looks average.” Cal counters matter-of-factly, digs his nails into his undereyes as if he can force the tears to stop. He gives up, throws his hands into his lap with a weak sniffle. “And I don’t feel good about it.”
“Who cares how you feel?” Jake says, far too quickly, and immediately backtracks when he sees the expression on Cal’s face. “Come on, Cal. This is only about building your image. The long hair is recognizable. It’s iconic! It’s pretty.”
Cal flinches like the word stings him.
If Jake notices it, he doesn’t care enough to react. “You want people to remember you, no? You want them to only see a worse version of Strip Weathers when they look at you?”
“Don’t tell me what I want and don’t want!” Cal yells, but he can barely hear himself over his heart’s pounding.
“Kid, calm down—”
“Stop telling me what I want, even though, yes, you may be right this time. But it’s— you’re also not! Because I don’t even know what I want anymore— fuck!! Stop using my uncle against me, especially about my fucking hair! It’s all under a fucking helmet, whydoyoucaresomuch?!” He derails, words jumbling together, tongue too large in his mouth. Salty drops gather at his chin, falling rapidly into his lap. He wipes violently at his face.
In contrast, Jake seems infinitely calmer. Which is probably what he was going for: looking like the far more reasonable one. “I’m not trying to tell you what you want.” He says slowly, “You want a shorter haircut? Go get one.”
“Really. Because this whole time you’ve been pretty fucking against it.” Cal bites.
“Then, I ask you conversely, why do you care what I think? It’s your hair. If it matters to you that much, which it clearly does, go get it cut yourself. Why should my opinion matter?”
You know exactly why, Cal thinks, losing control of his breathing. You’ve conditioned me like a dog to need your approval for every decision I make, he wants to shout. Because he knows Jake has made him feel worthless. Like a needy, dependent thing.
He’s not himself anymore, and everything feels wrong. His hair, his voice, his body… It’s all because of Jake.
But then, of course, he thinks of the good times. The laughs they shared at the track, traces of an obvious chemistry that made them click since the first time they met when Jake put Cal on his shoulders as Cal celebrated his win in the last go-kart he drove before debuting in the Junior Piston Cup. The undeniable results they achieved together, despite hurting to make them possible. That first time Cal dressed up for an awards banquet, and Jake tied his necktie for him because Cal’s father passed away long before he could see the man Cal became.
How desperately he wishes their time together was filled with only those lovely moments instead of whatever was going on now. Because of course his brain won’t even let him hate Jake properly.
The tears quietly come to a halt.
Cal, at his core, subverts the expectations that come with who he is. He’s a calculated, clean driver despite the Weathers name being known for daring and aggressive racing. He’s shy and introverted when people believe he would have his nose in the air. Heads turn to double-take his Texan drawl from South-Asian lips.
The quality of subversion is what attracts his fans and sponsors, Cal knows this all too well. And the hair was just another part of that. No one says it out loud, but Cal can tell that when the public looks at an Asian man (and when the few who are aware of the history of his struggle with self-expression and gender look at him) they expect to see someone who goes an extra mile for masculinity in order to be taken seriously. But they don’t see that. Instead, they find a head of long, elegant curls.
His long hair has always been a ‘fuck you’ to the stereotypes.
And if he cuts it all off because he doesn’t like the look anymore, would it symbolize surrender? Will everyone around him think that he’s given up?
He doesn’t know what to do. Cal is so frustrated and breathing not nearly enough that his entire head hurts.
In his silence, Jake pushes off the wall he was leaning against. In a few strides, he settles himself on the couch next to Cal.
Jake claps a hand on Cal’s back and pulls him in close. “I’ve never been against a shorter haircut, you just hardly mention that it’s something you wanted. You can’t never bring it up then get mad at me for not letting you have it.”
Despite himself, Cal relishes in the warm palm against his back, the thumb rubbing circles into his sweater.
“Well,” he somehow finds his voice to respond, “every time I want something, you make me feel shitty.”
The other’s eyes narrow. He takes his hand off Cal’s back, and Cal feels cold. “What I do is nothing but giving you a mature, informed opinion. You’re only so young, you know you don’t have the life experience to make the right decisions. If you want a drastically different cut, you’d have to find a good barber who won’t do a shit job. That’s why I help. It’s not because I give a damn what haircut you get.”
“But you do give a damn! You do— This whole thing is because you give a damn! You’re fucking—” he gasps a sharp breath, drawing not nearly enough air, “You’re messing with my head,” his voice reduces to nothing at the end, and he claws at his chest, fighting the creeping sense of panic.
Cal wants to explain himself, tell Jake this whole thing is so damn stupid. His brain spins too fast for his mouth, however. Caught between trying to find the words to make Jake understand and the nihilistic thought that it wouldn’t matter if he did, the words die at the tight lump in his throat.
He’s burning and freezing and hurting all at the same time, and it’s too much.
“Cal, breathe.” Jake’s voice softens.
But the rare display of gentleness makes Cal all the more emotional.
Despite his best efforts to calm down, Cal starts to cry again in earnest. Pained sobs are ripped uncontrollably from his throat, wracking his thin frame. It feels as if the air’s been punched from his chest, every breath he takes is more shallow than the last, like he could never possibly inhale enough air to fill his lungs again. He’s curled in on himself, hands in fists against his head, knuckles bruising the skin they dig into.
And his consciousness is locked somewhere deep inside his head, just barely able to register that the only thing coming out of his mouth between sobs is a resigned I’m sorry, I’m sorry over and over like a prayer.
On a later date, Cal recalls Jake saying something right about now that sounds like “you’re beyond reason, kid”, and then getting up and walking out, but Cal doesn’t comprehend any of it at the moment. He can’t.
All he remembers next is the slam of a door before Cal is suddenly and terrifyingly alone. And the thought of that breaks him completely, more thoroughly than he previously believed he could ever be broken.
Hours later, Cal is laying against the cold hard tiles of his floor, gazing blankly at a shelf of his trophies. He has more or less calmed down. The tidal waves of emotions crashing into him over and over earlier have since largely receded. He’s discovered that if he just entirely avoids thinking about everything that’s happened, he can comfortably relish in the numb buzzing sensation that’s now running through his body. So, in the past few hours, he has not moved an inch from the ground next to his sofa. It’s surely a pathetic sight but he can’t bring himself to pick his body up off the ground.
However, as is often the case, the world of racing never leaves him alone. Not even for the activity of staring in catatonia and pretending he doesn’t exist.
His phone rings from the ottoman table. He ignores it.
It rings again. Then again. Buzzes against the synthetic wood until Cal begrudgingly hauls himself across the room on borrowed strength. He picks up.
“‘Bout time you picked up!” The voice of Tex Dinoco booms from the other end with a lot more energy than Cal is ready to reciprocate.
“How’s it going, Big Tex?” Cal croaks, shocking himself with his hoarseness.
“I’m so glad you asked! As a matter of fact, I’m elated!” He sounds so animated it’s almost patronizing, humoring a Cal that doesn’t feel like being humored, “I’m almost doing as good as you!”
The irony earns a quick huff of laughter from Cal. “What exactly do I have to be ‘elated’ about, Tex?” He asks, dejected.
“Only a seat in the Piston Cup next season.”
Oh… Oh!
Holy shit!!
Cal chokes hard on saliva. “Are you— You’re being serious?” He gasps between coughs.
“Cross my heart,” says Tex. Cal can only sputter his ‘thank-you’s in utter shock.
“Well get excited, kid!” Tex nudges, and Cal flinches at the nickname, “This’ll be the first time Dinoco partners a rookie in thirty years!"
Countless emotions come knocking but Cal lets the disbelief in first. “I-I don’t understand,” he inquires cautiously, “What about Strip?”
“Your uncle? Where you been? His retirement announcement is all over the news.”
“Haven’t really been on my phone today.” Cal winces.
“Well, he’s got one more season left and I’m sure the team will put their all into it as always. But after that, it’s all you!!” He emphasizes the last part.
Cal finds the tiniest of smiles on his face.
They say their goodbyes and Cal hangs up the phone trying to decide who to call next, who to share this amazing news with.
His fingers instinctively hover over Jake’s contact. His heart drops to his stomach and the implication of the events of today hits him all over again. He doesn’t let himself begin to wallow in pity again. Cal scrolls onto his uncle’s contact and hits ‘dial’ before he can second-guess it.
Strip picks up immediately, and hits him with even more excitement than Tex.
“If it isn’t my baby Cal! My favorite Piston Cup racer!!” Strip yells into the phone.
Cal can practically hear his grin. “Hey, congrats on your retirement,” he manages to reply.
“You doin’ alright? You don’t sound excited enough to finally boot me from my seat!” Strip jokes.
Already, Cal begins to feel teary-eyed. He exhales sharply, gnaws at his bottom lip. “I really gotta talk to you,” he nearly whispers, heat creeping up his neck.
“‘Course, baby, I’m all ears.”
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JrPistonCupNews.com:
Team Dinoco and Cal Weathers part ways with manager Jake Rolland...
Full article
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(A week later, Cal walks into a barbershop and cuts his hair short. And he can’t believe it took him this long to do it. When he’s home, he takes a long look into the mirror and realizes his life is about to begin. The puzzle pieces have all fallen into place, and everything will be fine. )