“Because it’s psychotic, that’s why.”
Travis laughs. “We’d love to visit. This is me,” he adds, as we reach the Harper garage. “Nice to meet you all. Jacob, you’re good to show them the way from here?”
His voice is casual, but he catches my eye when he says it, another question in his gaze.
It takes me a moment to answer him. I’m still thinking about We’d love to visit. Such a casual “we,” like the ones Trevor and Jonathan use.
I grin at him stupidly. “I’m good. See you after.”
He smiles back and squeezes my arm before he leaves. As he walks away, Trevor says, “Damn, well done,” like he’s complimenting me for landing such a catch.
Ben saves me from coming up with a response by smacking the back of Trevor’s head. “For fuck’s sake, Trevor.”
“What?”
“You can’t just assume people are dating.”
“Yes, I can. I have a sixth sense about these things.”
“I mean you shouldn’t,” Ben says. “Sorry, Jacob.”
“Yeah, sorry for complimenting you on your sexy boyfriend, Jacob,” Trevor says.
My cheeks are warm, but I laugh. “It’s okay. We’re kind of—keeping it quiet, though.”
Trevor mimes locking his mouth with a key. “I won’t say a word.”
“Ever again?” Ben says hopefully.
“He seems really nice, Jacob,” Anne says.
“Yeah,” I say. “He is.”
She and I smile at each other, and Ben and Trevor bicker some more, and then we’re at the Crosswire garage. I step away to ask Cory if it’s okay for them to watch from the back of the garage, where there’s a space reserved for family members and celebrities. My heart aches in a good kind of way as I watch Marcie usher them to the very front row, right where my father’s douchebag friends probably hoped they would be. Anne gives me a thumbs up and mouths, “You’ve got this.”
I smile and turn my attention to Cory. He’s got a bunch of data pulled up for me to look at, and this time, I don’t feel overwhelmed at all. Qualifying starts in less than an hour, and I plan on putting on a good show.
Travis makes us all look like idiots in Q1.
Qualifying is what determines the starting lineup for the race, and in Formula 1, it’s divided into three sections. First, in Q1, everyone has eighteen minutes to set their best lap time, and the slowest five drivers are eliminated. The remaining fifteen drivers go onto Q2, where the five slowest drivers are cut after fifteen minutes, then the top ten go on to battle for position in Q3. What everyone wants, especially here in Singapore, is to start on the front row of the grid. The race has been won from pole position for four of the last five years.
If Q1 is anything to go by, Travis will be taking that spot. He’s seven tenths—seven tenths—faster than anyone at the end of the session. Mahoney is second fastest, while I wind up eighth. The track doesn’t feel any different than it did in FP3, but I can’t seem to find the same speed.
I chew on my lip as I sit in the garage, waiting for Q2 to start. I don’t feel panicked or nervous, just thoughtful. This is a big part of my job back at Crosswire. I run tests on the sim, review data, look for ways to improve.
The problem, I realize, as I pull into the pit lane to start Q2, is me. I’m driving tired. I was so worked up in FP3, so full of adrenaline, that I could ignore the sweltering heat and the ache in my muscles. Now that I’ve calmed down a bit, I’m making subconscious decisions to give my body a break, taking corners a hair more slowly, giving the track walls a bit more berth.
Dumbass, I chide myself as I pull out onto track.
I do the exact opposite this time, throwing my car into every corner, pushing its limits, gauging my success by how much my neck aches. I brush the wall twice, just enough to scrape a bit of paint off, and as the track ramps up, I find more and more time, finishing the session in third with a very respectable 1:29:60. Mahoney is in second, with a 1:29:54.
Travis puts in a 1:28:80.
I have absolutely no idea how he does it. I can ask him, later tonight, but I doubt he’ll be able to tell me. Travis likes listening to music and running through tracks in his mind before races, but that’s the entirety of his process. Data mostly bores him, he views sim time as a chore, and a couple of months ago, someone posted a funny montage of his race radio, with his race engineer Freddie asking for feedback on the car and Travis responding with a slew of one-word answers, “good” and “bad” and “meh” and “fine.” He doesn’t overthink things, Travis. He just gets in his car and flies.
I start Q3 knowing in my bones that I can’t beat him. Maybe someday, if I land an F1 seat and get more experience, but not tonight, not on a single lap.
Mahoney, though. I’ve got him in my crosshairs.
