I was only focused on driving, and I was under serious pressure of expectations.It wasn’t a case ofifI’d make it into F1, it was with who and for how much money.
But then I got lazy.I stopped improving, the wins came less easily, and eventually I started to fall behind the other guys.One day, I was beaten on the track, badly.I remember Chloe found me in the garage after the loss, head in my hands, smashed helmet on the oil-stained concrete next to me.I wanted to quit.Then she put her hand on my back and said exactly what I needed to hear, as usual.
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”I asked her.
“We all need to work twice as hard to be half as good as you,” she said, wise beyond her years as a young teenager.“Imagine what would happen if you stopped relying on sheer talent and put the work in too.”
I didn’t listen right away, but it woke me up a little.
One night she spotted my left peripheral reaction issues before my performance coach did.“When you knocked that saltshaker over, you couldn’t catch it,” she shouted over the music at some divey karaoke bar we used to visit.“You should have caught it.”
I remember I laughed at her.Reminded her I’d had four shots of tequila.Told her to have a fucking night off.Leave me alone.
But she was right.That summer I trained with her.She taught me to juggle, we did ball drills to help with my reaction times, I got fitter.I honed my skills.And a year later, at just nineteen years old, I got the call from Rossini.Only the second person in history to jump from F3 to F1.
“Forty-five minutes,” Chloe calls out.Our eyes catch briefly, but she looks away coolly.What the hell is going on with her?Why does she seem so unhappy to see me?And why won’t she talk?She’s clearly not happy about Barry hiring me.
It comes as no surprise she’s battled her way up to team principal.While the other juniors were sneaking into nightclubs, dousing themselves in Allure Homme Sport and showing off their newly frosted tips, Chloe was sneaking into her dad’s garage to pull apart car engines.The other drivers hyped up pre-race to deafening drum ’n’ bass in their Bose headphones, while Chloe was reading up on strategy.She knew she needed a plan B, way back then.
It was fucked she never got picked up as a driver, and though no one says it out loud, it was obviously because the old men with the money just don’t invest in women.“The risks are just too big,” people would say, tutting and shaking their heads as if they all thought it was a big shame, without being self-aware enough to say out loud whyshe’smore of a risk, despite her being faster than the boy with the rich dad, who just got a contract with Haas.
“How’s the new team principal?”I ask Noah, as casually as I can.Though her hire was just announced, she’d have already started working with the team to get adjusted.
“Heaps good, mate,” he replies, beaming like a goofball.“She’s only been around a few weeks, though.”
I look back at her, gesticulating calmly to her team, and feel angry she wouldn’t make time to talk to me.She’s the team principal, and she couldn’t find five minutes to speak to her new driver?She’s seen my recent performance, andmustknow what a bad bet I am.Still, noHow are you doing?Nothing?After all this time?Last I checked we’d both moved on with our lives, and despite this strange new situation, I’m happy to see her again.Is she not happy to see me?
I need to catch up with her alone.Just a proper hello, yes, but also, I need to explain what’s been going on at Rossini.Right after this qualifying shit show.
Thirty minutes to go.
“They need you to go sit in the car and check the fit,” Noah is saying.
“All right.Cheers, mate.Good luck out there.”
“Don’t waste me too hard,” he says with a wry smile, his entire neck and cheeks turning a subtle pink.“Mum’s here.”
I shove him gently on the shoulder.“I’m the one that should be worried.”
My old boss at Rossini used to say, “Qualify first and you’ve got one foot on the podium.”
And it’s true.Qualifying is about setting the fastest time, to earn the best possible starting spot on the grid.
The day takes place over three rounds.
After Q1, five drivers are eliminated.
After Q2, five more are eliminated.
In the third round, Q3, the fastest ten get one final shot at placing as high up the grid as possible.The goal?Pole position.Pole position in F1 is everything.It’s the front row.The clean air ahead of everyone else is a huge advantage when your foot goes down.Especially here in Singapore, where it is tough to overtake.
All the other teams are over half a season into the process of incremental improvements, working with their drivers and their engineers to smooth, refine, and rebuild.Arden, however, are starting from zero today with a car that has been the butt of a million cruel headlines and opinion pieces:
Why No One Has a Hard-On for Arden
How Arden’s Clown Car Inspired
