After two weeks of preparation, it’s race day.I glance up at the screen, where the Sky Sports hosts are walking the pit.“Thisis it.The Circuit of the Americas, in Austin, Texas, set in the five hundred acres of rolling hills outside the city.We have just six races to go before the end of the season, with Rossini’s team riding high.This year only one team has failed to get any points...the black and green of Arden Racing still unable to finish higher than their season best of fifteenth place way back in Monza.”
I groan, pulling my headset off.Yesterday, Matt qualified in seventeenth, and Noah just ahead of him in sixteenth.And with a track this fast, I hold little hope we could see improvements today.But we only need a little, tiny step.Just an inch here and there.Just a few seconds.
As the race gets underway, I listen to Archie guiding Matt.They have famously sparky communication, and thisrace is no different.Archie’s legendary line to Matt as they crossed the finish line first in Monaco is now part of F1 lore, memed and repeated endlessly.
“You’re gonna be a fucking nightmare,” Archie said, his words broadcast out across the world and played back on every sports channel for a week.
NotGreat work.OrCongratulations, you just won your first Monaco Grand Prix.But “Christ.You’re gonna be a fucking nightmare.”
It still makes me laugh when I think about it, and I hope that having Archie here will be a lift for Matt.
But as the race progresses, I feel a knot tightening in my stomach.
The crew are sloppy with a pit stop.Noah comes off the track and damages his front wing.Matt seems unable to push past anyone, his once-famous killer instinct completely vanishing as soon as he is within striking distance.
I had allowed myself to hope that Matt was going to somehow pull off a miracle, but my heart sinks as he crosses the line in sixteenth.Just ahead of him, our rookie rider Noah takes fifteenth.When Matt crosses the line, Archie pulls his headphones off and looks at me.
“Let me see the data,” I say.
Back in the garage, there is little joy.Despite his best effort, Noah is frustrated, kicking his helmet across the garage and accidently smashing a computer screen.One of the younger mechanics is in tears.The strategist, who has become my nemesis, is playingCandy Crushon one of Arden’s iPads as I walk in.I snatch it out of his hand and toss it on the bench.He looks at me, defiant.
“Everyone, let’s huddle,” I say, calling the team into the garage.“Doors down.”
The smell of burned rubber and gasoline fills the space.The heat of Noah’s car radiates in the already stifling hot air.
“Can we get the coolers on?”I say to no one in particular, just as the pumps start to blow.“Right.Better today.We have taken a step up from last race, and that’s all I ask.”
“I suck,” Noah says, plonking down on the floor as he peels off his balaclava and gloves.
“No.You showed some real class on turn three to take the Williams.”
“Fifteenth is terrible,” Noah says, petulantly kicking away his sponsored water bottle.
“If fifteenth is terrible, then how about sixteenth?”says Matt, pulling off his own balaclava and nodding grimly in my direction.“It’s the pits of fucking hell.”
Noah looks mortified, but Matt drops a hand on his shoulder and course-corrects immediately.“You did great today.We should grab a beer and watch it back.”
“Anything to see in the data?”Archie asks me hopefully.
“Yes, actually,” I say, scanning the numbers and the summary evaluation that’s come in from the data team.I feel suddenly energized.“In lap thirty-six, and I almost can’t believe this, Matt clocked the fastest time out of the turn-one hill.And sixth fastest during the sweepers in turns seven to nine.”
Matt looks across at me, surprise on his face.“That’s not nothing, I guess.”
“It was a promising moment,” I say, smiling broadly, barely believing it myself.“We definitely have problems onthe straights, but we can improve that.We know we need to work on drag.”
Archie chuckles, and I glance at Barry, who seems pleased as he grins at me while stroking Roger’s fur.“Look at my little rescue dogs starting to heal.”
I steal a glance at Matt, who looks different; there’s a small glimmer of something I’ve not seen in a long time across his face.Barry is right.Maybe heisstarting to heal.But before I get too swept up in encouraging Matt, I elbow Noah’s race engineer gently in the ribs.
“Oh.Right,” he whispers, fumbling around on his iPad.“Noah, you moved up one place from qualifying.Hit a sixth-fastest time, right behind Matt on that turn one.”
Noah looks up, smiling shyly.“Wow.That’s cool.”
“Guys.These numbersshowwe have a little something.That what we’re doing, if we can stay focused, will work,” I say, clinging hard to this scrap of hope.“We have to believe a lot harder than we do right now.Because wecanclaw up that grid.I know we can.”
But Idon’tknow.I don’t know at all.I glance across at Matt, who nods at me encouragingly.
“I don’t think anyone should go home tonight,” I say, raising my voice so it fills the room.“Whoever can, should come out for a meal.Let’s try to get to know each other a little better.Bond as a team.”
