“Good, ‘cause we’re starting on wets and we’d hate for anyone to know.”
Thomas chuckles and the reporter says, “The two of you are rather close in the championship standings.”
“Three, if you count Lucas.” Sam’s done the math a million times. “I’m only eleven points behind Lucas, eight points ahead of Thomas.”
“So this race can really shake up the standings!”
If it’s another run like Australia or France where Sam finishes first and Lucas finishes fourth, Sam will snatch the championship away again. He’s so close he can taste it.
Without a signed contract, Lucas is still one foot out of Formation 1. If he’s willing to reconsider his retirement for one race, he’ll absolutely stay for an entire championship.
Besides, Sam doesn’t want to win a championship he didn’t fight Lucas for. It’s the same as admitting he can’t.
The reporter moves on to Laurent and Thomas takes her place. He halfheartedly waves up at the crowd and takes a sip from his water bottle. “Starting on wets, huh?”
Sam gasps. “How did you find out our super-secret strategy?”
“Ferraro gathers intel in many ways.”
“Well, now that you know whatwe’redoing, what tires are you starting on?”
“The starting tires are not the most important,” Thomas says, leaning in. “It is the pit stop strategy. We are stopping on the second lap.”
“Before the rest of the field? That’s a good idea.” Sam waves at the bleachers as the truck bounces along. “Then you can do the other sixty-nine laps on softs—you’ll gosofast.”
“Oh no, we are planning a multi-stop race. At least forty times.”
Sam laughs, gripping onto the pole again for balance. “New tires, new rubber for the entire race. Why didn’t I think of that?”
There’s a sparkle in Thomas’s eye when he says, “I hope you are writing this down for your engineers.”
“Thomas.” Rafael grasps his teammate’s shoulder in greetingbefore trailing down his back and stepping close. “You’re conversing with the enemy?”
Enemy. What a tool.
“We are discussing race strategy,” Thomas dutifully answers.
Around Rafael he stands a little taller, a little straighter. He also turns towards him, shutting everyone else out of their bubble. It’s annoying, really. If he can’t relax around the Brazilian, then why does he even like him?
“Yeah, Big Toe was asking for my opinion on Plan C, but I reckon Plan B is a much safer route.” Sam’s talking out of his ass, but it seems to strike a chord with the Ferraro drivers. “Either way, you know Lorenzo’ll wanna run Plan A. Hopefully, you can convince him otherwise—I think it’s doomed to fail.”
“You told him about?—?”
“No!” Thomas cuts Rafael off before he can leak anything juicy. “He is just joking.È un’informazione divertente.”
Thomas and Rafael continue to speak in Italian, and Sam’s dictionary of small pleasantries doesn’t cover what they’re fighting about.
He tries not to be too pleased about the chaos he caused as he wanders off to talk with Robert and Javier.
Sam hops in place next to his car as Frank does the final checks. It’s good to be back at the very front with Lucas parked next to him.
When they’re still, the Ferraros on the second row look much further away than when they’re in motion. Sam and Lucas will have to be on the defensive immediately if they’re going to keep the 1-2.
The car behind him is Rafael, and Sam strains his neck for a peek at a rogue tire before the mechanics can slapa cover back on it. The wall of red doesn’t seem to mind Sam’s curiosity, so he watches them ready the car as he shakes out his excess energy.
Places are called, and he fist-bumps his crew for luck. He stomps his right foot three times and knocks the edge of his racing boot against the side panel before climbing into the cockpit. One last adjustment to his junk and he slides down into the seat.
“Radio check, Sam.”
