Rafael still looks confused, but he nods. “Yeah, okay. See you.”
Julien slips out of the door and closes it as quietly as he can.
Private flights—definitely up there on the list of things Julien will miss.
JULIEN DUBOIS
RESERVE DRIVER, FERRARO
The garagein Monaco is too tight for extra personnel, so Julien has to watch Rafael struggle from above, alongside the engineers on the second floor.
As the mechanics roll the car back into the garage, Julien wants to scream something down to him—advice, encouragement,anythingthat would dig Rafael out of fifteenth on the grid.
It’s only Free Practice 1. Just practice. Only the first one.
Besides, it’s been a long time since Rafael was last in the car. It’s too early to think anything yet. To be concerned.
Despite the tight space, there’s a broadcast camera trained to Julien’s face. They cut to it whenever the announcers talk about Rafael, which is far too often.
Is he ready? Is he in pain? Wouldn’t it be better if the guy who consistently delivers a solid one-lap pace drove Monaco?
If anybody asked Julien what he thinks, he’d tell the world he doesn’twantto run Monaco. He’d say this race is Rafael’s to win and he’ll blow everyone away once he finds his footing. Julien would also remind people that practice is just that—practice.
But nobody asks him for his opinion. Julien’s a lowly reserve driver again.
There’s nothing he can do but keep a straight face and show no emotion. He won’t grimace and feed the cameras. Instead, he stares at his name tag until it leaves the screen.
Julien Dubois
Reserve driver, Thomas’s brother
They could’ve included “race winner”.
Dicks.
By the time the session ends, Rafael can only reach twelfth place.
If it was any other track, the team could say Rafael was running a race pace, but it’s Monaco. Qualifying is everything. There’s no use pretending they’ll see any overtakes on Sunday.
With cameras staring at him, Julien can’t jot down his thoughts, so he replays his commentary in his mind. Brake later, obviously, but Julien also notes Rafael’s hesitance through the tunnel and a slight adjustment through Casino.
The laps were fine, they could just be improved a little. In Monaco, a little can be a lot.
Rafael is late to the post-practice meeting, but nobody heckles him for it. There’s frustration in his brow when he falls into a free chair and dons the bulky headphones. Without another word, he glares at the screen in front of him and clicks around.
Julien waves lightly to get his attention, to offer the man some encouragement, but Rafael’s eyes stare unblinkingly ahead, almost like he’s purposely ignoring him.
He just didn’t notice Julien. That’s all.
Thomas topped the time sheet, so the meeting remains focused on Rafael. How is his collarbone? What does the car feel like? Is there anything they can adjust before FP2?
“I need you to be honest, Rafael,” Lorenzo says. “Do you need another week?”
Julien’s heart stops.
Rafael has been imagining this race and his return to greatness for the past twomonths. He’s been training extra hard to be prepared for the earliest possible moment.
Stepping back now—admitting that he isn’t ready—would be against everything Rafael worked so hard for.
