“I’m sure you all have noticed by now, but Rafael will be absent for six races while he heals from his injury. In his place, we have the younger Mr. Dubois.”
Through a sprinkling of applause, Thomas wraps an arm around his little brother and shakes him with excitement.
It’s so fuckingembarrassing. Julien is a serious driver, not his brother’s show-and-tell project.
Their plan for Free Practice 1 is to gather as much information as possible. Both cars will run different wings, tires, fuel loads, and ride heights. The only consistency will be the green flow vis paint splattered across both front wings.
They’ll sandbag Thomas, hiding the true pace of the new Ferraro, but run Julien as normal to keep his confidence up.
Julien doesn’t need an advantage against his brother, but whatever helps the team gather data. At least the reporters will finally take him seriously.
When the engine fires up, the roar of the car vibrates Julien through to the bone.
Simulators can’t recreate this. Their speakers can’t capture that first jolt when Julien eases the car forward. The anticipation in his veins when he parks in pit lane behind an Ashton Marvin. The thud of his heartbeat as he counts to three and starts his out lap.
Even at a slower speed, the g-forces through the turns are significant. Julien isn’t a lazy reserve driver—he keeps up with his neck training—but he might’ve slacked off a couple of times when he wasn’t exactly in the mood.
He’ll pay for that this weekend. He can already tell.
There isn’t an out lap speed limit, but when the car in his mirrors starts inching closer, Julien pushes a little harder.
“Fast over the line,”Davide’s voice crackles in his earpiece.“We want a good base lap.”
That’s right—Julien is here to win races, not to marvel at the wonders of being back in the cockpit. “Copy.”
He accelerates through the finish line and pushes harder and faster than he feels comfortable with. As he shifts gears, his adrenaline urges him to do more, to be better, faster,harder.
The walls of Melbourne are strong and unyielding, and they butt up to the very edge of the track. Maybe even over the track? They look like they’re looming closer.
Julien knows this circuit, he runs it on the simulator, but he hasn’t ever driven the Australian GP in person.
On his console, if he hits the wall, he can just restart. On the track, the difference of an inch is the difference betweenfinishing the lap and picking up pieces of his car from all over the road.
Better to play it safe for now.
Julien overshoots and hits the gravel in turn six, kicking rocks up onto the race line and further validating his fear of hitting the wall. He curses before pressing the mic button. “Sorry.”
“Practice is for finding the limit. This is supposed to be your push lap. Please push now.”
Supposed to?But Julienispushing.
Once he crosses the finish line again, he slows and the reality of his situation sinks in.
Julien didn’t do well. He pushed as hard as he could, but it wasn’t enough. His time isn’t nearly as competitive as the rest of the grid. He could tell even before the Wilhelms passed him.
Well, Julien is nervous—anyonewould be—and a little rusty. He’s allowed to be a little off the pace.
—For one lap.
Julien only has six races to prove himself. Every single lap matters. If he can’t stomach the speed, then he’ll never compete with the full-time drivers. Never be anything more than Thomas’s little brother.
Julien goes again.
After a second, much better, push lap, Davide calls him back into the pits. The mechanics hike up the car and wheel him back into the garage, disappointment evident on their faces.
As the car is turned, Julien’s eyeline travels across pit lane and lands on Rafael. He stands at the pit wall with his large headphones on, looking back at the garage with his free hand on his hip. Unimpressed.
It shouldn’t feel threatening, but it does.
