Well, he can’t just study the size of the car while he’s racing at top speed through the track—checking for opponents, for debris, for everything but where his own tires are.
Okay, somaybeJulien thought the car was wider.Maybehe was slightly overreacting about how close the wall is.MaybeRafael has a point.
“I got it.” Julien nods as he studies his mirrors. His eyes flick up to the Brazilian driver when he says, “Thanks.”
“What’s going on?” Thomas removes his helmet as he wanders over to their side of the garage. There’s still twenty minutes left in the session. “That was a good run, Julien! Points in Albert Park is very impressive. Only one-point-two off the pace.”
Thomas is only two-tenths off the pace. How the fuck is he an entire second faster than Julien?!
“Leave, Thomas.” It’s Rafael who says it. “If he’s gonna represent Ferraro for a quarter of the season, he needs to do better than tenth.”
Thomas’s eyes bulge like he’s gearing up to start a fight. With so little time, Julien can’t afford the distraction.
“C’est bon!It’s okay,” Julien says quickly. “Rafael’s helping me for now. Let’s talk after practice?”
Thomas stares between Rafael and Julien. Not with curiosity, but with something closer to distrust. “Okay. Talk with you later.”
Yeah, that’s a problem for later. Julien takes one last look at how large his car is before pressing the radio button. “I’m ready to go again whenever you are.”
“You’re through to Q3.”
Julien releases a shaky exhale. After a difficult day of free practice, qualifying in the top ten wasn’t exactly guaranteed. “Next stop, pole.”
There’s a chuckle on the other end of the line that isn’t exactly reassuring.
Julien pulls into the pit, and he’s already back on the radio as they wheel his car into the garage. “Where are my losses?”
“Turns one, thirteen, eleven, twelve, fourteen, ten.”
“You mean sector three?” Practically the entire thing.
“Affirm.”
Then Davide should just say that.
The car isn’t fully stopped before Rafael is in Julien’s space, hovering over the cockpit like he might climb inside. “You’re still not using the full apex at nine. You need to hug the wall before you enter.”
A mechanic lowers the screens, but Rafael keeps waving his phone in front of Julien’s face. From what he can tell, it’s a live feed from his car. Unfortunately, it’s still live, so all Julien can see is the top of his helmet and a frustrated Brazilian.
“That doesn’t show me anything.”
Rafael checks the screen and grunts, leaning in, closer to Julien. It’s crazy how strong his cologne must be, the way it wafts in through the vents of Julien’s helmet. How the musk cuts through the sweat, the oil, and the fumes of the car, and washes over him.
Rafael doesn’t even notice. He knocks at the mic button with the corner of his phone and loudly asks, “Can someone play a video from before nine through to twelve?”
The microphone is in Julien’s helmet. “There’s no way they heard you.”
Unfortunately, a black rectangle pops up on the screen, proving him wrong. After a short buffer, it plays T-cam footage from the DRS zone before turn nine.
“See?” Rafael taps the very expensive screen with the corner of his phone. “Through here—you’re braking heavier because you aren’t prepared.”
“My braking is better than yesterday.”
“No, this is different.” Rafael hits the microphone button again. “Just keep replaying the video, guys. I’m trying to make a point.”
Well, the point is lost on Julien, because guess which turns the actual race engineer rattled off? Everything in sector threeexceptturn nine. “Davide said I had losses through the rest of the sector.”
“No shit. It’s because you’re setting yourself up for failure here.” When the video replays, Rafael eagerly circles the space between the car and the wall.“See?!See, rightthere. If you drive flat out, hug the wall, then you’d be able to carry the momentum through the rest of the sector.”
