“Uh, yeah?”
Thomas hugs Julien from the side, clapping his shoulder before he’s summoned to do his interview. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
Friedrich wanders off, back to the line where his team is waiting to greet him, so it’s just Sam and Julien.
“So… You’re a reserve driver?”
“Yeah.” Julien isn’t the best at small talk either, but this feels even more awkward than it should. “This is my fourth year with Ferraro.”
Sam whistles like he can’t believe it. “Are you Ferraro-or-nothing like Thomas?”
“Nope. Would’ve taken any car.” Even a Sobber. “But racing has a short memory and I got forgotten.”
“Shit, and I thoughtIwas happy when I heard about Rafael." Sam laughs with his big plastic smile. He’s very…toothy. “Six races in a Ferraro? That’s lucky.”
Rafael only broke his collarbone, but it could’ve been so much worse. Why is Sam’s first instinct to laugh about it? Why would he assume Julien will join in?
Something about him is just so fake and off-putting—it’s easy to see why Thomas hates him so much.
“We are all finished?” Friedrich asks, joining them. He’s so much taller and lankier than Julien remembers, and the strength of his German accent is almost distracting.
At least Sam can understand him. “I gotta do my interview, then we can head out.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“Well, I reckon it’d be rude to snatch the mic from Thomas.”
Friedrich looks over to the interview area, where Thomas is wrapping up, and back to Julien. Then again. Then one more time. “Am I made a fool? Who are you?”
What?
What?!
How could Friedrich miss that Julien has been substituting for Rafael? It was all over the news!Everynews! How could any driver not notice that one of the biggest contenders for the championship has a broken collarbone?!
“Why are you wearing du-boys?” Friedrich points at the label on Julien’s suit.
“It’s my name! And it’s du-bwah.”
“What is going on?” Thomas returns and hands the microphone off to a still-laughing Sam.
Turning his attention to the older Dubois, Friedrich demands, “Where is the bigger one?”
“Bigger what?”
“He means Rafael,” Julien translates.
“Oh!” For some reason, Thomas isn’t nearly as concerned about Friedrich’s complacency. “He broke his—” Again, he gestures to his collarbone. “So my brother is filling in while he heals.”
Friedrich nods slowly, like he still doesn’t understand. “And Ferraro cannot afford reserve drivers? You use your brother instead?”
Julien doesn’t need to be here. He definitely doesn’t need to listen to this shit. “Y’know what? Good job, Thomas. I’ll catch you after media.”
Julien won the Formation 2 Championship the same year Friedrich won Formation 3. They attended the same end of the year gala. They sat next to each other before walking up to the stage and receiving their awards.
Julien remembers, but obviously it was stupid to expect the same of the German driver.
Even the reporters who accuse Julien of having a sibling advantage at least know heraced. They don’t assume the F1Ahands out super licenses to anyone who asks for one. They know Julienearnedhis way to the top of the Formation series—even if they don’t think he belongs here anymore.
