Focus on racing and change the narrative. This could be Julien’s only chance to earn the full-time seat he has deserved for the past three years.
He can’t afford any girthy distractions.
On Friday morning, a wall of screaming fans greets Julien on his way into the paddock. He was warned about the chaos of the Melbourne walk, but to be the recipient of the fanaticism instead of side-stepping it is a completely new—entirely overwhelming—experience.
“Julien!”
“Julien, over here!”
“Dubois! Dubois!”
“Thomas! Wait, what?—?”
Julien had budgeted for extra time and arrived an hour early, but that still might not be enough. Diving right in, he signs as many red items as he can see and tries to bask in the attention.
If he only has six races, he should try to live the full experience, right?
Julien accepts phones that are shoved into his hand and tries to take selfies with good angles while people tell him they’re either Rafael or Thomas’s biggest fans.
How awkward. Julien is neither of those people.
He accidentally steals a fan’s marker as he slowly works his way down the line. A vinyl banner flaps in the breeze over the audience—Rafael’s proud crossed-arm pose almost mocking in its attendance.
Thomas isn’t the only shadow Julien will be racing under.
The crowd cheers in waves as other drivers are urged forward by their PR reps. They sign and pose until the team cameras are satiated, then excuse themselves, leaving the masses hungrier and hungrier.
Once Julien has given the crowd everything he has, he escapes with apologies falling from his lips. Maybe tomorrow he can be even earlier, though an entire day probably still wouldn’t be enough.
This year, the paddock feels even more abuzz with anticipation. After Lucas’s retirement, both championships are truly up for grabs. With Rafael out of the running? Nobody knows what to expect.
Teams play mind games in pre-season testing—sandbagging and running various fuel loads—but this weekend everyone will finally see how the cars stack up against each other.
The excitement is palpable, and Julien receives the odd double-take as he ducks into Ferraro hospitality.
“Morning. Morning.” He nods to familiar faces. The team is massive, but he’ll need to learn names quickly if he wants to hit the ground running.
Julien grabs a tray and notes which items he should and shouldn’t eat before getting in the car. Protein, starch, vegetable. He’s not exactly hungry yet, but his schedule is too packed to rely on extra time to eat between meetings.
He skips the bacon for grilled tomatoes and mushrooms. Sad, but if it’ll get him to the top of the time sheet?—
“Someone is Mr. Popular this morning.”
Julien’s head pops up from the list of omelet ingredients. “Mr. Popular?”
Rafael shrugs with just his working shoulder. “I saw you with the fans out there. Brave of you to go at it alone.”
“And you didn’t stop by?” Julien definitely would’ve noticed if another red-clad driver had joined him this morning.
“That’s the one good thing about this—” Rafael nods down to the arm strapped to his chest. “At least I have an excuse not to sign anything.”
“A lot of them just wanted a picture.” It wouldn’t have been too hard—he’d just have to stand there. “Saw a few things the fans made for you. They really idolize you, huh?”
“It gets old.”
Boo hoo, Rafael is too adored. He’s too beloved by people worldwide. When will life ever be fair for poor little Formation 1 driver Rafael Souza?
With his free hand, Rafael grabs several premade plates—peppers, scrambled eggs, avocado toast—and sets them on his tray. How is he going to carry that? Can he carry that?
