I wakeready for team briefing; a knot in my stomach makes me feel nauseous. I’m dressed in a Saint Onyx polo, black cargos, and trainers. The weather is warm in Australia, but not unbearable. I hear the chatter of Glenn and my dad before my eyes drop to my wrist to catch the time. I’m early.
Knocking on the door, I am called in and my dad turns his body to face me.
“Morning.” He beams as he sits on the edge of the table, palm on his thigh.
I grunt a response, my shoulders lifted slightly. I pace towards the coffee machine and wait for the cup to fill.
“You okay?” I hear Glenn’s voice float across the room. Glenn is the team principal of our team. Pain in the ass at times, but a good bloke.
“Yeah.” After stirring my coffee, I toss the spoon onto the counter and spin to face them. “Where is the rest of the team?” I flick my eyes to the large clock.
“Should be here any minute.” My dad glances at me a second longer, no doubt trying to work out what is going on in my head.
I didn’t know myself, though. I just woke up feeling angsty, which is unlike me. I’m not an anxious guy.
“When does your new friend get here?” My dad takes a final poke.
I flip him off just as Cowan bounds through the door dressed in an oversized tee and skinny jeans. Chunky trainers finish off his look. His blonde beach waved hair falls naturally just above his eyes. That would drive me mad. I find myself messing my hair up in an attempt to look more put together but I fear I have only made it worse.
Cowan lifts his chin at me; I return it and settle into my seat. Placing my coffee on the table, I reach for the headphones and link them around the back of my neck. Cowan sits to my left, dad at the head of the table and Glenn to his right. Tapping my fingers on the desk, Cowan leans across, his body closer to mine.
He whispers, “We’ve got this in the bag this year.” His confidence rattles me.
“Maybe.” I shrug.
“Not the attitude.”
I roll my lips. Pascal walks in, clipboard against his chest as he holds his hand up as if apologising for his lateness.
“No stress, Pascal, still plenty of time,” my dad reassures him. “None of your technical team are here yet anyway.”
Pascal nods, placing his stuff on the table then moving towards the coffee machine.
“When’s your babysitter getting here?” Cowan takes a jab at me.
I inhale heavily and side-eye my teammate. The urge to want to throat punch him grows as the seconds slip by, and I lift my fist to my lips.
“Not a babysitter.” I grit the words out as if they’re gravel on my tongue.
“Whatever you say, bud.”
“Fuck you,” I mutter on my inhale of breath.
Glenn eyes me, his brows knitted and I sit a slightly taller.
The technical team finally turn up, and I watch as my dad clocks the time, thumb under his chin, index finger pressed against his cheek. He does not look amused in the slightest. Pascal throws them daggers and they all scarper into their seats. With a roll of my eyes, I place my headphones over my ears.
“Right, shall we?” Pascal says before all nod and hum in agreement.
Briefing seems to go on forever, they’re always a little longer at the beginning of the season. Sure, we have had testing, but this is down to the wire now and we need to make sure that everything is set. The finer tuning per se. The car can be changed, slightly, but until we’re out racing, we’re not going to know where our weaknesses are.
“We have pretty much kept the car the same from last year, a few tweaks here and there,” Pascal’s voice drones off and I yawn.
“It looks exactly the same,” Cowan’s voice drips through the headphones and a few heads lift to look at him.
“Why change something that’s not broken?” I answer back, causing a couple of light chuckles to float around the room.
“Exactly,” Pascal says and Glenn jots down notes.
