“Capullos!” I shouted back. Perhaps the minutes spent figuring out what that meant would stop them from coming after me.
Qualifying sometimes felt tougher than the races themselves. The first qualifying session had run for eighteen minutes, and cut down the number of drivers from twenty to ten. The second had cut the field down to ten drivers. Ten who remained to determine their places for the next race.
Qualifying didn’t mean what it used to. All the drivers who competed would get their chance to race nowadays, but qualifying determined the order we would start tomorrow’s race. After crashing out in the first qualifying session, Rebel Force’s Alfons Schester would be starting tomorrow’s race in twentieth place. Brooke had barely lost out on the third Qualifying session by coming eleventh, so that’s where she’d start the race.
Me? I had scraped into the the last qualifying session by the skin of my teeth, coming tenth. The best thing about continued survival was that I could do much better in this third session. The worst I could be is what I’d already managed.
Unlike a race, Qualifying started from the pit lane. We didn’t all have to be on the track at once. Whoever had the fastest lap would start at pole position. Twelve minutes to set the fastest lap time possible. We had waited six minutes already, just to see the lie of the land and to get most of the other racers off the track. I knew Theo had yet to set a time either, and I wondered whether they were following an identical strategy.
“Do you want to start on the softs?” Damien asked, pointing to a pile of tyres stacked up against the pit wall.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead. “Yeah, why not?” Soft tyres degraded much faster than medium or hard, but provided the best speed up-front until they started to fall apart. They would do for a couple of laps of qualifying.
I situated my helmet back on my head and strapped it in securely as the pit crew swapped out my old set of tyres for a fresh set of softs, and wheeled me out into the pit lane.
I didn’t have to switch the engine on as the team wheeled the car out on its big trolley and set it down in the pit lane. They disengaged the trolley, lowered the car to the floor, and only then did I push the button to turn on the engine. When given the signal to go, I pulled out into the lane proper and then onto the track. I zigzagged across the track on my first lap to warm up my tyres and use up a bit of gas, to lighten the car.
“You remember our strategy? Two laps, all out. We’ve loaded up enough petrol in your car,”said my race manager through my helmet comms. I responded in the affirmative as I took one of the sweeping turns in the middle of the track. Madrid had been purpose-built for the new season, and the drive was beautifully smooth. The track was partly a dense inner-city circuit using existing roads, but some parts had been created especially for racing, and allowed the cars to reach a fantastic speed. I approached the second-to-last turn, a real hairpin, and then the last, and I was on the straight to the finish line.
I floored the gas. It was time to let loose and drive for 2 laps.
The wind whipped at my helmet as I sped through the starting line, and my lap time officially started. I had to do at least a second faster than I’d managed in Q2 to get into the top five. I knew I could do it if I pushed myself hard, on new soft tyres. My second lap would be slowed down by the condition of the tyres, but that would be balanced out by using up enough fuel in the first lap that the car would be much lighter and therefore faster in the second. Motor racing in Moto 1 was all about balance. And speed.
Andadrenaline. Because these laps mattered so much, it felt like the car was gliding under me. Even when I had to overtake one of the Aston Martin drivers on a narrow straight, I managedto without losing speed. I felt proud of my first lap as I approached the finish line.
“More of that, please,”said my racing manager through the comms.
“How did I do?” I asked.
“Just focus on the next lap, then box and we can talk.”
Right. I kept my foot on the throttle on the straight, shooting past Theo, who was coming out onto the track for his out lap. I would not crane my head to look at him. Would not be distracted by his presence on the track. I had to be cool, calm and collected. And not think about Theo…
I jerked the wheel and braked late going into the first corner, and felt the car fishtail as I fought to gain control back over it.Idiot. No more Theodore Tyler.
I urged my car through every corner, taking risky braking moves that shredded the surface of the tyres in an effort to make up for lost speed from my mistake. I was keenly aware that Theo was right behind me, using my speed and slipstream as a tow so that he could start off his own lap at speed. As I reached the final straight, I floored it past the finish line, hoping desperately that I had done enough. As I eased off the throttle and the lights turned red to stop anyone starting a new lap, Theo shot past me like a rocket. He was aiming to be the last person on the grid, and I could have bet that his team were feeding him my lap time even before I knew it.
“Good one today, mate,” said my racing manager.“That lap was brilliant. You’re currently slated to start third.”
I grinned. I could win from third place, with a little push.
It wasn’t until I pulled into the pit lane after one slow lap that my team’s expressions confirmed it for me. One pointed at the track and held up a finger to indicate that Theo had come first. And that would push me down into fourth.
Theo Tyler had managed one hell of a lap. Perhaps I’d be pulling back on the betting this time around.
Theo
The race was on. And I was ready to fight to keep my first-place spot. I’d had a blinder of a lap, but it wasn’t infallible. And it had started to rain overnight, leaving us with a wet track and the possibility of a no-pit race. When it rained, there were no mandatory pit-stops, and the water cooled off the grippy tyres enough that it wasn’t always necessary to stop. It could be the kind of race where we ran from start to finish with none of the unpredictability that pit stops would provide. I ran a hand through my wet hair and prepared to step back into the garage for the team talk and final prep.
“Are you ready?” Sebastian spoke directly into my ear and I jumped.
“Jesus Christ!” I shouted, slapping him on the chest.
“No. Just Sebastian.” He grinned at me, a flash of pearly whites that had my heart skipping a beat.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I asked. “Like…your own team paddock?”
Sebastian chuckled. “Maybe. But I needed to see you first. To gamble.”
