She meets my eyes. Looks me over. Gives me a thumbs up and a tentative, wobbly smile. I can feel her nerves even from across the lane.
I give her a firm nod in return, fit my helmet over my head, and get buckled into my car. The formation lap preceding the race flies by—I’m too lost in my thoughts to really experience it, even as I go through the standard motions of swerving the car, hitting brakes and accelerating, trying to get everything warmed up.
I take the lap to try and slow my breathing, to calm my racing heart, and push every thought in my mind unrelated to this car and this race flit out of my head. All that exists is the track, the cars, me, and the intern whose directives I’ll actually listen to. I thinkIlyamight be going over the car’s vitals with me, but I can’t quite tell. My mind’s bogged down.
All the cars line up back on the grid, and the first of the five red lights signaling the start of the race flicks on.Breathe. The second.Breathe. The third.Breathe.
Except Ican’tfucking breathe. I’m not filled with the usual, restless undercurrent of anger I’ve become accustomed to—I’m filled with anxiety, because I actually want to dowell.
By the time the fifth light comes on, I’m close to hyperventilating. What if I’mnotas good as I think I am? What if my contract doesn’t get renewed? Whatif—
“Deep breaths.” Victoria’s voice floats through my helmet and sinks into my head, overtaking the screaming doubt with a tranquil calm. “Everything’s set. You’re ready. You know what you’re doing.”
She’s giving me a pep talk—and all of this is available to broadcasters. I should be furious that she’s stepping so far out of line, but instead, I’m incredibly goddamn grateful. Because my next breath is calm and steady. I feel prepared.
The lights go out. All of the cars surge forward—slowly at first, but they rapidly gain speed as we pull out onto the track. The force slams me back into the seat as over twenty cars launch off the grid and funnel towards the first corner.
Immediately, Junior Cub’s first driver tries for an attack. Dante Moreno, placedjustafter me in qualifying—it’s no wonder he’d try to knock me off early.
“Defend,” Victoria says silkily.
I swerve to the side, feeling my stomach slosh with the rapid movement at such a high speed, blocking him from overtaking. As ever, there isn’t a dull moment on the track—not even on the first lap.
I manage to incrementally gain speed, until I have Thorsten’s second car in my sight, just before we hit the fourth turn. The driver, Finn Ulrich, has never gotten along very well with me—we’ve battled in many races, though not for quite some time.
I really did fuck up these last few years.I missed so many opportunities, both to fail and succeed, because I didn’t want totry.
“Attack available on next straight,” Victoria murmurs. “Overtake. Wait for my call on X-mode.”
X-mode flattens the rear wing and steeply angles the front wings—it’ll give me a damn good shot at overtaking. The only reason Iwouldn’tbe able to use it is if I’m not within a second of Ulrich.
As soon as I pull my car out of the turn, I hit the overtake button. The speed flattens me to the seat even more and crushes the air from my lungs, but that’s nothing compared to the stomach-dropping sensation when Victoria green-lights X-mode. Ulrich’s car becomes nothing but a blip on the goddamn radar as I fly by, resisting the urge to flip the bird as I go.
On and on the carousel of racing goes. Attack, defend, manage temperature and power, follow the calls. Victoria directs me throughout, and I can tell she’s growing more and more nervous the longer the race goes.
She started me on hard tyres. The slowest compound, but also the most durable. I didn’t question it at the time, but now, grinding through midfield with barely enough pace to attack, I’m starting to wonder if she made the wrong call. The hards are keeping me alive, but they’re not giving me much to work with.
At the two-thirds mark of the race, I’ve managed to crawl my way into P13. I briefly dropped to P14when Ulrich decided to get petty, but quickly climbed back up—though the fucker’s staying on my tail. He’s right behind me in P14, and he seems to have made it his mission to make my life as difficult as possible.
I keep him behind me, but only just… and on the next straight with an X-mode zone—he executes a successful overtake.Motherfucker.
“Keep going.” Victoria’s voice is slightly shrill. “I… you…” She trails off.
I guess her model didn’t compute the old rivalry between me and good ol’ Finn. A few weeks ago, I’d have yelled at Victoria for not anticipating this or reading up on me more thoroughly. Now, I let it slide and trust the process.
She analyzes data in a way I’ve never seen. I don’t think she evenneedsher model; she can probably make the calculations and projections just fine on her own. I trust her to get the hang of it.
But the undeniable claws of anxiety sink into my skin, making the back of my neck prickle. It makes me sweat even more profusely than driving at inhuman speeds does, and quickens my breathing. What if I drop below my starting place? What if I rocket back intolast?
“Defend,” Victoria says. “Cover inside.”
Fuck, I didn’t evenseethe Prescott second driver, who’s angling to overtake on the next turn. I move to the inside line upon her suggestion and ease onto the brakes early, my arms burning with exertion to keep the wheel compliant. Tyres screech against the tarmac, and I just about feel them losing their grip.
Prescott’s car tries to stay on me, but I lose him in the exit—and he gets embroiled in some battle with another backmarker.
“Box,” Victoria says.
Shock blasts through me. She wants me to come to the pit lane for a tyre change?Now?When I risk losing my hard-fought position over it?
