BAHRAIN
THREE DAYS LATER
SAGE
I don’t think anyone is above experiencing schadenfreude, so I take that into consideration when strangers are giddy about my failures. The flip side of having little girls lose their minds with joy when I sign their shirts and caps is having to deal with sexist assholes on social media telling me I should “pack up my Barbie Power Wheels and go home.” Or having Maya Ardley’s grudge-holding mom act like it was some sinister conspiracy that I just plainoutdroveher daughter in testing with Harrier.
But despite being well-conditioned to endure shit-talk, the day I’m having today is hitting me right in my worst insecurities.
Not even making it into the top 15 out of 20 on my first qualifying session of the year? It isn’t a good look.Sports and Torteswill definitely gloat. So many eyes are on me, judging whether Emerald were nuts to take a chance on me. And there’sa clause in my three-year contract that says if I trail Cosmin, Emerald’s other driver, by more than a hundred points at the end of the season, Emerald have the option to put someone else in my seat.
When I head out in Q1 today, the car is fighting me. I’m so far off the pace it’s heartbreaking. In dialogue with my race engineer Imani about the details, we agree that we should revert to yesterday’s setup. I come into the pit and they wheel my car backward into the garage to make some quick adjustments.
Okay, back out for my next attempt…
Things are feeling great until I lock it up in a corner, compromising my exit and losing time down the next straight, and creating a flat spot on the tyre so I’m getting a vibration. Into the pit again, with minutes left. I’m in the drop zone, not yet having banked a fast enough lap to advance to Q2.
Back out with fresh tyres, I’m on a hot lap.
This is the one.
“You’re purple in sector 2, Sage,” Imani tells me.
Fastest on track!
The moment expands around me. My heart bounds with a powerful rhythm like a sprinting predator closing in on prey that’s inches from their jaws…
Oh, fuckingwhat???
João Valle, my former teammate at Harrier, overcooks it and puts his car into the wall. As I pass the debris field, I know a red flag is coming. It’s too close to the end for the session to be restarted, which means my gorgeous lap just went into the shitter, and I’m out.
Sure, Q1 got red-flagged because of João. But at the end of the day, critics will say it’s my fault: I could’ve honed my setup better in practice yesterday, I could’ve avoided locking it up in that corner and needing to pit for fresh tyres.
Sadly, they won’t be wrong.
It’s nine p.m. when I get back to the suite, and I know I’m supposed to go to sleep immediately—tomorrow is race day, and everything will be in motion before dawn—but I’m too nervous.My first grand prix with Emerald.
I wish I weren’t starting it from sixteenth on the grid.
The world is watching.
Judging.
This will be my tenth grand prix. I drove eight races for Harrier the year before last after João Valle got a penalty-points race ban, then broke his femur in a snowboarding accident like a dipshit. Last season I subbed in for Valle’s teammate when he got an appendectomy (relatable!) and I scored a killer fourth place in quali. But this will be my first race as a non-reserve driver, and my first time driving in Bahrain.
I have a night-before-the-GP routine that worked pretty well for me during that eight-race stretch. First a light dinner—tonight a frittata with salmon and vegetables, along with quinoa salad. Low-impact workout with lots of flexibility stuff, followed by a massage. Next I’ll go to my room and put on some music, read through the notes Imani sent me, play a few solitaire rounds of the card game SET, take a bath, and go to sleep.
Thatwasmy plan. But as I come into the suite, I hear Priya on the phone in her room and she sounds upset, so I sneak to the open doorway to eavesdrop.
“We should tell her, Julian,” she says. “She needs to know, regardless of where you two are with each other right now.”
Needs to know what?
“It’s three weeks until the Australian GP,” she goes on. “I don’t want the stress of holding this in for that long. It shouldn’t be a secret.”
Details, please!
“No, honey… no no no. Don’t get upset. Please? I won’t tell her what happened to you. No, Iwon’t. I wish I could hold you right now. Mount Arapiles is only three hours from Melbourne—I’ll come to you there. We’ll figure this out, don’t worry.”
