“Well, just remember, we don’t collect trophies until Sunday.”
Thanks, Mark, I thought sarcastically.I had no idea how this worked.Mark’s ability to puncture a good mood was unmatched.I huffed a quiet laugh, trying to shake off the irritation, when movement at the back of the garage caught my eye.
“Oh God,” I groaned.
Mark looked up, giving me an apologetic smile.
Bertha Higham, Rennen F1’s Head of Communications and Media, weaved her way through the garage crowd with unmatched determination.She was wearingthatexpression.The one that said she was not to be trifled with.
Here we go.
“Mark!”she called out, waving him down with one perfectly manicured hand.“I told you I needed her immediately after qualifying.”
He rolled his eyes with barely concealed disdain.“Yes, because media management is obviously much more important than actual engineering work…” His mumbling dripped with so much sarcasm you could practically see it pooling on the garage floor.
Bertha approached, arms crossed.“What was that?”
Mark smiled, one of those shit-eating grins, before motioning elaborately in my direction.“Nothing.She’s all yours, Bertha.”
Traitor.
Bertha turned to me, her expression softening by about one degree, before thrusting a sleek black folder into my hands.“Media in ten.”Her tone was professional, but her expression carried the faintest trace of apology.Rare for her, which meant she knew exactly how rough this session would be.
“The English pool wants you and Henri together,” she continued.“Then solo for the locals.These are your approved answers, and no ad-libbing this time, please.”
“I’ll stay on script,” I promised lightly.
Bertha’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced.“You said that after Miami.”
Well, to be fair, I hadn’t exactly meant it in Miami.
I’d known precisely what the press were going to ask—could have written the questions myself:Was it intentional?Do you think you belong in F1?Should women be allowed in the sport if they can’t control their cars?
No part of me had been willing to sit back politely while they wrote me off after one mechanical failure.Or let them paint me as the reckless female driver who’d taken out poor, innocent Henri through sheer incompetence.Hermes had enjoyed throwing around comments about Rennen’s inability to design quality cars.
The interviews after the crash were an exercise in endurance.I’d made it through the first two interviews on script, nodding at appropriate moments, giving measured responses.
And thenSports Dailyhad asked if I thought I owed Henri an apology for “dangerous driving,” and something in me snapped.
I’d told them, rather politely, exactly where they could shove their double standards.Pointed out that when male drivers had mechanical failures, no one questioned their right to be in the sport.Mentioned that perhaps they should wait for the stewards’ investigation before pronouncing judgment.
The headlines were merciless:Blackwood Defensive After Crash.Rennen Driver Refuses to Take Responsibility.
I shifted my weight from one side to the other.“I remember.”
“Good.So, this time, let’s be measured.Oh, and”—Bertha’s fingers drummed against her tablet, her mouth opening and closing twice before she found her words—“try not to sound so flippant.”
Flippant.
Smiling had always been my armor, the thing that kept me from showing how rattled I really was underneath.It was easier to be the cheerful one, the woman who laughed off the whispers and met every loaded question with sunshine.
The strategy had worked at Valkyrie, when the team had started with me and Georgia as the first female driver pairing in F1 history.We’d been explicitly told to win people over.
“Smile more.Be approachable.Be likeable.Make the sport fall in love with you.”
If I had learned anything during my motorsports career, it was that nothing placated a crowd like a disarming smile, even if itwasfake.
The media room was cramped, the kind of space that always felt too small for the number of journalistic egos crammed into it.Bright lights shone overhead, casting an unflattering glow that made everyone look slightly ill.Sponsor logos covered most of the wall behind us.
