The Team // A Formula One AU

Valtteri

"Who is that kid?"

"Not sure, but he has some sort of British accent, I think."

"Is he serious?" I ask as the boy jumps from the roof of the main building into the grass where he rolls down the bank and lies in the wet morning dew, laughing.

"I think so."

"Are you serious?" I turn to my almost-friend Lance and hand him the football I brought from Finland. "Let's play." I know for a fact that Tom will have us playing football matches as a form of bonding, why else would there be a football pitch set up over there? I want to see how good my teammates are before picking teams so I can pick a winning one. I'm pretty sure Lance won't be on it.

"Um..." I watch him think it over then he hands the ball back to me. "You try to keep it off me," he says.

I shrug and turn away, roll the ball onto the grass and dribble a little. The ball's gone.

"I win." He puts it back in my hands and I nod, calmly satisfied. He grins.

"So you like football. I'm more of a goalkeeper, myself."

"Why don't you do something, then? Get in goal and I'll take some shots at you."

"I do not train at seven in the morning. I'm only awake because of him." I point back to where roof-boy is now swinging from the crossbar. I hope he doesn't bend it. "Look at him. He's totally off the rails."

"Yeah."

"He's like a wild animal."

"Yeah."

"HEY, CRAZY!!" I yell and he looks up from the molehill he had his arm down. "COME PLAY!" I throw my ball at him and smile a little at how far it went. My gym sessions haven't gone to waste.

The boy takes it over to the penalty area and carefully places it a few metres from the edge, barely being able to contain his hyperactive laughter. I saunter down to keep goal for his attempt.

"Come on then," I say as he stands behind the ball and adds up his options. He's even smaller-looking close up.

He takes his run-up and smacks it over goal with so much speed and spin that it almost flies over the building behind us. I watch as it bounces down the roof and helpfully comes rolling back towards us.

"I hope you're better in a kart," I call over to him.

He's still laughing as he sprints over to collect the ball and bring it back to his spot outside the penalty box. I rub my hands together to stay warm but I don't think they'll be troubled. This time he slips as he takes his shot and falls backwards, muddying all his clothes as the ball rolls underwhelmingly towards me. Lance is tittering from the side of the pitch.

"What's your name?" I ask my muddy teammate.

"Lando Norris," he replies. Of course. The infamous Lando.

"I'm Valtteri. I can say for sure that you won't be on my team for football."

"Will we be playing? We should practise together!" He jumps excitedly and I decline, scarcely believing how much energy he has. I wander back to Lance and am about to say something when I turn and throw the ball back to Lando. I'd rather he was playing football than jumping off rooves.

"He's probably better at karting," Lance says.

"Yeah, that's Lando Norris."

"Oh, he is British then. I don't know what his accent is, though."

I look behind us towards the glass façade of the building and jump a little when I see Tom standing in the window, watching Lando. I wonder what goes on in that man's head, assembling twenty teenage go-karters from around the world to create a tour to rival Formula One and hopefully get a few of us a spot in it. Why is he doing this?

I need to get to know my teammates and competitors if I'm going to succeed in this series. Despite his crazy antics, Lando hasn't given away anything about his karting ability and I don't know how good Lance will be either. Breakfast will be starting soon so I decide to head back inside. Maybe I can get the measure of some of the others over a bowl of cereal. At least today we'll finally get the chance to race.