The Team // A Formula One AU

Kimi

It's five o'clock in the morning and it's all noise in this section of the airport. That's mainly due to us, twenty teenage boys and four men who know they have no hope of controlling us. I don't have any proper friends yet and I don't even know everyone's names but we're all connected by the excitement of our first major adventure. We're flying to Indianapolis to take on their reputedly terrible karting track and continuing out on a seven-week tour of North America. All this fun in the name of some hair-brained team-based feeder series. Fine by us.

I sit on my suitcase and look around at the diversity of the group. We're apparently the best 14-16 year old kart racers in the world. We're certainly lively enough.

I recognise the two Spanish boys as they start fighting with their hand luggages, spinning them round and clashing them together in the vast open space before the check-in desks. It's playful as opposed to aggressive but Tom has a dangerous look in his eyes. I know he's been deciding who his strongest athletes are and also who has the best attitude. Attitude can get you preferential treatment, or it can get you thrown out.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" A voice beside me almost confirms my thoughts.

"A grid penalty?"

"Yup?"

The way he says it makes me think I'm supposed to speak. "So... Uh... What?"

"Well they're two of the best drivers, I think. Good drivers getting knocked down means worse players," he indicates to himself, "getting knocked up." I give him a look and he misinterprets. "Oh no I didn't mean you were bad. Just that now I have more of a chance." He grins and I decide I like him.

"Yeah, good for you. Trouble is I'm one of the oldest, so my competition is over there." I look over at where Valtteri is drinking some Finnish drink and reading an autobiography. His very aura radiates Not To Be Messed With.

"Oh." My new friend looks for something to say. "Well then I guess that means you must be Kimi."

"That's me," I say, distracted again by the fight.

"I'm Lewis Hamilton. I'd like to drive for Mercedes one day."

"Who wouldn't?" I ask.

His happiness fades slightly but he's right about one thing. Tom murmurs something to his second in command, a weird, old and apparently experienced man named Phil. Weird Old Phil pulls out an iPhone and opens what looks like a notes page. I smile slightly. That's the kind of operation we're running here.

I pull my gaze back over to the action and notice Max's eyes travel back with mine. I know Max as the most popular person here, there's just no way you couldn't like him. He's from the Netherlands and I'm pretty sure he's in the process of picking his squad of friends to catapult into popularity. He briefly looks back at Tom then starts sauntering over to the raucous two.

Heathrow airport is usually quite busy at this time of day and people are now forming a circle around the fight, nothing better to do until their flights leave I guess. Max suddenly appears on the scene with two bottles of Pepsi and dodges his way to the heart of the circle, slowing the fight somewhat. He says a few words I can't catch over the chatter but they must be well chosen. Well, it's Max, how could they not be? The fight ends and the crowds slowly disband, and I turn round just in time to see the vice principal taking another digital note.

Lewis frowns.

"You love drama, don't you?" I ask him.

"I hate it actually, but it's usually good news for my chances in the races."

"You need to work harder. That's how you'll improve your chances."

I stand up as Tom calls us over to the check-in and Lewis trots behind me like a little dog. I turn to look at him and he smiles widely, shuffling to keep up. I guess I just landed myself the role of mentor.