The Team // A Formula One AU

Charles

My brand new kart is a lot to get used to, it's faster and has different tyres to the practice karts we had in England. Consequently I spend most of our first track session trying not to spin off the track as I test different brake set-ups and struggle to get my seat position right for the heavy pedals. I return to my spot in the pit-lane after a very unsuccessful hot lap, not even wanting Tom to tell me the miserable time I set. I kneel down and pick up a screwdriver.

The main difference of this kart is that this is mine. And I will stop at nothing to make it perfect.

"Still doesn't feel right?" Erik asks as he wanders over to inspect my work. It's only our second day in Indianapolis but I've already made a lot of changes, some with advice from our engineers and some from my own ideas.

"I don't know what's wrong with it," I sigh. "I can try a couple more things but after that I'm lost."

"Why don't I take a look at it, I'll check the brakes over properly. You go inside and take a break with the others. You've been working since we got here this morning."

I pass my eyes over the chassis and nod, trying to think what else could possibly be the problem. If anyone can work it out, it's Erik.

Renting the track for the entire day means we have access to the whole site without anyone else here to bother us, so we've created a sort of break room with snacks, tables and the all-important WiFi connection. Daniel and Mick are the only ones inside when I arrive so I join them to chat about the track and their own thoughts on our karts. Our conversation is cut short five minutes later when Valtteri slams the door and strides towards us with a face like thunder.

"Track is closed," he barks, throwing his helmet onto a nearby table and pulling his race suit down over his shoulders.

"Why?" We all ask in unison.

"Pierre crashed with that idiot Esteban," he spits, "I didn't see it but they told us all to come in while they clear the track, it's covered in stones."

"Pierre?" I ask, heart thumping. Valtteri nods and I stand up and make a break for the door.

"They're both fine!" He calls after me as I burst into the fresh air. At least that sets my mind at rest, but I still need to find him and check for myself. I pass a group of the others on their way to the break room but push past them until I'm back at the garages, looking around for my friend.

"Pierre! Are you here?"

"Charles?"

I jog towards the voice and find him sitting on the floor by a stack of tyres and trying to rub a scuff mark off his helmet. I kneel down to look him in the face.

"Are you alright? I heard about the crash."

"Yeah, I'm fine," he smiles weakly. "I just feel a bit shaken. I didn't even see him coming towards me."

"What happened?"

"I haven't spoken to him. I was on a slow lap and he must have been pushing, I guess he lost control and drove straight across the gravel and into the side of my kart. I probably have a few bruises from the stones but apart from that I'm fine."

I tilt my head, wondering how that could possibly happen. If Esteban was in the gravel, why didn't he slow down? Surely he saw the other kart before he tried to re-join the track?

"Where's Esteban now?"

"Speaking with Tom in his office. I don't think it's going well."

Pierre grins slowly and I relax with a smile, sitting down and grabbing a rag to help with the helmet. He tells me there isn't too much damage to his kart but Esteban's came off much worse and will need a few new parts which he'll have to install himself. It seems like everyone agrees Pierre wasn't at fault, and I'm glad.

"How are your tests going?" He asks me, leaning back on his hands.

"Fine..." I reply. "My brakes just feel weird, not as sensitive as they were in England. Erik said he'd take a look for me because I've been trying to fix it all day."

"I've had a similar feeling," Pierre nods. "Want to look at it together?"

"Sure," I say. "We can look at my kart while yours is... Uh..."

"In hospital," he laughs.

"Yeah. Oh, hey!"

"Hey what?" He frowns, already getting to his feet. I chuckle as he gives me a hand to stand up too.

"Did you notice we spoke in English for this whole conversation?" I ask. "We must be getting better at it."

"Oh, right." Pierre relaxes. "I guess so."

"We can speak in French now, until the others get back. My brain hurts from all this English recently."

"Mine too," Pierre replies. "I mean... D'accord, pour garder nos tactiques secrètes."