The Team // A Formula One AU

Valtteri

Qualifying begins in eleven minutes. I glance around the garage, watching everyone prepare in our matching white race suits. Some laugh, others worry. It does feel good to be a part of something, but in eleven minutes my team will become my rivals.

"Haven't you learned how a racing line works yet?" I ask as I sit down next to Lance at the workshop table. He's reading through the sheets Erik gave us, drawing in the margins.

"There's always room for improvement," he replies. "We didn't get much track time this week so I haven't had a chance to try out all my lines. Especially now Tom's decided to enforce track limits at turn seven."

"If you want to race in Formula One you'll have to learn to get by without much practice time."

"If I get to Formula One I'll be able to use a simulator."

"Not the same."

Nikita sits down on the end of the table, causing Esteban to stand up and change seats to move towards us. I raise my eyebrows at him as he sits next to Lance. I know Nikita's bad, but that just seems childish.

"And you? What are you busy with?"

"I had to buy a new balaclava in the gift shop. The other one was messing my hair up too much."

I struggle not to roll my eyes. That's all Esteban ever cares about, his hair and his designer outfits.

The first half of qualifying starts well, the changes I've made to my kart this week seem to have paid off. As the session continues however, it seems the other's changes have paid off too. The drive back to the garage after my final hot lap is a tense one.

Lando pulls into the pit box in front of me and stands up even before his kart is fully turned off, trapping his feet under some metalwork and falling onto his face. My heart says help, but it takes too long for me to turn my own kart off. He picks himself up and runs towards the computer as if nothing happened and I follow him, taking extra care where I put my feet.

"How did I do!?"

"Fourth, Lando," Tom tells him.

"Oh... Well, I'm through! That's all that matters."

My body tenses as I approach the computer. I hate how badly I've performed since I've been here, I know I could be doing so much better than the bottom half of the table. Espcially better than Lando who can't even get out of his kart without falling over.

"Valtteri, you're tenth."

I smile, but my stomach sinks. Tenth. I'm through to the second half but these aren't the positions I want at all. I should be doing better than this. Mentally, I kick myself.

Max and George both made it through this time, along with Seb who seems to be the dark horse of the group. He's quiet, but deadly. Lance didn't make it, and neither did Esteban. In fact, only me and Lewis made it from our room.

The second half begins and I'm ready. My hot lap goes perfectly, but on my in lap I don't see my time on the board. Surely that's a mistake.

Then I remember what Lance was saying inside the garage. Track limits at turn seven.

I curse. Ten minutes left to refuel and set another time.

My second out lap is measured, taking in any track changes, a bit of oil here and a spattering of gravel there. Nothing major, but I can't afford any mistakes. I begin my hot lap with only three others out on track and make it to the midway point before I meet a problem.

Vibrations.

A bang sounds through my helmet and I blink hard, trying to work out what it was. My visor is blurring my vision and I reach up to remove a tear-off strip. That improves my view, but it lost me precious time coming out of the sixth corner.

More grit is flying into my kart now. Should I compromise my racing line to avoid it? As the rattling from my wheels intensifies I end up with no choice, the vibrations are killing me. I curse. Another good lap ruined. And now I'm out of time.

As I'm muttering, someone pulls up to drive beside me, number fifty-five. He asks if I'm alright with a hand signal and I reply with a thumb pointing sideways. He pats the top of his helmet, asking if I'm injured. No, I shake my head. Just angry.

I get back to the garage and don't even need to check the positions. I know I'm tenth. And I hate it.