The Team // A Formula One AU

Yuki

Fourteenth, sixteenth, fifteenth. Those are my results from the last three weeks. Consistent, but consistently underperforming. Now is my chance to change everything.

That is if I don't mess up. I'm in ninth position as it stands, having outdone myself with an excellent start much earlier on. Now Bottas is right behind me and Leclerc is battling Lando up ahead. It's crunch time.

Erik taught us it's best to use surnames when we're racing, he said it'll make things less personal and help us focus. For me though, trying to remember people's surnames takes a bit too much concentration when I've only just finished learning their first names.

I fly around the fast corners, enjoying the g-forces and smell of the fuel. With five laps to go there are still twenty of us out on track. Tom's screen tells me Max is winning but I don't need the board to know that Valtteri is catching me up. His kart roars behind me and I can almost feel him clinging to my tail around every turn.

My eyes fix forward as Charles makes a mistake. His kart spins off the track into the run-off area and my heart races, forgetting all about Valtteri. I accelerate to get past before the Monegasque makes it back to the track, not realising the reason he spun in the first place.

"No!"

My kart twitches. I wrestle the wheel, putting my gym sessions to good use, performing micro-corrections on instinct as I ride out the slippery patch.

"You're fine," I mutter breathlessly. "You're fine."

Valtteri realised Charles' mistake and slowed into the corner, allowing him to avoid the mess and gain speed coming onto the straight. He sails past me, his kart optimised for acceleration, and I slap my wheel in frustration. I kept him behind for ten laps, now this.

I pass Tom's board and see it's the penultimate lap. Max is still in front with Lewis in second, followed by Sebastian. George is in fourth, meaning the team's biggest rivalry is probably decided for this week. The positions are still very tight though, so anything could happen.

My attention returns to the driver in front. Valtteri is attacking Mick now, the German seeming to have some problem with his kart. He gets past pretty easily and I decide to go for it too. Eighth would be a really good result for me.

Head down now, Yuki. Full focus.

I drive as hard as I can, spending the last of my energy to catch up to Mick. I keep looking ahead to the next corner, the next exit, the next straight, the next braking zone. My feet work in perfect synchronisation with my mind, and my mind works in perfect synchronisation with the kart. I'm gaining, I'm gaining.

And I pass a kart.

I can't help but spin my head around. That wasn't Mick. I just manage to glimpse the number before I have to turn back to the track and I let out a nervous laugh inside my helmet.

Number four. Lando.

If he's behind me, then who's in second place? Who's in first place? Could George have taken the win from Max? How would he react to that, on the last lap too?

My mind spins with questions as I enter the final chicane of the track, hardly even processing that I made it to eighth place. What I do notice is Mick's kart at the side of the track, going slowly as the driver stomps on the accelerator for all he's worth. It's completely broken now, but he should make it over the line. He'll have to do it behind me, though.

The chequered flag comes down over my head and I pump my fist in the air, seventh place. This is more like what I deserve. This is more like what I'm capable of.

The board is switched off on my in-lap, presumably so it's a surprise to see who won. I pull into my spot in the garage and leap out of the kart, giving it a satisfied pat. George is laughing with Daniel and Seb a little way away.

"Who won!?"

"Hi, Yuki." Daniel ruffles my hair and I push his hand away, but still his grin infects my face. What a race! It just shows what can happen when you never give up.

"Max won," George tells me, but he's still smiling. "He's gone to find some water."

"And where did you finish?" I ask him.

"Third. Seb beat me."

Sebastian grins sheepishly, as if two second place finishes in two weeks isn't anything to be boasting about. That puts him at the top of the table.

Max quickly returns, carrying two eight-packs of water. He drops them on a workbench with a thud and tears open a packet to hand them out.

"Water, Yuki?"

"Thanks," I say and guzzle it down. Almost everyone is back in the garage now and as usual there's a mixture of emotion on everyone's faces. Nikita heads straight for the changing room while Pierre sits a little way away, head in his hands. Lando shakes his head and kicks his tyres gently while Mick looks like he wants to smash his kart to pieces. Instead he picks up a screwdriver and kneels down to work.

But Max and George are both laughing at Daniel's jokes. Valtteri comes over to shake my hand with a grin, trailed closely by Lance who just got his best result so far as well, twelfth. Lewis, who took fourth, is trying his best not to irritate Kimi who's standing with his sunglasses on staring at his kart, the usual when things don't go his way.

"Winners?"

I turn around as I hear Erik's voice and he pulls Max and George away. It doesn't matter that our podium is small, it's still my favourite part of the week.

The Dutch anthem sounds. Max is the happiest I've seen him since he crashed not once but twice with George last weekend. Everyone's noticed the tension, and it's evident even as he turns and nervously pats George's shoulder to congratulate him from the top step. The British boy looks up and smiles tentatively. They exchange a few words and Max laughs, then they shake hands and come together for a hug.

I clap for them. Nobody wants to see friends fighting.

"Good drive today, Yuki."

I turn around as Tom pats me on the back, eyes turned up towards where the trophies are being handed out by the owner of the track.

"Thanks," I grin.

"Keep it up and you'll be a real force to reckon with."

I stand in that moment for far longer than it lasts, the low chatter and the exhausted relief. Then the champagne pops, the music starts and I forget all about how tough the race was. I did well. That's all I need to think about for now.