A girl chasing her dream. A boy looking for the light.
When Florence Nyx started her internship at a Formula 1 paddock, she expected a lot. Fast cars. Exclusive impressions most people could only dream of. An entire array of skills she'd acquire...
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"How does it feel?" I asked, closing my palms around the headphones on my ears.
Chris and Alain, Phoenix's and Felipe's race engineers, glanced over at me, but Michael shot them a look that made them focus back on their screens.
Felipe shot past the pit wall, his engine revving as he turned into the next corner. We only had a little over a week until the season started, and just three days of testing to adjust the car if necessary.
"It's good," Felipe answered through the radio, "But it's hard to find grip. I have massive understeer."
That meant he'd slide wide in the corner, which could become dangerous in real race situations.
"Shit..." I muttered, glancing at Alain's screen. He was typing away, looking into the different settings to help with the issue. "How does the front wing feel?"
Alain shot me a weird look, pointing at his screen with the recorded data. I suppressed an eye-roll, considering this guy acted like I didn't know I could have a look at the numbers. It wasn't just about stats, though. It was about what the drivers felt while driving. They were the ones sitting in the damn car, after all.
"I don't know," Felipe responded as he drove past us again. "It honestly feels like it's missing something."
Nodding, I scribbled down on my notepad, trying to solve the puzzle. "Got it. Thanks, Felipe." I lifted the headphones, looking at Alain. "Let him do a few more laps so I have enough data. I'll see what Phoenix says — maybe it's a material issue."
As if on cue, Phoenix's voice rang through my ear just as I put the headphones back on. "Man, I have a shit ton of understeer. It wasn't this bad in the simulator."
"Cause this is an actual car, not a simulator..." I muttered, rolling my eyes as Phoenix's car sped past us.
"I'm well aware, Nyx." Phoenix's amused tone made me glance up, and I saw Chris and Michael smirking at me, pointing at the now purple radio button on the pit wall, indicating we were live to all participants.
Great.
"Well, stop whining and tell me what you feel, then." I cleared my throat, focusing on the task at hand while watching him through the dash cam facing his helmet. Part of me wished I could see his face, just to see the smug smirk on his lips he probably had from catching me off guard.
"I feel heavy," he explained, taking a turn. "Like the aerodynamics are off. The front feels hard and immobile."
"How does it feel when you hit the kerbs a little more aggressively?"
And as if to prove the answer to my question, he hit the bumpers on the ground framing the race track. This time, his rear — the back of the car — slid across the asphalt and almost out of the track, but he managed to remain in control and steer the car back on track.
