I CAN SEE YOU

nineteen

The atmosphere at Silverstone is nothing less than incredible, especially since it's the first race back with the fans at full capacity. The fans were waving union jacks high in the air, sporting their favourite team wear and dancing along to the music that being is blasted over the speakers.

Starting a racing career within formula 1 during a worldwide pandemic was nothing short of strange. Before this year there wasn't the opportunity for fan interactions in person, it had only been through technology and specifically social media. I wouldn't call myself a celebrity, however for very known people it was a complex contradiction - normally fan interactions are positive, a chance to meet people who consistently support and cheer you on, yet during those tricky times we were subjected to conversations online, where people believe that they can say whatever they want about whoever they want, with little to no repercussions. That's why for myself I feel like I haven't fully been able to connect with the fan base because all of those interactions were less meaningful and predominately hurtful and hate filled towards me.

The national anthem has just finished, so I'm walking down the track, with the cool British wind wrapping abound me and blowing my braids from side to side, trying to get to my car which is sitting comfortably in P2 - the front row.

"I can't see many Redbull fans." Max stands next to me in the middle of the track, waving out to the crowds.

"It's the British grand prix." I shrug, joining him in waving out. "There's a lot of British drivers and British teams, and we fit neither of those categories. So I wouldn't feel to offended if they aren't worshiping the ground you walk on." I nudge his side with my left elbow.

"Yeah but still." He drops his arm and turns to face me with his cheeky smile. "If you see me in your mirror do you want to just let me through?"

I laugh at his thought process. "Please tell me why on earth I'd do that, considering I'm higher than you in the championship."

Currently in the championship I'm sitting with 159 points with the majority of them thanks to my three wins and four other podiums, securing me the second position. However I've got Max hot on my arse with 150 points, and nine points this early on stands for absolute Jack shit.

He shrugs before turning around and walking closer to his car, yet still facing me. "Just thought you might've been feeling nice and generous." A smile grows on my face as he walks away, his figure slithering between the members of the crowd yet I still can't lose sight of that navy suit.

"I am generous." I call out after him, making him fully turn to look at me as he continues walking backwards whilst he acts confident. "I'll share my half empty bottle of champagne with you when I win."

He laughs at my response, I don't hear it but I can see him throw his head backwards slightly as his shoulders bounce up and down with his smile growing a fraction bigger. "Good luck out there, Bee." He just turns and walks to his car, leaving me watching on.

Did he just give me a nickname?

•

As the lights turn on one by one I feel the pressure building. My foot pressing down on the accelerator harder, the engine revving louder and the clutch at its bite ready to go. The crowds are screaming, crying out in support for car number 44, the car positioned at the side of me that's ready to pounce at any moment of weakness.

The lights go out.

My pick away is great, launching me down the straight. I angle the car more to my left in hopes of defending against Hamilton, checking my mirrors first as to not cause a collision. I see Lewis catching up to me, eager to take my spot. Approaching the Abbey corner he's practically side to side with me so I take it on the outside, forward planning so I've got the advantage of the inside at Farm.