Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

Saudi Arabia, Race Day

"Can Jaguar climb back from yesterday's unlucky qualifying?"

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SAUDI ARABIA
2ND RACE OF THE SEASON
MARCH

"Where's your head at today?" Claire's asking me questions as she pulls with all her might on her end of the neck harness. I can't answer until the end of this set. It gives me time to think of my answer.

After I bombed out of qualifying, I raged in my driver's room alone. I shouted, swore, kicked the wall - I'm not proud of myself for that - and got it all out of my system whilst Mick threw himself into Q2, getting P14 by the end of it. Once I was done with what I now see as a stupid temper tantrum, I did the right thing: went over to the Haas garage and asked if James was alright. He was, thankfully, so I returned to the Jaguar garage to talk with Mick. He listened as I vented the last of my petty annoyance verbally.

It wasn't my finest moment. And now, as I'm preparing to race, I'm still feeling the aftershocks of it.

"I'm still pretty pissed, but I'm keeping my eyes on the race today." I finally say as she finally removes the harness from around my head. Her thoughtful expression as she packs away the equipment tells me she might have some opinions about how I'm holding onto yesterday's events, but she doesn't voice them.

"It's good to keep your eyes on the goal. After the race, we'll focus on tension. For now, we've got..." She looks at her watch. "Half an hour. Get a nap in. And hydrate."

"Yes, mum." A towel is thrown at my face for the snark, but it was completely worth it.

Sitting in the car, I'm staring at Alexander Albon's rear wing. To his right, slightly behind him, is Mick. Our engines drown out any crowd noise as we move off into the formation lap. I take it slow, but not enough that I'd be impeding Yuki Tsunoda behind me. As we're coming back to the grid, I see yellow flags in my mirrors.

"Mateo, what's going on?"

"Russell's out. Not sure what yet, looks like engine failure. Likely to be a delay to race start."

Just what I fucking needed.

Controlling my bubbling anger, I watch and wait. After what feels like five minutes but was more likely to be half a minute, the red flags come out. We're not racing yet. I'm not the only driver to be annoyed by it. I watch as the mechanics come rushing out to put blankets on the tyres and affix the leaf blowers to the air intake vents. Some drivers get out, I'm not one of them. I'm staying put because I'm in the zone. All I want is to race. If I get out of the car now, I'll lose all the concentration I've built.

Ten minutes later, the grid is cleared out and we are expected to do another formation lap. That shortens the race, which can be good or bad, depending on everyone's strategies. Personally, Russell being out early is useful for me. Although I have to line up in the 17th grid slot again, I'm technically 16th now, with one person to have to deal with.

The red lights come on at the gantry and on my steering wheel. My world reduces to the track, the cars snarling, waiting to be let loose, and my foot holding onto the bite. The last light flicks on and I am ready to go.

As the lights go out, I aim for the gap between Albon and Webb, but Webb closes it on me, forcing me to stay behind his Haas. Fucker. The early laps go by in a blur; I'm chasing him with everything I've got, but he's keeping me out of the required gap for DRS. By lap 16, I'm called into the pits. We're hoping this time the earlier pitting will pay off. I come out and have to fight Stroll and Lawson to get back up the grid. Lawson doesn't defend as I take the second hairpin as close as I can without touching the barrier. Stroll fights me off, but he can't do anything once I hit the DRS zone.

At lap 20, I spot a Red Bull behind me. Verstappen. It has to be. The way he's sticking to me, trying to force me to get out of his way is the giveaway. Max Verstappen drives like a fucking madman. I could try to fight him off, but honestly? It's not worth it. He will overtake me, sooner or later. I move to the outside, allowing him past, before closing the gap I've just made, shutting out Lawson, who was gunning for a free cheeky overtake.

I'm at P12 by the time we're heading into the last twenty laps, with Schumacher in front of me. Ahead of him is Webb. I want to attack, but I'd have to push past Schumacher and then past Webb whilst defending from Schumacher. I'm good, but I know that I'll be risking a lot if I do it.

"Mateo. I have an idea."

"Go ahead."

"How does P9 and P10 sound to Oliver?"

There's a minute of silence, broken by Mick slowing down slightly, which gives me DRS.

"Jessica, it's Oliver. Go get him."

That's all I need to hear. I close the gap to Mick, and together we bear down on the white Haas in front of us. I follow Mick's slipstream tightly, listening as my engineer gives me updates on the state of my brake temperatures and my tyres. We stick to Webb like an unwanted smell until he caves under the pressure, making the wrong defensive move. Mick strikes, slipping around the outside of the Haas and ahead. I go to follow, but our cars make contact. There's a jolt through the car, as the steering wheel tries to snap out of my grip; I hold onto it so tight my hands feel numb. I'm getting that damn point, no matter what.

"He fucking turned into me!" I shout, knowing that he's likely to be claiming the opposite. He was in my way. I was far enough alongside him, he damn well saw me. "Is my wing fucked?"

"Negative. Stay focused."

The teamwork is over now that we're in the positions we wanted. Mick moves to attack, and I lose my advantage right as a different Haas creeps up behind me: Sebastian Vettel.

There's nothing I can do. He has fresher tyres and better pace. I try to stop him at turn 16, but he anticipates my move and sneaks up through the inside of the corner, knocking me out of the points. I try to stick to him, but he does the same to Mick by turn 24.

"What are the team orders, Mateo?" I need to know the plan. If I'm allowed to challenge for P10, I'm bloody well going to. "Mateo?"

"Mick is going to let you past."

I don't ask why. I simply accept it as he slows down and moves aside, leaving me enough room to take his spot. I have a clear shot at Vettel as we head into the straight.

"Work together, Jessica." Oliver's tone leaves no room for me to argue. Ignoring team orders can get you thrown out on your ear.

"Copy." I know what I need to do: force him to take turn 1 as tightly as possible. It'll leave us the space we need. I position myself to attack from the wider angle as we blaze through the main straight. Vettel goes into the first turn neatly, but dangerously close to the barrier, and I know it's time to strike. With Mick behind me, I go wide, forcing Vettel to let me past as I go wheel-to-wheel with him. By the time we're heading into turn 6, we're both past him and into the points as a team.

We maintain our pace, all the way to the last lap and the chequered flag. No, we're not on the podium, no it's not a 1-2, but goddamn does it feel good to get double points. Once I have the car in the dedicated space, lined up next to a McLaren, I hop out and hug Mick. We've done it. We've proven we are able to compete.

It doesn't mean things are going to be easier. I'm not deluded by our small victory as we go into the garage to be swamped by our mechanics and engineers. We are competitive, but only on a lower level. We can possibly fight with Williams, Haas, Alpine and Alfa Romeo. We can't touch the big guys yet. But we will. We want that title. We're determined to get it.

Oliver reckons he'll have a title-worthy car for us by next season, which means we need to prove our worth as long-term drivers. I'm painfully aware that my contract is only for this season. If I don't get a podium finish quickly, I'm likely to be thrown out in favour of someone like Vesti.