Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

Netherlands, Qualifying

Max Verstappen and Jessica Bond are keeping their lips sealed every time they're asked about what's going on between them. Still no comment from either of their managers as well. - @F1Gossip_Guru

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THE NETHERLANDS
13TH RACE WEEKEND OF THE SEASON
AUGUST

Mick holds out a fresh hot chocolate for me to take. I'm grateful for his friendship in moments like this. I can't go sneaking off to Max, and he's already sent me a few texts to check up on me. With eyes on us, we don't have as much freedom as we did only a month or so ago.

"Well, at least you smashed the car after a contract was sent out." Mick says, grinning at me.

"It's not my first smash, Mick." Australia feels like a year ago already. There are still so many races to go. I really underestimated just how busy the Formula 1 calendar is.

"True, but I'm still right. Besides, nothing you or Daniel could've done. Blind corner."

"Daniel said as much." I blow gently over the rim of the mug. "I feel bad for the mechanics having to put it back together. They're gonna be up all night."

"It'll be a quick fix for them. It's all front end." He says, joining me on the black sofa in the monochrome - but luxurious - hotel room. I sigh, because it's better than saying how much I think I've shot myself in the foot with this accident. The timing is god awful.

And Christ, we came close to crashing into Oscar. I just can't get the what if out of my head. What if I hadn't lost control and diverted Daniel into Oscar? What if I shunted Daniel straight into the barriers? What if—

"Jess?" Mick places a hand on my knee, eyes filled with concern. "Do you want me to get—"

"No." I say too quickly. "No, I'm fine. It's just the..."

Another sigh leaves my chest.

"I'm doing that thing you shouldn't do."

He nods, understanding reflected in the way he doesn't seem to be judging me at all. We sit together in silence, sipping at our drinks, just keeping each other company. Once our mugs are dry and alarms start ringing off on our phones, we have to accept that it's time to head off to the circuit.

I briefly look at my phone whilst Mick searches for a spare coat in his suitcase.

Vershtoppan (Max);
You good?

Jahsica (Me);
Better after a night's sleep.
Did Horner lecture you at all?

Vershtoppan (Max);
Yep
I told him what you said: when
we're at the track, we're there
to race.

Jahsica (Me);
Oliver doesn't care about us as
long as I don't fuck around.
Basically: don't bring any
relationship drama to the track.

"Any chance you have a spare umbrella?" Mick asks as he pulls on a thick blue coat.

The weather is abysmal. Despite the brief sunlight here and there, rain is falling. It's enough that Mateo has decided full wets are the best way to go. What little rubber we've laid down on the track yesterday has been washed away already. I personally think we could go for inters, but as I get out to the track to warm up the cold, stiff tyres, I realise that wets is the right choice.

Turn 3's uneven banking makes it hard for my front left to stay connected to the tarmac. I don't like the way the car feels as I hit the throttle coming out of the turn, right at the point where I lose that bit of grip.

"Is there something we can do about downforce? Turn three is shit."

"Warm the tyres first."

"Mateo, it's the fucking turn, trust me. Warm tyres can't do shit when there's nothing for them to hold onto." I know it's the turn. I'm sure of it. Bone-cold wet tyres are a slip risk, yes, but good god, that turn is awful.

Turn 12 isn't much better. The rough kerb is holding onto water; my car snaps but I refuse to let it go off the track. I spend an extra lap warming the tyres up, but the wind keeps changing at each section—

Red flags come up a few minutes into my attempts at gauging the conditions. I slow down by a Haas facing the wrong way in the gravel. It's Vettel. That's unfortunate, given Haas have been severely limited by their budget on new pieces. Hopefully that front wing is repairable, because I'm pretty sure that's the new one.

We all trundle to the pits, where I have a chance to make another case for inters.

"How many sets of full wets left?"

"Two."

"Then we use inters." Because those sets are for the day. I'll possibly need one, if not both for qualifying. And if the rain keeps at it, I'd be fucking myself over by not saving both sets.

"Everyone on inters is having trouble. Are you sure you want to use them?"

"Mateo. They're the best option here in terms of strategy."

I win the argument, mostly because I'm right. We have to make our allocation last. When the session resumes, I'm out on the inters... for all of five minutes. Someone beaches their car firmly in the gravel. That's going to be costly if it's fucked the floor, which I reckon it has, given the wheels were spinning and the car wasn't moving.

Back to the garage I go.

We head out again with just around half an hour left to go; the inters struggle, but they've been in the blankets. The wets aren't allowed to be in blankets. Having tyres that are at least starting out at a reasonable temperature is much better. Besides, as we go round the seaside track once more, the rain is easing up and the track begins to dry out.

"If Mick isn't on inters, he should box for them. Rest of the track is warming up."

"Copy that."

"Also tell him to use my brake balance. It's making turn three bearable."

I might as well try to help out. We're not competing... yet.