Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

Japan, Qualifying

"Elevation changes, and eighteen corners: eight to the left, and ten to the right. It is a fantastic circuit to watch cars at full throttle... The track is hot, the temperatures are warm, and degradation is high, so you're going to have to nurse that soft compound all the way around on your out lap and hope it gives you grip by the last corner."

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JAPAN
16TH RACE WEEKEND OF THE SEASON
SEPTEMBER

The practice sessions were valuable. Our new floor, introduced in Singapore a week ago, works better here. We're also going with a special livery just for Sebastian. The usual splash of aqua is now a bold yellow. Our helmets are the same: black with a splash of the same bold hue. All as a little nod to Sebastian's work with the newly renamed Buzzin Corner.

Lots of teams have special liveries and helmets going. We've not done much of it, given our tight budget, so there's been plenty of cameras down the pit lane, snapping shots of the rare change to our cars and our getup. The white stripes in our suits are yellow as well. We've gone all out.

I'm currently sitting in the car, waiting patiently to be let out to line up at the end of the pit lane. Qualifying is going to be interesting... I'm sent out to hit the end of the pit lane first and wait for that light to go green. Behind me, other cars line up. As soon as the light goes green, I'm out.

The hot track will degrade my softs if I'm not careful. So I take it slow, but not slow enough to be impeding. I don't take the DRS zone - there's only one here - because I want to do it on my flying lap.

And I do, hitting the throttle and letting the world around me become a blur. This track has some nasty traps if you aren't careful. Some of the corners can be easy to take too deep. Some corners are tricks: you don't want to take them at the kerbs, you want to be right in the middle of the tarmac. And then there's the long turn at 15, where you can take up to 5gs as you go through it. It's a hell of a turn, and the steering wheel will fight you through it.

It's Silverstone, but cooler.

And windier.

The wind throws you as you take the turn one wide hairpin and at another wide hairpin down by the spoon curve. But between those turns, the wind can actually benefit you if you hit it at the right angle.

Or, if you go too far into turn 2, it can destroy the floor of your car.

"I was about to say preliminary P1, but the Red Bull just knocked you off."

At least that's the only thing he's fast at— The thought has me laughing for a moment as I move into an in lap, cooling my brakes. I swear, hanging around with these boys has made me unable to repair the brain-to-mouth filter—

"Fucking hell!" I slow down as I see a Williams absolutely fucking destroyed. Someone's getting out, I stop right by the edge of the track momentarily, out of the racing line.

It's Logan. He gives me a thumbs up, and I head back around - because I've missed the pit exit as the flags went red - before diving into the pits. My car is jacked up and brought into the garage as per usual.

"That looked bad. He should go to the medical centre."

"That's going to be costly for Williams..."

And it's going to cost the team more than hard cash. That amount of damage will mean new parts, outside of the allocation. But it's the psychological damage that has me concerned. We're near the end of the season. He hasn't scored a single point. His career could be over before it begins.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes briefly. I need to focus. I need to be the other me, not Jess, a worried friend who cares too much and says the wrong things all the time. I'm driver number 57. 7th in the standings. Best performing rookie so far.

I open my eyes as Mateo radios me.

"Restarting in five minutes."

"Do we want to go out again?"

"Negative for now. You're still in P2."

We wait and watch as others head out. The Ferraris set good times, and Mateo doesn't like it. So he changes tactic; I'm sent out, right in the middle of the rest of the grid all lining up to leave the pit lane. Fucking christ. This is going to be bad.

It takes painful seconds, half a minute overall, to leave the pit lane. This will be dangerously close. I have to set a fast lap now. My out lap will burn up my new softs, and I'll have to pray they have enough grip as I go for the flying lap.

I get past the line just before the flag comes up. My lap can go ahead. It has to be perfect. Others are taking the flag, and the order is shuffling around. I throw the car into each turn, my knees smashing together through the padding on my race suit. When I cross, I've improved my time, but it's by a thousandth of a second. Still, I remain P2, and I'm into Q2. I'm safe.

We wait in the garage for the break, but after a few minutes, I see Mick coming by to my car. His helmet is off, hair a mess, face flushed with anger.

"Fucking power unit just gave out!"

"What?!"

He crouches down, trying to smooth out his expression by rubbing a hand down his face. "Yeah. I get into Q2 and as I'm pulling in to the garage, it just goes! All of it! No power, no nothing!"

His hands are gesturing wildly, and I wish I could reach out to try and offer comfort, but I'm belted in. And Q2 is going to start in two minutes.

"Anyway, keep an eye on yours. We have the same one, right?"

"Yeah. And we're almost at our allocation limits, I think."

The thought bounces in the back of my mind as Mick backs off because I'm being sent out. I haven't destroyed the softs, so they want me to use whatever is left of them. My out lap is nice and gentle, and the track is starting to feel grippier. As I begin my flying lap, the car wants to hold onto the tarmac. I take turn 2 gently, just enough that I'm at the red and white striping of the kerb, but not enough that I'll fall foul of track limits as others have done so.

It feels like a good lap.

"Preliminary P2 again. Good work. Come in for now."

I'm kept in the garage as others put in their first flying lap times. I'm still at P2 for now. The Ferraris are— nevermind. I'm P3 as Ricciardo knocks me out of place with his timing. Tsunoda almost pushes me down one further spot, but thankfully he's not done it. Yet. The gaps between us are getting seriously narrow.

I'm not sent out. There's a thrum of activity around my car, and I'm left to sit here, in the cockpit, watching the screens in front of me. I get knocked to P4. P5. P6. But I'm into Q3. Staying in was a fair call.

It's during the break that I realise the activity around my car isn't slowing down. I don't like it. Mick's warning about the power unit seems to be morphing into reality.

"What's going on? The car's fucking stumbling around."

"Just checking some parts. Nothing to worry about."

He's lying to me. I just know it. If it was really nothing to worry about, Mateo would've explained it straight away. He would've said what it was. Instead, I'm sent out for Q3 with fresh tyres and no explanation as to what the mechanics were fussing about.

As I go into my out lap, I start to notice the tell-tale signs of power failure. The car isn't giving me the snappy response it should do. There's a minor delay in my actions generating a reaction from the car. I head into my flying lap and I don't feel any better. I don't feel safe.

"I think I have a power unit failure."

"Can you make it back?"

"I'm trying." But as I reach turn 11, the tight hairpin on the track, the car gives out completely. All I can do is try to steer it off the track as it grinds to a crawl, and then to a halt. Red flags fly from the marshals around me as I get out.

I know, before I start my long, lonely walk back to the garage, that I'll be looking at a pit lane start.