chasing - lando norris

twenty eight.

[cassie klein]

Fuck the FIA.

I can practically feel the steam billowing from my ears as I sit in the stewards room, leg bouncing and jaw clenched.

A three place grid penalty for impeding Nico Hulkenberg in qualifying.

Yeah, harsh much?

The stewards' words echo in my head as my team tries to debate the penalty and lower the severity. Impeding my ass. If that's what they're considering impeding, then everybody should be starting from 20th position.

I'd just exited the pits to start my last run in Q1 and I was trying to move out of the race line for him. I don't know what race line Nico was on, because it certainly wasn't the normal one. He swerved and narrowly missed clipping my right rear and then complained to his engineers.

It's bullshit.

I wasn't defending, I wasn't blocking, and I was actively trying to get out of his race line. Now they're saying it impacted his overall time and ultimately caused him the elimination from Q1.

Not my fault he's driving a shit car.

But there's no use in arguing. Once the stewards make up their mind it's pretty much set in stone. I'll have to give up my front row start and settle for P5 instead.

Yup.

I was fucking P2 before the penalty. I'd have a decent shot at a podium or even a race win with that start, only having Max in front of me to contest.

Now I have to give that up because of the dumbest call in racing history.

Okay, I might be exaggerating a bit but it's utter bullshit. The car was literally alive around the track today, the sector times between Lando and I lighting up the table.

"Sorry Cass. You'll have to start from the 3rd row." One of the stewards says, crossing his arms from his standing position at the head of the table.

I run my tongue along the inside of my cheek, containing any retort bubbling in my throat. I raise my eyebrows and sit forward, slapping my hands on my knees as I rise to my feet.

I say nothing as I walk straight past him and through the door, not even looking in his direction as I leave the room and let the door slam behind me.

I hear Georgia's rushed apologies as she scurries after me.

*****

sunday, may 5.
miami grand prix.

I'm staring down the back of Lando's car from my 5th position on the grid. A position I've - frustratingly - found myself in many times.

I'm sick of chasing him around the track.

I'm sick of chasing all of them.

We've finished our formation lap and are sitting at the starting line. I'm buzzing in my seat, nerves and excitement coursing through me as I sit in anticipation. I tear my eyes away from his car and direct them to the lights.

My chest lurches as I watch the first light, then the second. My heart speeds up at the third, then drops to my feet at the fourth. The fifth has my whole body on edge. I wait what feels like an eternity, eyes glued to the lights, for them to disappear.

My foot is flat on the throttle immediately.

My start is much better than I was hoping for, allowing me to scrape past Sainz as we approach turn 1 and make the move stick.