chasing - lando norris

thirty two.

[cassie klein]

saturday, may 18
imola grand prix, qualifying.

I can hear my heart thumping in my ears as I sit in the cockpit of my McLaren, watching the clock tick down to the start of Q1.

Practice so far this weekend has been decent - I've worked my way from P9 to P1, with my fastest lap almost breaking 1:15.5. But I know it's not going to be enough for a decent starting position.

"Just get out there and push, alright?" Henry leans on the Halo as I hear his voice through the radio through the noise of the garage. I nod, grateful no one can see my expression under my helmet.

"Q1 underway, guys," Henry says through the radio, and my heart drops slightly. I try to control my breathing; in through my nose, out through my mouth.

You can do this, Cass.

"Not sending you out just yet, Cass. Just doing some final checks - out soon."

"Copy." I reply, still focusing on my breathing as I watch the time tick down anxiously.

13 minutes left and I haven't left the pits yet...

I hate leaving qualifying to the last minute. The pressure of setting a competitive lap in such a short amount of time leaves so much room for silly mistakes.

"Now, Cass, now," Henry's voice expels a sigh of relief from my lips as I wait for the tire covers and other equipment to be removed before stepping my foot on the throttle and exiting the pit lane.

I take my out lap at a decent speed, watching the tire temps closely as I round each corner. Somewhere through the lap Henry tells me the standings, and it's only as I'm exiting turn 17 I'm told that Max has moved into P1.

Not for long.

My foot is to the floor as I push for the line to start my timed lap. The radio is silent, everyone knowing my focus is fixated entirely on the car and the track.

My first sector feels fast, ripping through Tamburello and pushing the car down the straight into Villeneuve. The thrum of the car echoes through me as I enter sector 2, the sweat on my brow forming as I cross through Acque Minerali.

My final sector feels a little slower, but I still manage to push through the final turns. I take the last tight corner slightly slower, worried that wind or loss of control will send me into the gravel trap and ruin my chances this weekend.

I can breathe a little freer as I straighten up and push for the line, which has never felt so far away.

Come on, come on, come on...

I exhale sharply as I cross the line, waiting in anticipation for Henry's voice to come through the radio and tell me my position.

"That's P1, Cass. Well done, great lap,"

"Time?" I ask, slightly out of breath as I run my slow lap.

"1:15.94," He says. I bite the inside of my cheek.

"Gap?"

"7 hundredths from Max."

My hands feel slightly shaky, adrenaline coursing through me as I turn through the track, processing the information.

"We'll box now, Cass,"

"Copy."

The team must feel confident in that time if they're wanting me to come into the pits, but there's something in me that thinks it's just not good enough.