APEX ‹𝟹 LIPSOUL

Seven

Her room in the hotel is more lavish than she had expected. The fine white linen of the bed sheets and the spares neatly arranged in a little square like a parcel gift, upstanding halogen bulbs on gold platform sconces hanging either side like wedding veils, the table of old teakwood freshly varnished. The smell of jasmine in the air. From the window she can see half of Interlagos glow against the simmering of the evening sun like a melting pastel canvas, the washed out grays of the chalky sky and the hue of the Pinheiros river like an oil painting and the roofs glinting in the eye of the sun. But most of her view is the track. It's barely even a mile away.

Once she's sorted out her belongings she spends a while just watching it all. Trying to formulate some reality in which all of this makes sense. She's six points behind Jungeun and there are only two and a half months left in the season. The mathematics of that fact are almost overwhelming. She stands there with her hands on the balcony railing not really knowing what to think. The sun bleeds away like a diffused coal and she's still there. She doesn't know if she'll win or if she even can. If she has the capability to outdrive Jungeun in the second half of the season or if it's just as Haseul said it would be. All she knows is that barring a catastrophe, second place is hers. But second isn't a win. Second doesn't get to hoist that trophy to the howl of the crowd in Korea in ten weeks' time.

[...]

It's nine in the evening when she makes her way down to the motorhome in the parking lot. Haseul and a couple of the other mechanics are sat around talking about the last-minute preparations for the practice sessions in the morning. They say hi to Jinsoul and she says hi back as if she's in a trance. It all feels so very strange. She goes straight to the simulator room and loads up everything and puts in a good thirty laps. None of them are excellent but none are as bad as America either. It's like she's on autopilot almost. The motions spring up and she runs through them because she must.

Friday is always different. The atmosphere changes overnight, every time without fail. At the track the garage is alive with sound and the crowd only just now filling the stands sit waiting for something magical and the first engine sound has them on their feet straining to catch a better view. Jinsoul straps on her gloves and adjusts her helmet and tries to calm herself. She isn't thinking about Jungeun at all. She rarely does on race weekends at the track. It's only in the moments in between, the tender times alone, in the evening post-practice or once qualifying is over or in the brief hours after the race before they've got to head out for their early-morning flights, that she resorts to that helpless stargazing state of fugue, where all she can think about is: Jungeun, Jungeun, Jungeun.

Haseul taps her on the shoulder and makes her turn around. She's already smiling. 'Are you good?' she asks.

'Yeah. I'm fine.'

'We're expecting big things out of you this weekend. The aero package is all fixed and ready for you now. The downforce should be incredible.'

'What about the Samsungs?'

'They've still got the straight-line speed,' Haseul says a little gravely. 'But that's to be expected. They've got the better PU. It's the corners where we've always shined, and with this new aero stuff? Should be a really close fight. Especially with your driving out there.'

'We'll see,' Jinsoul says. It's more to herself than anything. A handful of the cars from further down the garage are already pulling out onto the track for their outlaps. Yves's in her cockpit adjusting her steering wheel.

'Just don't do anything stupid this time,' Haseul says.

'What, like get out of my car again?'

'Like exactly that.'