Breaking the Grid

First day

Today felt surreal. I woke up in my house in London, the weight of the day ahead pressing down on me. I was about to sign my first F1 contract with McLaren. McLaren! The team I'd idolized since childhood, the team I'd always dreamt of being part of. And now, it was actually happening.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. This day was monumental, not just for me but for everyone who had supported me along the way. I chose my outfit with care—something comfortable yet stylish, aiming to look the part of a new F1 driver. My McLaren gear awaited me at the team headquarters, but I wanted to make a confident, professional impression.

Walking into the McLaren Technology Centre was like stepping into another world—sleek, futuristic, and impeccably designed. The sight of my number, 32, displayed everywhere was both thrilling and surreal. It was a tangible reminder that this dream was coming true.

Zak Brown greeted me with a warm smile that eased some of my tension. "Welcome to McLaren, Blair," he said, shaking my hand firmly. "We're thrilled to have you."

"Thank you," I replied, striving for a confidence that I hoped matched my voice. "It's an honor to be here."

We moved to a conference room where my contract awaited. Sitting down, I saw it—my name next to the McLaren logo. I'd read through it countless times, but seeing it now, the gravity of it all hit me anew. Zak handed me the pen, and after a brief moment to let it sink in, I signed. Just like that, I was officially a McLaren driver.

The morning turned into a whirlwind of photoshoots, interviews, and more photoshoots. I was handed my new McLaren suit, proudly displaying my number. Slipping it on, I couldn't help but smile. Photographers captured every angle, documenting the excitement for the team's announcement. I answered questions about my journey to F1, my goals for the season, and what it meant to join such a legendary team.

At some point, I found a brief respite, scrolling through my phone to catch my breath. That's when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to find Lando Norris grinning at me. As one of my favorite drivers, meeting him was pretty impressive.

"Hey, you must be Blair," he said, giving me a quick once-over. "Welcome to the team."

"Thanks, Lando," I replied, shaking his hand. "It's great to finally meet you."

Lando looked me up and down with a playful glint in his eye. "Number 32, huh? Bold choice. Ready to see if you can actually race like an F1 driver?"

I smirked. "Coming from the guy with number 4, I'd say I'm ready to give you a run for your money."

Lando chuckled. "Oh, I like the confidence. But let's see how you do in a simulator race first."

He led me to the simulators, a space filled with the hum of high-tech equipment. We set up a race, and I was determined to show him my skills. The simulation was intense, offering the closest experience to the real thing without hitting the track. Lando, however, had the upper hand. He was smooth, controlled, and relentless, clearly more at ease in the F1 world than I was. I could feel the difference—he's been living and breathing F1 for years.

By the end of our session, Lando had beaten me by a few seconds, his victory unmistakable. He leaned back in his seat, a smug grin on his face.

"Not bad, Becks," he teased, "but you've got a bit of catching up to do if you want to keep up with me on the real track."

I laughed, though a part of me was frustrated. "Alright, Norris, you win this one. But don't get too comfortable—I'm a quick learner."

Lando chuckled, clearly enjoying our budding rivalry. "We'll see about that. But seriously, you did great. It's only going to get better from here."