Reckless Driving

Chapter 4: This Is Me Trying

I've been having a hard time adjusting

I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting

Lacey Reyes:

The start of the Miami GP wasn't too eventful. Julie managed to shuffle me away from all the personal questions thrown at me on Thursday, so that part was bearable. The practice sessions felt routine, the REY on the table lodged firmly in the midfield, like always. My thoughts flickered between frustration and naive optimism. 

After FP3, I climbed out of my car, my mind racing with thoughts of Sunday as I unzipped my race suit and tied the sleeves around my waist. The crowded garage suddenly felt too loud, too busy, so I excused myself from the throng of people hoping to talk to me as quickly as I could. I slipped my headphones on as I left out the front of the garage, where I could blend into the chaos of mechanics. I didn't play any music, the headphones just a decoy to avoid as much interruption as possible. The fresh air felt heavenly as it hit me.

As I passed the Red Bull garage, two familiar hands landed on my shoulders, knocking me forward a bit with the force of it. I turned to find Max and Daniel, of course, and I pulled my headphones off so I could hear them "Lacey!" Max grinned, excitement bubbling in his voice. "Sorry I missed your birthday party! But from what Daniel's told me—and from his camera roll—it looked like you had a great time."

My eyes widened as I foggily recall Daniel pulling out his phone at various points of the night.

"Don't worry," Daniel leaned in closer so only I can hear, "I stopped remembering to take pictures pretty early in the night. But don't tell Max, he likes thinking he's up to date with everything."

Relief washed over me as I let out a laugh, Daniel winking before they both jogged off, shouting "good luck" over their shoulders. That brief interaction, as much as it made me smile, did little to ease the growing knot of nerves in my stomach.

I started to walk back towards my garage, only realizing that I hadn't put my headphones back on when I was able to hear the click of a camera. My eyes darted around frantically to find the press that had caught me, landing instead on an orange figure leaning up on a stack of tyres outside the McLaren garage . My heart skipped as I realized that the picture wasn't going to end up on a photographer's Instagram or an official F1 post, but would live in Lando Norris' personal camera. I took half a second to turn the shock into a wide smile and raise my middle finger at him. His burst of laughter was followed by another click. Almost certain that my face was red as a tomato, I turned and walked quickly back to my garage to save myself any further embarrassment.

The hours between then and qualifying blurred together. I tried to focus, doing some reaction exercises in my driver's room, but my head wasn't in it. Nothing had really happened to put me in such a state, but I couldn't shake it.

When it was finally time for quali, I zipped up my race suit with shaky hands. I looked for comfort in the familiarity of my routine, but found little.  Climbing into the car felt like stepping into a battle I wasn't ready for.

Q1 was a nightmare. The car felt completely different, worse than it had all year, like it was fighting me through each corner and creeping down every straight. I missed apex after apex, my steering wheel feeling immoveable. Every fast lap that I put in felt more and more disastrous. When it was over I held my breath to wait for the result, trying to drown out the voices saying there was no way I was through.

"P17," my engineer, Chris, came over the radio. "Nice job Lacey, you tried your best, we just have some extra ground to make up tomorrow." His calm tone only made the knot in my chest tighten.