Pit Stop [LANDO NORRIS]

1

AVERY

The sound of revving engines is always the first thing that hits me when we step into the paddock. It's louder than I remember, even though I've been around it my entire life. The air smells like rubber and gasoline, the kind of sharp, metallic tang that gets stuck in your throat and lingers for hours. I hate that smell. It reminds me of everything I'm supposed to be.

My dad, Zak Brown, walks ahead of me, his pace quick and purposeful as he heads into the McLaren garage. The whole place moves with a rhythm I've come to know by heart, but it's like I'm just an observer now, floating around, always a step behind. I try not to be seen, but it's impossible when you're the boss's daughter. People glance at me, their faces flashing that polite, "oh, she's here" smile before they turn back to work. Like I'm some kind of shadow that barely exists.

I pull the McLaren cap down lower over my eyes and hang close to my dad's side as we walk through the crowded garage. The drivers' cars sit on their stands, gleaming like they just stepped out of a showroom, but you can feel the tension in the air. I know the team is working hard to get them perfect. I know what that pressure feels like.

"Hey, Avery, keep up," my dad says, not even glancing over his shoulder. "We've got a meeting with the tech guys in ten."

I nod, biting my lip. It's not the first time he's asked me to follow him around like this, though I've never really been useful. I don't know the ins and outs of the engineering side of things. It's just... I'm not like him. I wish I were. That's what he wants, I know it. He talks about me taking on more responsibility, getting more involved, but all I want to do is sit in a studio with a canvas and some paints.

The noise of the track outside fades as I move deeper into the heart of the garage. I keep my head down, trying to avoid making eye contact with the engineers, drivers, or anyone who might feel the need to talk to me. I don't want their sympathy, or worse, their pity. They think I should be like my dad, taking charge, showing leadership. But all I've ever really wanted is to create. I wanted to go to art school, be a painter, travel the world and get lost in colors and brushstrokes. But here I am, pacing around a pit garage, wearing a McLaren cap like it's supposed to make me feel part of something I never really chose.

"Hey, Avery," I hear a voice call out. I look up just in time to see one of the engineers, Dave, waving. "You're looking a bit lost there. Everything alright?"

I offer a tight smile, nodding. "Yeah, just... keeping up with Dad."

Dave chuckles, and I can tell he's used to this game. The 'boss's daughter' role. I'm not a stranger to the pitying smiles, but I can tell he means well. "He's a tough one to keep up with, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he is," I say, trying not to let my frustration slip through. "I'm sure he'll slow down eventually."

"Well, good luck," Dave says with a grin before he turns back to his work.

I catch a glimpse of Lando Norris walking by, helmet tucked under his arm, looking focused but relaxed. He gives me a quick nod of recognition, and I do the same, trying to keep my face neutral. I know Lando, but we don't talk much. I've always been around the team, but the drivers? They're in a world of their own. I never really tried to get too involved. It's easier not to.

It's not that I don't like them—Lando's a decent guy, and Oscar Piastri seems alright, though I've barely had a chance to talk to him. It's just... they're drivers. They live for this. I'm not like them. Not in the way my dad wants me to be.

"Hey, Avery, let's go!" My dad's voice calls out, sharp as ever. He's standing by the side of the car, waiting for me, impatient. He's probably already forgotten that I was even with him.

I quickly jog over, adjusting the cap once more as I meet him at the car. He's talking with a few of the engineers now, and I stand off to the side, not really part of the conversation, just a silent presence. My dad is talking about some performance tweaks for the car, his voice confident and commanding. I look around the garage again, my eyes catching Lando as he heads toward his car, chatting with Oscar. It's always the same: the drivers are the center of attention. The team runs around them like clockwork, keeping everything in line. But me? I'm like a shadow in the corner, trying not to get in the way.

After a few minutes, my dad turns to me. "You should get more involved, Avery. We've got some real opportunities coming up this season, and I'd like you to take on more responsibility. Help with strategy or something. You know how important it is to understand the inner workings of the team."

I nod, trying to muster some enthusiasm, but my heart isn't in it. "Yeah, sure, Dad," I say, my voice quieter than I'd like it to be.

"Good," he says, satisfied. "You're growing up, Avery. You've got to start thinking about what comes next."

I swallow hard. I know what comes next. I'm supposed to follow in his footsteps. But all I really want is to grab my sketchbook, sit somewhere quiet, and get lost in the world of my own creation.

But instead, I'm here, in the middle of a McLaren garage, wearing a team cap that doesn't fit who I am. And while my dad talks about strategy and responsibility, all I can think about is the colors I'd rather be mixing, the lines I'd rather be drawing.

"Let's go," my dad says, snapping me out of my thoughts. "We've got a few more stops before the meeting. Follow me."

I nod, falling back into step behind him, trying to push away the voice in my head that keeps reminding me of the life I didn't choose.