Redline | L.Norris

seven

Qualifying went well for Isla—perhaps a little too well, in some people's eyes. She secured third place, earning her first piece of hardware in Formula 1. Charles took second, while Max claimed pole position. The team was ecstatic, knowing both cars had a strong chance of podium finishes, especially with it being Isla's second race.

However, that excitement didn't carry over to some media members. Isla learned this the hard way during the post-qualifying press conference with Max and Charles.

"Isla, do you think you would have placed third without the red flag ending Q3 early?" The smile she had worn faded slightly, but she refused to let them get to her. "It's hard to say, as qualifying can be unpredictable. With only a few minutes left, I felt many drivers had already given their best times."

Another question came quickly: "Would you consider it luck? It's rare to see a rookie here just two races into their F1 career. Will we be seeing more of you?" She heard Max scoff next to her but answered as best she could. "We all race to be the best, and if you aren't, then you shouldn't be here. I can't predict the future, but I will be trying my hardest not just to be here, but to aim for pole position."

"Max, how do you feel about your new teammate challenging you for pole position?"

Max picked up his microphone. "I welcome the challenge. If she's closing in on pole position every week, that means Red Bull will be at the top of the Constructors' Championship."

The questions continued for Max and Charles, leaving Isla to listen while her thoughts wandered to the race ahead and what she needed to improve.

"Isla." Her attention snapped back, not knowing what had been discussed in the last few minutes. "Your dad never won a race in his rookie year. Do you see yourself following in his footsteps?"

She paused, caught off guard by the question. Charles fidgeted to her left, clearly uncomfortable, while Max picked up his microphone again but she spoke first. "My dad is one of the most well-known names in Formula 1. While he didn't win his first year, he managed to win 21 races during his career. To answer your question, I do plan on following in his footsteps regarding wins. The only thing I'd change is starting my win tally a year earlier than he did." She put down her microphone and leaned back, signaling that she was done with questions.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Max nod slightly, suppressing a smirk, clearly impressed. Charles seemed to relax, appreciating that Isla had taken control of the situation.

The media appeared taken aback by her confidence, and whispers rippled through the room. Isla felt she had made a statement, and it felt good. Despite the pressure, she was beginning to find her footing in the whirlwind of F1.

As the press conference wrapped up, Isla stood with Max and Charles, exchanging light-hearted comments about the upcoming weekend. "Just remember, Max," she teased, "if I beat you tomorrow, it's all your fault for letting me close the gap."

Max chuckled, the competitive spark in his eyes igniting. "I wouldn't be too sure about that, Isla. I'll be working hard to keep you behind me. I expect to hear about what upgrades you think my rear wing needs."

Charles interjected with a laugh, "I hope you take each other out on the first lap. That would make my life a lot easier."

Isla nudged his shoulder and wished him good luck as he walked off. Max fell into step with her, and they walked in comfortable silence toward the garage. Christian caught sight of them and approached. "Why did I hear the press conference was more interesting than usual?"

Isla shrugged. "Beats me. I'm going to change." She slipped by him and headed to her driver's room.

Christian turned to Max for an explanation. "The press asked a stupid question, and she handled it like I would have."

The team principal sighed. "That's what I was afraid of." Max chuckled and walked off to change as well.

Isla changed into a hoodie and sweatpants, opting for comfort over fashion. She walked out of her room and made her way to the pit lane.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the circuit, she took a moment to breathe it all in. This was what she had dreamed of—standing on the edge of something monumental, ready to carve her name into the sport. No matter what the media or anyone else thought, she was ready to prove she belonged, and she wouldn't let anyone define her journey.

Tomorrow was going to be a race to remember—luck or not.

***

Isla walked into the hotel, head down and hood up to avoid paparazzi, nearly stumbling backward when she bumped into someone. Hands caught her around the waist, preventing her from falling.

"Woah there." Lando's voice was near her ear. Isla steadied herself and glanced up at him, surprised and relieved. "I'm so sorry. I was too focused on not being seen to look ahead."

She stepped out of his grasp and noticed his smile. "I don't blame you. Congrats on qualifying today! I tried to catch you after, but I had a meeting. I did hear about the press conference, though." Isla's cheeks reddened at the mention.

"I like to say I'm media trained, but that question threw me off. I didn't expect them to ask things like that." She shook her head, recalling the interaction.

Lando offered a sympathetic smile. "They love to push the boundaries to see what they can get out of us." He glanced at his watch. "I have to run. If I don't see you before the race tomorrow, good luck." She returned the sentiment.

"Oh, and Isla? Confidence looks good on you." He winked before walking out.

Isla watched him go, her heart racing from both the surprise of their encounter and the warmth of his compliment. Lando had a way of making her feel seen, even in a crowded room filled with flashing cameras and whispers.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to shake off the lingering butterflies. The hotel lobby was bustling, and the tension in the air was palpable as other drivers and their teams hurried by. She made her way to the elevator, replaying their brief conversation in her mind.

"Confidence looks good on you."

It was a simple line, but it echoed louder than the chaos around her. Isla had spent so long trying to prove herself in a world dominated by expectations, and Lando's words felt like a small victory.

As the elevator doors closed, she collected herself. Tomorrow was race day, and she had a lot to prove—not just to the press or her team, but to herself. With a determined nod, she stepped out of the elevator and headed to her room, ready to focus and prepare for the challenge ahead.

After all, confidence was key. And maybe a little bit of Lando's charm wouldn't hurt either.