Redline | L.Norris

eight

Race day had finally arrived, and as Isla woke up, a surge of confidence replaced the nerves that had haunted her first race. Starting from a strong P3 position meant she was in the perfect place to aim for the podium—something she was determined to achieve in her rookie year.

Her phone buzzed to life, illuminating the darkened room with a message from her dad.

Dad: Aim for the inside line. Everyone will brake late and push wide. Forget what your team says—push hard for the first few laps, then manage your tires.

Isla couldn't help but chuckle, shaking her head at his rebellious advice. Just two races in, and he was already urging her to go rogue. It was classic Dad—always bending the rules—but she wasn't sure if she could take that kind of risk yet.

Isla: Thanks, Dad.

She tossed her phone aside, focusing on her morning routine. An hour later, she entered the paddock, the buzz of the crowd electrifying her senses. She scanned her badge at the entrance, waving at eager fans. Danny was a few steps ahead when he turned back, a grin on his face.

"Good morning, sunshine! How are we feeling today?"

Isla caught up to him, their strides matching as they walked toward their garages. "Excited! Way less nervous than last race."

He chuckled, his tone suddenly serious. "Enjoy the butterflies. Time in Formula 1 flies by. You never know when it could be your last race, so soak it all in."

Isla felt a flicker of understanding but was too absorbed in her own whirlwind of emotions to grasp the weight of his words.

"Good luck out there. I'll see you on the track." He squeezed her shoulder before darting into his garage.

Stepping into hers, Isla was greeted by the organized chaos of last-minute preparations. Her engineer, Jack, waved her over to the screens. "Weather looks stable, so we're sticking with our tire strategy. Remember—stay focused on your lines and don't let the pressure get to you."

Isla nodded, recalling her dad's words. Maybe taking a risk wouldn't be such a bad idea, especially starting from P3.

Max strolled over, curiosity written across his face. "Ready for this?"

"Absolutely! I can't wait to see what starting from the second row does for me. It's a bloodbath in the midfield."

Max grinned. "I get humbled every time I start further back than the second row. Carlos is right next to you—he and Charles will be gunning for you. Hold your own and don't let that red car intimidate you."

As the first turn loomed in her mind, Isla's determination solidified. "Does your dad ever give you advice that goes against the team's strategy?"

Max considered it. "Sometimes. Why?"

Isla shrugged. "Do you ever listen to him?"

"Depends on the situation. My dad didn't exactly dominate in F1."

Isla hummed thoughtfully. "If you're going against the team's plan, make sure it pays off. Christian won't be angry if you end up in a better position."

With that, he walked back to his side, leaving her to prepare for the race.

The driver's parade and national anthem blurred together in a heartbeat, and soon, Isla was nestled in her car, heart racing with anticipation. Max gave her a thumbs-up from the front, and she eagerly returned the gesture. To her back right, Lando tapped his helmet twice, a gesture she had come to interpret as "good luck," and she mirrored it.

When the clock struck the top of the hour, the cars rolled forward, and adrenaline coursed through her veins. The roaring engines and the intoxicating smell of burning rubber enveloped her. Focused on her breathing, she anchored herself in the moment—this was her chance.

With each lap around the circuit, she mentally replayed Jack's strategy: stick to her lines, manage her tires, and stay calm under pressure. Yet her dad's words echoed louder in her mind: Aim for the inside line. It was a risk, but the thrill of possibility ignited something fierce within her.

As they approached the grid, she steadied her breath. Lined up behind Max, she glanced sideways at Carlos and Charles, poised and ready for battle.

When the lights flicked off, Isla shot off the line, instincts taking over. She quickly found her rhythm, her car darting forward. The first turn loomed, and she faced a split-second decision: Carlos was on her left, angling for the inside. With a deep breath, she steered hard right, cutting toward the apex.

Tires screeched, the roar of engines surrounding her as she navigated the chaotic turn. Holding her ground, she surged ahead—now in P2, with only Max in sight.

As laps ticked by, Isla pushed hard, keeping her tires in check. Max began to pull away slightly, but she remained focused; this race was about more than speed—it was about proving she belonged.

Just before the halfway mark, disaster struck: a car spun out, bringing out the safety car. Momentary panic gripped her; this could disrupt everything. But she steadied her mind, knowing she had to remain sharp.

Jack's voice crackled over the radio. "Stay alert, Isla. We need a strong restart. Focus on your exit."

Under the safety car, Isla took a deep breath, using the time to clear her mind. When the green flags waved, adrenaline surged through her again—this was her moment.

As they crossed the line, she nailed the restart, racing to keep pace with Max.

In the final laps, she clung to his tail, pushing him while carefully managing her tires. The finish line approached, every instinct urging her to go for it, but Max held a slight edge. Respecting his position, she gave it her all but crossed the finish line in P2, a surge of pride swelling within her.

Cheers erupted from the crew at the wall, their excitement palpable. "That's P2, kid! Congrats on your first podium—Red Bull 1-2!" Isla slowed her car, spotting Max beside her. He flashed a thumbs-up, and she returned it with a smile.

"Thank you for such an incredible car! I couldn't have done it without everyone's hard work!" she exclaimed.

Christian's voice crackled over the radio. "Amazing driving, Isla. The team is proud of you."

As she maneuvered her car into parc ferme behind the big number 2, Max was already out of his vehicle, ready to help her climb from hers. He pulled her into a tight embrace. "Proud of you, schat," he said, nudging her toward the team.

Surrounded by hugs and pats on the helmet, Isla felt a wave of relief wash over her. Red Bull had been anxious about her rookie season, but with this 1-2 finish in just the second race, they could finally breathe a little easier. This was just the beginning.