Breaking the Grid

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Liam sat on my lap, his tiny legs bouncing against mine, one arm wrapped tightly around the tub of ice cream Blair had specifically filled the freezer with just for him. His spoon clinked gently against the carton with every scoop, more chocolate around his mouth than inside it. I didn't even bother wiping it yet. My hands were glued to his waist, steadying him, but my eyes...

Locked on the TV.

The whole living room was full — Alessia, Mia, Mum, Dad — all quiet now. Just waiting.

The screen showed the grid. Her car — Number 32, second row.

I knew she wasn't satisfied with it. Not after losing pole by 0.008 seconds. That kind of loss sticks to her skin like something personal. But second wasn't bad — and I knew her. She wouldn't sit quietly behind Lando for long.

The last murmurs of the commentators died down.

The lights came on.

Five red lights—
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.

Go.

"AND IT'S LIGHTS OUT IN MELBOURNE!"

The sound of twenty engines crashing forward at once roared through the speakers like thunder. I felt Liam grip my hand tighter without realizing it. My chest burned.

"Blair  off the line with a brilliant launch—Norris as well—Becks glued to his gearbox into Turn 1!"

The entire McLaren front row held strong into the first corner.

She was right there.

So close.

Mum leaned in toward the screen. Dad didn't blink.
Mia exhaled loudly next to me, muttering, "Come on, baby."

Sector after sector, it became clear: McLaren was in another league this year. They were slicing away from the rest of the pack like a different species.

It was just the two of them now.

Lando up front.

Blair—his shadow.

For the next ten laps, it was the same. Every straight, she got closer. Every corner, he defended harder. You could see her trying—
braking later, dipping left, baiting a mistake.

But Lando was flawless. He knew this track like the back of his hand, and he wasn't giving her even a millimeter of margin.

The commentator spoke through the tension:

"Becks is all over the back of Norris now — she's quicker through the twisty third sector, but Norris is parking his car like a brick wall in front of her. Brilliant racing by both McLaren drivers."

I wanted to scream.

She was faster.

But fast doesn't always mean first.

"DRS now activated," the broadcast announced.

The next lap—she tried again. Down the main straight.
Her rear wing opened.

She moved to the left.
Lando weaved right.
She stayed cool.
He covered.

Nothing.

Liam looked up at me and whispered, "Is she gonna win?"

I kissed the top of his head.

"I don't know," I whispered back. "But she's trying. Really hard."