Page 36 of Falling Fast
‘It’s for your own safety,’ I admonish him. ‘The team need to monitor your body’s levels, especially today.’
I wait outside for him to put on his race suit and then we head to the garage together, dodging photographers and journalists as we go. We don’t talk, partly because I’m still feeling embarrassed about the whole staring incident, but mainly because I know he has to mentally prepare for the race ahead.
I really don’t envy him today. The Hungaroring is popular with fans, but it’s one of the most challenging circuits for drivers, consisting mostly of corners, with barely any straights at all. A lot of people compare it to a karting track, which isn’t a huge problem since most drivers start out in karting, but it means that overtaking is tricky and tyres wear out faster than normal. On some circuits, it’s possible to get away without any pit-stops at all, but this isn’t one of them. It means driver skill and strategy are more important than ever.
Leif goes round the garage, fist-bumping and chatting with his mechanics, while Corey does the same on the oppositeside. They put in their earpieces, pulling on their balaclavas and helmets after, so they can listen to the team radio while driving, and climb into their cars. One of the mechanics then does up their seat belts before they pull on their gloves and slowly roll out.
I stand to one side, ready to deal with any media enquiries. The grid is perfectly coordinated chaos, bustling with people and equipment, a sensory overload that makes it impossible to take everything in. Out on the track, meanwhile, Leif does a couple of installation laps before slowing to a stop and waiting for his mechanics, who immediately rush out, raise his car on to trolleys and wheel it to his starting box.
That’s my cue to head into the throng, taking a cooling vest, bottle of water and baseball cap with me. It’s essential to keep the drivers as chilled and hydrated as possible, even if it’s just for a few minutes. In an average race, they can lose up to 3 kilos of sweat, but nothing about today is average. Around me, all the teams are busy setting up fans and dry-ice machines, blowing cool air into cockpits to keep the temperature down.
‘Here you go.’ I hand Leif the cooling vest. He has already removed his helmet and balaclava, and peeled his race suit down to his waist.
‘Thanks.’ His cheeks are flushed. ‘This is going to be a tough one.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ I say, though I’m not certain which of us I’m trying to reassure. ‘Just don’t …’ I start to add and then stop.
‘What?’ He quirks an eyebrow.
‘Nothing.’ I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, feeling self-conscious again.
‘It was something.’ He tilts his head to one side, his eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘What was it?’
‘Fine. I was just going to say, don’t be a hero. If you feel like you’re about to pass out, you should stop. Points aren’t everything.’
‘I’ll try to remember that.’ His gaze lingers on mine for a long moment before he twists his head, obviously listening to his earpiece. ‘Ten minutes until the national anthem. I’d better go and speak to my race engineer.’
‘Right.’ I step away. ‘Good luck.’
I WATCH THE RACE in the motorhome with Vienna and Emika. I don’t know if the frontrunners are being extra careful today or they’re just feeling drained in the heat, but they’re all driving sluggishly. After fifty laps, nothing has changed in the top four other than Shimizu taking third place from Quaid at the first corner. If it weren’t for the excitement in the mid field, I’d be fast asleep by now. Both Leif and Corey are driving brilliantly, while our strategy and pit crews have been phenomenal. There was one worrying moment when Corey locked up at turn three and missed the chicane, inadvertently overtaking a Chiltern, but after giving the place back he managed to slip past at the next corner anyway.
The biggest problem is the complete absence of a safety car. Usually, there’s at least one during a race, giving the drivers a chance to turn their engines down and harvest power. The majority of teams plan for this eventuality, putting in slightly less petrol than needed for a full race to keep the cars lighter, but despite the heat today no one has retired or even broken down. Which is a good thing, obviously, only it means there’s a risk – a small one – of the cars running out of fuel in thelast few laps. It’s all down to the race engineers to manage the engines.
I hold my breath as the drivers head into the last lap. Leif is in fifth now, Corey in seventh. If they finish where they are, it means sixteen points in total. Sixteen points! I’m so excited at the prospect I barely even notice when Quezada’s Jaxon Marr takes first place, closely followed by Gio, then Shimizu and Quaid.
Leif comes round the last corner, heading for the chequered flag. Erikkson is close behind him, aiming for an overtake on the straight. It’s close, but then Leif blocks him and …
‘Yes!’ Vienna, who’s sat uncharacteristically silent and motionless for the past two hours, springs out of her seat the moment it’s over, punching the air like she thinks Philip Sawyer is standing in front of her.
I leap up too, then immediately sway sideways, just catching the back of my chair in time to stop myself from tumbling over. Thankfully Vienna and Emika are too busy celebrating to notice. I feel a little weird, but it’s likely only a head-rush from getting up too quickly – that combined with all the excitement. I can’t dip out now anyway, not when there are post-race interviews to do.
‘Come on!’ Emika is already rushing towards the exit. ‘We need to get down there.’
I take a moment to pull myself back together and then follow her, running to meet the drivers in the pit lane. Leif and Corey must be completely shattered; their race suits are so drenched in sweat it’s like they’ve just run a marathon. But they’re grinning from ear to ear, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders as they stagger towards us.
‘Sixteen points, baby!’ Corey calls out.
‘Hell, yes!’ Emika high-fives him.
‘You were the best drivers of the day,’ I say, my eyes drawn towards Leif as he pushes a hand through his hair. It’s so damp it sticks upright. ‘Diamandis only scored one point, which means –’
He finishes for me, his eyes lighting up. ‘We’re in fifth place in the team rankings.’
‘We have to do press,’ Emika interrupts. ‘But afterwards we’re celebrating properly, OK?’
‘Deal.’ Corey lifts his water bottle. ‘Lead the way.’
‘Leif!’ an interviewer calls out, thrusting a microphone into his face the moment we enter the press pen. ‘Congratulations on fifth place. This is your best result since Melbourne. How good does that feel?’
