Page 83 of The Fast Track

27.

Austin, Texas

Circuit of the Americas

United States Grand Prix

Our last race of theseason is in my backyard. Or, as close to my backyard as these races ever get.

Austin is the first Formula 1 weekend I ever attended in person. It was amazing watching the drivers live—the roar of the engines, the way the cars appeared and disappeared so quickly you missed it if you blinked. Even Mom admitted how fun it was on the flight back home, though I think she got a bigger kick out of the Taylor Swift concert than the actual grand prix.

The morning of the Feature Race, Roz and I agree to meet at the hotel breakfast buffet for strategy review. When I get to the dining area, though, she’s staring at her phone with round eyes, the jumbo omelet in front of her untouched.

“You okay?” I set my tray down and sit across from her.

“You know that employee Marino was investigating for abuse? It’s Thompson. He’s getting sacked.”

“Really?” I nearly drop my spoon into my banana flaxseed oatmeal. Maybe I shouldn’t be so shocked that a team is taking harassment seriously enough to discipline their F1 driver, but I am.

“I know. There’s nothing official announced yet, but Uncle Lou says he heard from good sources that Thompson’s contract isn’t getting renewed.”

“Do you think Marino would poach someone for the seat or promote one of their F2 guys?”

“Dunno. They’re gonna have their pick of the paddock, though.”

I tamp down the ray of optimism flaring within me. I have to redeem my reputation in F3 before I lose myself in any Marino daydreams. I may have clawed my way back into Orbital, but there’s no way in hell or high water I’m still Lou Wilson’s lead horse for their F2 seat.

I take a bite of my breakfast and focus on the matter at hand. “All right—how’s the day looking?”

“Dry race, minimal wind,” Roz reports in between mouthfuls of veggie omelet.

“Perfect.” As close to ideal weather as it gets in Texas. This is the only circuit we race at where the script is flipped: I have the most experience on this track compared to the guys who grew up racing in Europe. Which means with good weather, I’ll be able to make the most of my advantage.

“Tell me the scenario analysis again.” I take a sip of the hydration juice Mom concocted this morning fromGatorade, coconut juice, and god knows what else.

“Dream scenario: You’re P1; Cameron’s P2. Orbital sweeps the team championship, Cameron’s Drivers’ Champ and you’re runner-up. If you and Cameron are flipped, same team result, but Sasha’s runner-up instead of you.”

I make a face. The Drivers’ Championship is mathematically out of the cards for me after missing a race, but after my close call with not having a seat at all, I’m grateful I can still compete. Even if it means I have to do one more year in F3, with a team I now know will only back me when it’s convenient.

“I know.” Roz sighs.

“And if I win, but Sasha’s second and Cameron’s third?”

“Sasha becomes Drivers’ Champ,” Roz says. “Please don’t let that happen. His engineer is as big of a twat as he is—I don’t want any of those knobheads at Triton gloating.”

“Don’t worry, we got this. The only gloating is going to be from Orbital,” I promise.

“Big words for someone who doesn’t have a seat.”

Sasha Devin is standing over us, a sneer on his face and a half-empty yogurt cup in his hand.

“Good morning to you too.” I roll my eyes.

“Don’t you know better than to hang about some place you’re not welcome?” He laughs nastily. “Georgios is driving in your place for the last race.”

“Wrong, I’m driving in my place.” I smile sweetly. How convenient for him if that’d been the case—one less opponentfor the race, and by extension, one less opponent for the Orbital F2 seat.

Sasha’s mouth pulls down. “After theWeekly Mailarticle? What is Frank thinking?”