“Right, better get back. Stealing first place won’t be easy. Need to go prepare!” I flashed my brother a sly grin, pointedly ignoring hiscolorfullanguage.
“Alright, time to get in the car, G. Race is about to start,” Mel yelled into the garage.
I hoisted myself into the driver’s seat. A bead of sweat trickled down my temple as I clipped my radio into place and tugged on my gloves. Just before pulling down the visor, I gave my water pouch a quick squeeze.
God, I was going to need this.
The sun blazed above, relentless and unbothered, and I pulled up to the eighth spot on the starting grid, my heart racing with adrenaline. The start of a Formula 1 race always felt like being at the top of a rollercoaster just before the thrilling drop. Magical was the only way to describe it.
The first light went red, followed by four more.
Then lights out.
In a matter of seconds, I had advanced two places due to poor starts from the cars in front of me. The first few corners were chaos—heat shimmered off the asphalt, tires screamed, and the blur of liveries jostled for position. Another car retired just ahead, overheated, most likely.
“Fourth place, G. Order is Henri, Luca, Lily. Let’s push,” Mel called into the radio.
“Roger.” I tore another cover off my visor. “It’s real hot in here, Mel. Everything okay?” I mumbled into the radio.
“Car is fine.”
“Doesn’t feel fine.” The heat was a slow, choking grip around my chest. Struggling to focus, I squinted at the road ahead, my hands gripping the steering wheel as I pushed through the sweltering heat. I went to suck on my drinks pouch, but nothing came out.
Oh, fuck.This was not the race for my water to break. I debated on mentioning it to the team, but there was little anyone could do at this point.
Just grin and bear it, Georgia.
By lap forty, I had closed the gap between me and Lily, with my car practically tailgating hers. “Tell Isabelle I have the faster race pace. Lily needs to get out of the way if she’s going to drive this slowly.” Not one of my finer moments, demanding to be let past my teammate, but I knew I could overtake her, even with the draining heat.
“Hold,” was all Mel responded.
“No, tell Isabelle that either Lily gives me the position or I’ll take it from her.”
Isabelle had made it clear that while I was the lead driver, she wasn’t about to take podiums away from my teammate, even if I needed the championship points.
To my surprise, Mel popped back with good news. “Lily has been instructed to give you her position. Make it quick.” As soon as the track opened up, I swung wide, passing her on the straight, and bolted into P3.
“Thanks.” Regardless of how embarrassed I felt from my outburst, I was P3, and Luca was only five seconds ahead of me. With my fresher tires, there was still time for me to catch up to the pace set by the Hermes drivers.
Beads of sweat dripped down my forehead and stung my eyes, my helmet feeling heavier with each passing second. Despite the intense heat and increasing exhaustion, all I could think about was catching Luca’s car, but as I closed the gap between us, my vision began to blur and my head throbbed with pain, making it hard to concentrate on anything but my racing heartbeat. I reached for my straw out of pure instinct and got nothing, again. My lips and mouth were completely dry, yet so much salty sweat was dripping down my face, I felt like I’d just taken a swim in the ocean.
“Ten laps to go.” I pressed the radio button to respond, but no words came out. “G, you slowed down last lap. All okay?”
No. Opening my mouth, I tried to get something out, but I couldn’t find the words to tell her how I was feeling, didn’t want to embarrass myself on international TV by admitting I was failing to keep up with Luca because I couldn’t stand the lack of water.
Or the heat.
The journalists had spent Friday and Saturday commenting on my heat exhaustion, and now all I could think about was not letting them be right.
“Gap is now three seconds.” Her tone told me she already knew I wasn’t going to close it. No one said anything on the radio after that, and I knew the team had accepted that I was going to finish third.
“Last lap. Can you push for the fastest lap? Henri currently holds it.” Getting “fastest lap” gave me an extra point in the championship, and every point mattered.
“Fuck it, Georgia, let’s push,” I mumbled to myself.
Focusing on the track, I let everything else fade away. The humming of my engine was the only sound I could hear, the blur of colors as my car sped by the jam-packed grandstands the only sight I could see. After an excruciating race, I was flying in what was probably my best lap of a Grand Prix this season. I might have been blinded by the heat, but I would be damned if I was going to let my brother take this one tiny victory from me.
As I slid past the finish line, Mel popped on to the radio. “That’s P8 to P3, G, and fastest lap. Stellar race in this dreadful heat! Unfortunately, Lily had an issue with the battery which forced her to DNF. Race order is Henri, Luca, you.”
