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My car shudders, the grip of my tires slowly becoming less stable as I continue to drive down the track. After another lap, I pit and my team absolutely smashes it, completing the stop in under one point seven seconds—a new F1 record.
“Nice work, Chris. Good call.” I eat up the distance between the Bandini boys and my car, leaving little room for error if they do anything rash. The three of us move in tandem and conduct a beautifully executed turn. Noah and Santiago drive side by side at the next straight, their red paint glossy under the afternoon sun. Their front wings remain parallel to one another as Noah tries to inch up ahead of his teammate.
The next turn approaches quickly. Noah remains concentrated on Santiago and not letting him overtake at the corner to the point that he forgets about me.
I rush by the two of them, leaving them behind in my side mirror. My soft tires push me faster than theirs. The team goes ballistic in my earpiece, screaming as I solidify my first-place spot. I smile at the crowd’s roars competing with the rumbling of my engine.
I aggressively hold on to my first-place position because I don’t want Bandini to gain confidence. Like an addict, I live for this high, becoming a lifetime junkie for adrenaline.
“Liam, you’re an absolute animal today. Good work.” Chris congratulates me while I run my last lap.
I lift my fist up into the air the moment I pass the checkered flag. Chris plays one of my favorites as I race down the track once more for a victory lap, the sounds of The Killers’ “Mr. Brightside” crooning through my earpiece.
I hope Sophie likes the color gray because she’ll look killer in my number. She should blame herself for my plans. After all, I learned from the best.
