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Luca just walked in and gave me a smug grin, slapping me on the shoulder, as if to congratulate me for the kiss we had both just partaken in. I was a little annoyed at that. I was supposed to have the upper hand here. The cocky bastard was still cocky even when he didn’t have a right to be.
After the cool-down room and podium ceremony, Luca, Oscar, and I were shuffled into the press conference room – or, as I liked to call it,the lion’s den. I walked in first and took my spot at the end. Oscar walked in next, and as soon as he saw me, he gave me another high five, a huge grin on his face. It was no secret that the Rennen F1 Team had some issues this year, but Oscar was driving the car phenomenally. He no doubt had a long future at Rennen, and he was clearly buzzing after this podium.
Only a few seconds later, Luca walked in, his clothing still drenched in champagne. We were supposed to clean up before these post-race press conferences, but it was clear the Hermes team had kept on partying. Luca walked in and gave me a huge grin, winking at me in the process. There was no other way to describe it: Luca looked like the cat that had got the cream.
Oh God, am I going to have to drive his Lamborghini back to the hotel? I contemplated Luca’s drunkenness and immediately knew my answer. I wasn’t sure what was worse, losing the race or having to drive a Lamborghini home, but I accepted it as my punishment for losing.If I had won the race, I wouldn’t have had to drive home at all; I’d be the one sloshed at the press conference.
I heard Oscar giggle as Luca walked in and gave him a huge high-five. As soon as Luca took his seat, the presenter’s voice came on over the loudspeaker, and the press conference began.I sucked in a deep breath. I knew I was going to have to discuss the terrible spin that had ultimately lost me the race. I could feel my hands start to get clammy, anxiety slowly starting to take over my body – like a python circling its prey. I hated discussing my racing errors.What did they want me to say?I knew I had fucked up. The media knew it. The team knew it. The fans knew it.
“Let’s start with Luca. Luca, congrats on a well-deserved win here at home for you. How does it feel?”
“Incredible, just incredible. This has been a dream of mine since I was a child, to win at Monza in a Formula 1 car, and now here I am.” I felt some warmth go through me at Luca’s response. I knew how important winning at home was.
“So Luca, when you saw Georgia spin behind you, what were you thinking? Were you slightly relieved, knowing that your main race competitor was going to lose some time on her lap?” I didn’t think the journalist meant it to sound quite so rude, but Luca didn’t look amused by the question.
“No, my first thought was, ‘Is mygirlfriendokay.’ You never want to win a race because another racer puts themselves in potential danger. We’re competitive, but ultimately, there are only twenty-two of us in the world. I know many of you find this hard to believe, but we’re also friends. Once I knew Georgia was okay, I put my head down and focused onmyrace.”
I looked over to Luca and smiled. His eyes were still facing the journalist, but I could see them slightly shift to the right as if he were observing me while he gave his answer.
So much for having the upper hand,I thought to myself.
“The next one is for Georgia. Georgia, you almost had Luca at the end. Tell us, what happened in the car today?”
“Unfortunately, I made an error in the car, which caused it to spin. I was fortunate that the spin was minor, and I was able to recover quickly in order to grab P2. We were close at the end, but I am pleased to end with P2, keeping me in the championship lead with some solid points.” I applauded myself for the casual response, and I felt confident in my answer.
“Sure, you’re in the lead now, but aren’t you worried mistakes like this will keep you from winning the championship? All these small mistakes add up to something.” The journalist looked at me with a sturdy face, clearly unhappy that I had mentioned my championship lead. The second he asked the question, my blood started to boil. The frustrated part of me wanted to stand up and throw my water at the journalist, but since Sassy Dubois was meant to be left at home, I opted for a deep breath. I had a Maison de Klotho sponsorship to worry about it.
“That applies to all the drivers. Yes, small mistakes happen, but champions don’t make them every race. If I am to win this championship, I can’t worry about what will happen in the next race. I just have to focus on winning. A mistake happened this race. I’m not worried about the next race until I’m in the car again.”I knew it was a good answer because I saw Lizzie in the back give me a thumbs up, a rarity at my press conferences.
“Sure, champions don’t make these mistakes every race; that’s evident by Eric Spencer and Noah Hendriks’s past wins. But, so far, you’ve made three mistakes in the last six races. How do you account for that and still think you’ll win the championship? You’re only a few points ahead of Henri and Noah. That’s just a couple of third-place finishes, and then they take the lead.”
Before I could stop myself, I felt my legs start to move. I was now standing, my fists clenched, and my face scrunched up. The entire world was red.
“What the fuck is wrong with you people?”I yelled, looking straight into the eyes of the sports reporter who was now standing in front of me. He looked, to be fair, a little taken aback. He had clearly wanted to antagonize me, but I don’t think he was expecting this kind of outburst.
“What do you want me to say? No, I plan on making a small mistake every weekend.Can’t wait to lose the championship!”I threw my hands up in the air, my frustration growing with each word. “I have a car that is 15x more reliable than Henri’s Hermes F1 car and 20x more reliable than Noah’s Blaue Flügel F1 team car. At least I’m on the podium every race, mistakes or not.” I felt a hand on my shoulder. Luca was standing behind me. His face was soft, his eyes deep with concern. He laced his hand in mine and smiled at me, that huge, beautiful smile.
Before Luca could say anything, Oscar piped up. “Want to know why Georgie is going to win the championship this year? It’s because you guys have spent the last six races pissing her off; nothing motivates an athlete more than proving the media wrong. Plus, she’s got the only car that doesn’t look like a whale coming up for air,” he added with a laugh.
I turned to Oscar and smiled, giving Luca a silent squeeze of his hand. I walked back to my chair and plopped myself down with an exasperated sigh. Isabelle wasn’t going to be pleased, but at that moment, I didn’t care.
There was some silence in the room and a few awkward chuckles after Oscar’s comment. Finally, another journalist broke the ice, and the questions continued for another seven minutes.
No one dared ask me a question after that outburst.Good. I was over it.
Lizzie met me at the front, a deep look of disapproval on her face. I just stormed past her. What could I say to make this better? We entered the Valkyrie garage, and I saw both Fiona and Isabelle waiting in Isabelle’s office. Once Isabelle saw me, she called me into her room.Her look told me everything I needed to know.
“What is wrong with you?” Isabelle was staring directly into my eyes, her piercing green eyes once again assessing my every move.
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. Isabelle let out an exasperated groan and sat behind her desk, putting her hands on her head. There was an awkward silence around us, and I could tell she was thinking.
“When are you going to learn to ignore the journalists? They are rubbish. You know this. Why give them what they want?” she asked.
“When are the journalists going to learn to treat me like a human being?” I snapped.
“When you show them you are one.” Isabelle picked up her head and shot me a pointed look, and I knew what that look meant. She was a believer that we taught others by example – by being a leader, and as the lead driver, Iwasthe team leader.
Isabelle was definitely a believer in 'when they go low, we go high.' I was starting to be more of a believer in, ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold.' I would beat them at their game one day, but today was not that day.
