Page 18 of Formula Chance

The engineers talk easily among one another, but not to me. I’m the only new member to the team and they’ve all got established bonds. While I’ve not been overtly excluded, I haven’t been fully included yet. Which is fine. I’m here to do my job, not make best friends.

I pull the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder and push my sunglasses up my sweating nose, watching the bustle as tourists meander along the Corniche. I try to envision what it will look like in two days when open practices start and fans flock to the grandstands to watch the cars making their last runs, which will spur my team to make adjustments. Today, teams are running final checks, drivers are gathering their thoughts, and engineers bustle about like ants on a mission. Tonight is the sponsor party, where all the teams and their owners and sponsors hobnob.

When we enter the track facilities, I drop back a little farther from the rest of the team, unwinding the hijab from my head. It’s a beautiful piece of material that Brienne Norcross had made for the women on the team, done in Titans purple with silver threads shot through. I tuck it into my purse as I stroll among the buildings and roll up my shirt sleeves to mid arm.

Walking through the paddock, I see the team tents all set up, massive Titans Racing logos gleaming in the fading sunlight. Beyond the tents is the back entrance to the garage which leads out to pit lane, and above the garage are the meeting rooms and hospitality suite. Our gear is here, our team ready, and my nerves crackle with anticipation. I’ve worked so hard to get here. I’ve attended hundreds of races at all levels, but I’ve never been in charge of the strategy of something so important. It’s no longer just about handling the data and making adjustments from a comfortable office or behind closed doors. It’s about making split-second decisions that can cost or win a race.

In just four short days, my career will either take off or break down, depending on how my strategy pans out. No pressure at all.

“Bexley!”

I turn, recognizing the voice of Harley Patrick, the team principal for Crown Velocity. While it’s certainly newsworthy that the chief race strategy engineer for Titans Racing is a female, Harley burst through the glass ceiling by becoming the number one for that team. She’s the first and only female in that position in formula racing, the ultimate pinnacle, and she knows her way around a racetrack, having been behind the wheel herself.

A wide grin splits her face as she winds between people walking the main concourse. When she reaches me, she gives me a hard hug.

Harley and I have known each other for years, as there are so few women in motorsports that you tend to bond with them. “How are you settling in?” she asks, then throws her thumb over her shoulder. “I just ran into Brienne, and she was chattering on about you as one of her prized additions to the team.”

Pride swells within me even as my mouth falls open slightly in shock. “She said that?”

Harley laughs, linking her arm through mine, and we continue to walk. “Of course she did. She expects big things of you.”

“Jeez. No pressure,” I mutter.

“But seriously,” she says, squeezing my arm. “How are things going?”

“I feel confident,” I reply, my smile softening. “I’m just trying to stay focused, you know?”

“Want to share your strategy with me?” she asks with mirth.

“Only if you share yours with me?” I reply with a laugh.

“We both know that’s not going to happen.” She stops and turns to face me. “But just so you know, I’m watching you. Don’t be surprised if Crown comes knocking on your door.”

My face flushes at the thought that this woman might want me on her team. Her words reinforce and validate the importance of what I’ve achieved. I nod in appreciation, but I’m also aware that there’s a lot of work ahead. I can’t let myself get sucked into the fantasy that I might be so good as to be solicited. I haven’t even made it through my first FI race yet.

Her hand squeezes my arm. “Good luck. You got this. And don’t forget, it’s such a huge win for women in motorsports. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you.”

I blink hard to dispel the sting in my eyes. “Thank you.”

“I got to go. We’ll talk at the sponsor party tonight, okay?”

“Sure,” I say as she starts sidestepping away from me with a wave. Her attention is already on someone else she sees down the way and she’s calling out to them.

I check my watch—four-thirty p.m. I really don’t have anything to do until the track walk. There’s no one here I’m close with, and so I had planned to sit in my small office on the second floor, running through the data that I’ve now memorized since I’ve gone through it so many times.

But I don’t want to be cooped up. Even though it’s hot as Hades out here, I love the energy buzzing around all the team garages. This race is monumental for me and I should take some time to experience it all.

I stroll along the paddock line, taking in the activity. The British flag hangs up ahead on the Union Jack Motorsports tent, clashing with the team colors of yellow, black and gray. No one from my dad’s days works there anymore, but I know some of the guys and wave as I pass by. There are three FI teams based out of Great Britain—Crown Velocity, Union Jack Motorsports and Britannia Performance. You’d think there’d be some sort of extra camaraderie based on nationality, but truthfully, every member of every team is far too competitive. Besides, formula racing transcends national ties. The sport is too international, each team an incredible blend of people from all over the world. While English is the primary language spoken, if you open your ears, you’ll hear a kaleidoscope of accents and dialects.

I can’t help but smile as I spy Carlos Moreno sitting in a chair under his team’s tent, surfing his phone. Carlos is from Mexico and the number one driver for Union Jack. He’s that guy in the sport who everyone loves, and I doubt anyone could find a bad word to say about him. He’s an excellent driver, has tremendous sportsmanship and a devilish sense of humor.

His head lifts as I approach, and a wide smile breaks out on his face. He stands, pocketing his phone, and opens his arms. “Ah… mi hermosa Bex,” he croons.

“What did you just call me?” I ask, laughing as we hug.

He pulls back, hands at my arms, and looks me in the eye. “I called youmy beautiful Bex. It’s been a long time, no?”

“Far too long and I’m in no way beautiful,” I admonish, giving him a playful push to his chest.

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