Page 64 of Cross the Line
‘I said I wanted slicks,’ I call out when I reach the pit wall.
One of the strategists shakes his head, turning in his seat to face me. ‘Dev, that’s not—’
‘Give me the slick tyres.’ I’m not asking any more. I won’t let these people fuck up my chances. Not this time. ‘I know this track, and the sun’s already out. If we’re going to maintain our stop strategy and keep P2, you need to put me on slicksnowinstead of waiting.’
‘Mascort is sending Zaid out on inters,’ he argues. ‘The only ones daring to go with slicks right now are the ones who have nothing to lose and are willing to take that risk.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m willing to take it too.’
He pauses, carefully assessing me. My jaw is set and my hands are planted on my hips. I’m not backing down from this. He can fight me, but deep down, he knows I’m right. They all do. It’s about whether they’re willing to take the risk with me.
‘Fine, all right.’ The strategist sighs, levelling me with a hard stare. ‘But if you crash, the blame lies solely with you. Be careful what you ask for.’
——
Sitting in the P2 grid box is absolutely surreal. It’s almost hard to remember the last time I was this far up – what it was like to have nothing but a beautifully clear straight in front of me.
There’s one thing I definitely remember, though. I may not have won an F1 championship yet, or even a race, but I’m an F3 and F2 champion in my own right. And champions never forget how it feels to win.
I was right about the track surface. The small, dark patches of wet tarmac shrink before my eyes as I wait for the remaining cars to finish the formation lap. There’s a very likely chance that I could catch one of those patches and spin out, especially on these tyres.
Passing Zaid is going to be the challenge of my life, but he’s starting on intermediate tyres. They’re not going to last long, and he’ll undoubtedly pit early. The only question is, will I be far enough ahead to maintain P1 when he does?
The lights go out once again, and I’m off the line nearly faster than Zaid, but he has a better getaway and I have to yield the first corner. We’re back on equal footing as we come out of it, battling for position as I fend off the cars behind. But down the next straight, I pass him – without the aid of DRS – all because of the tyres.
I’ve just passed Zaid fucking Yousef, my idol and the man I could only dream of being like. He’s a seven-time champion for a reason, though. Even with terrible tyres, he still has more skill, more experience and a better car, and he’s immediately back on me.
But the track is too dry for inters, and he falls back just a little, trying to find clean air, when we hit the next corner. He’ll have to pit soon, and he’ll lose time because of the tyre change. He’ll probably come out behind several other cars, if not dead last. It’ll take a hell of a lot to make up those places, and if I can push harder and expand the gap, I can win this.
Just as I expected, Zaid dives into the pit lane when we make it back around, and my next competitor is already several seconds behind, probably thanks to their unfortunate tyre choice as well.
‘Okay, Dev, you’re leading the race,’ Branny says in my ear. His voice is a little higher than usual, like he can’t believe it.
I can’t even blame him. The last time I had no one in front of me, I was winning my last F2 championship. But to lead my first F1 Grand Prix? God, I hope they can’t hear me laughing over the radio.
Still, I keep my head down and push. As the laps fly by, Zaid slowly works his way back up the field. I pit for new tyres on lap thirty-seven, one lap after Reid – who was previously the closest man behind me – does. The stop is blazingly fast, and I come back out ahead of Reid again, though I’m stuck behind a McMorris that’s yet to pit. Sure enough, two laps later, it heads for the pit lane, and I’m once again the race leader.
Fortunately, it’s difficult to pass on this circuit. And because of that, I actually have a chance to win. I just need to expand the gap between Reid and me and defend like I never have before once Zaid undoubtedly makes his way back up.
I can do this. I can win.
Branny continues to give me updates on driver positions and my lap times, guiding me through it all. Everything is going perfectly – even if none of this was in Argonaut’s plan. A win might not change much for them, but it absolutely does for me.
The future’s looking brighter than ever.
——
The moments after I cross the finish line in first are a blur.
There’s the chaos of congratulations over the radio while I navigate my way to parc fermé and come to a stop behind the first-place sign I thought I might never see again. There’s the crush of my team as I join them by the barrier meant to keep them back. I’m fielding shouts and back slaps and hugs so aggressive that I’ll probably have a cracked rib or two after this. I catch a glimpse of Willow’s curls in the crowd, but I can’t get to her, no matter how hard I try. And fuck me if I’m not doing everything I can.
Then there are officials leading me away to be weighed and guiding me to the post-race interview. I thank the team and my family, and I’m pretty sure I don’t say any swear words, but I’ll have to watch the playback later to actually know what happened. Then it’s the cool-down room with Zaid and Reid. I shake their hands and take in their commendations, but I’d be hard-pressed to remember their exact words.
But on the podium, everything comes into sharp focus.
I did it. Five years in Formula 1, over one hundred race starts, and I’m finally here. The American national anthem plays, representing both me and Argonaut. I’ve never loved the song more.
Champagne rains down on me as Reid and Zaid point their bottles in my direction, and I spray them in return, laughing so hard I’m not sure if the moisture dripping down my face is champagne or tears. This is it. This is what I’ve worked for, and now that I’ve had a taste, I want more. But for now, I’ll let this be enough.
