Page 35 of Dirty Air
“Right.” A German podium. He says it like they’re teammates, and Fritz wants to melt right where he’s standing.
Lucas pats Fritz on the back and wanders off, probably to talk shit to the Ferraro.
Without Lucas there to distract him, Fritz feels a weight on his shoulders. It’s probably nothing, but it seems like everyone is staring at him.
They might be—Fritz brought the VFIBR to the front of the grid after all. Not only that, but he’s in position for apodium.
A lot can change in twenty-three laps, but he’s still a driver at the very front of the pack.
He takes a second to breathe it all in before he hops up to the pit wall. The screens all display something different, the largest of which is the broadcast. Even through the rain, it’s clear that the safety barrier is still mangled.
They’ve only just brought in the cranes for the cars, so Fritz takes his helmet and balaclava off. “Rough crash.”
Henry jumps, but he recovers quickly. “We expected a safety car, but a red flag works better for us.” He pauses, looking over his shoulder, back to Fritz. “I’m sorry, that sounded insensitive. We made sure they were both fine before considering the benefits to the team.”
“Yes, of course.”
Henry turns back around, his pencil flying over his notebook as he watches replays, his back hunched. Fritz has never seen the man so stressed—which is extra strange considering they’re in a position for more success than Fritz has ever had in Formation 1.
“You are doing okay? I thought you would be happier to see our car here.”
The VFIBR is parked almost exactly where the controls are. Most of the drivers have a distance to walk to get to their own teams, since the top garages are at the pit lane entrance.
Henry raises his head and shakes it. “We can’t relax yet, the race isn’t finished. We’re testing strategies to figure out how to best attack Lucas. His lap time is consistently a full second faster than yours, but it looks like he falters at turn twelve. If you catch him there?—”
“We just worked out a strategy together, actually,” Fritz announces, proud of his networking abilities. “He will give me a tow if I can defend against the Ferraro. I can keep grip on the slippery corners and we could be looking at my first ever podium!”
“A tow to second?” Henry doesn’t look impressed. He looks the opposite of impressed. “And that’s good enough for you?”
Well, there’s no need for the harsh tone.
“Yes? It will be my first ever podium.” Did he forget? “Of course that sounds good to me.”
Henry swivels to face Fritz. He pulls his headphones down around his neck and crosses his arms. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you wanted towinraces.”
“I do want to win races.” But Fritz is still in a VFIBR. “Let us be realistic, how the fuck is my car supposed to overtake a Red Boar? How am I supposed to passLucas?”
Henry lurches upright and his stupid swivel chair whips back into place behind him. He’s several inches shorter, but under his piercing glare, Fritz is the one who feels small.
“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to win in a midfield car. If you want to drive for Red Boar, you won’t get there by riding Lucas’s coattails. You get there bywinning.” Henry stabs Fritz in the chest with his finger. “The difference between first place and second place is a whole fuckingrace win.”
“Tell me how the fuck you expect me to do it then, if it is so easy!” Fritz’s finger juts out, stabbing Henry’s chest right back. “You tell me to go win, but that does not mean anything if my car is notfast enough!”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, youcoward!Don’t give up before we even write the fucking strategy.”
The strategy engineer and Craig intercede, pulling the two apart before Fritz can do something stupid like punch Henry. Or blow him.
Why are those urges so similar?
“Fuck your strategy,” Fritz spits. “I am going to go out there and race.”
He shrugs off the arms holding him back, nearly punching his team principal in the process. He whips around and stomps across the pitlane, towards the garage. He can watch the broadcast there until it’s time to race again.
“Don’t you dare overtake him at turn fuckingtwelve!” Henryyells at his back. The strategy engineer tries to cover his mouth to no avail. “That’s mystrategy!”
Fritz turns around only to stick out his tongue but keeps walking.
“Mic check.”
