Page 55 of Dirty Air
P10, one point, a pat on the shoulder.
P12, zero points, a promise that next week they’ll be more prepared.
If Henry wants them to stay professional, Fritz will keep it professional.
He’ll sit next to him during lunch, digest the numbers, and not taste any of Henry’s food. He will take regular showers without champagne. Ones where he stands the entire time.
They’re civilized people. They both want to win and they’ll work together to make it happen.
But sometimes, Henry says something innocuous, like “Yes, just like that” or “You’ve got it” or—the absolute worst—“Push this lap” and suddenly, Fritz doesn’t feel quite as civilized anymore.
Still, he powers through.
After high winds cause track limit lap deletions throughout the grid, Fritz qualifies sixth for the Indian Grand Prix.
He jumps out of his car and hugs anyone he can get an arm around—whether they’re on his team or not. If there was ever a weekend to do well, this is the one.
Back in his hotel room, Fritz studies the race from previous years, focusing on the drivers starting around him. His biggest hurdle will be Rafael parked behind, but he keeps an eye out for Lucas and Sam in the Red Boars as well.
“Do you think Ferraro’s struggles in Australia could mean a similar struggle this weekend?” he murmurs as he types, sending as soon as he finishes.
Fritz pauses, considering. “They were strong here last year,though. The two tracks feel similar to me, but is there something about the track conditions that lends itself better to Ferraro’s race than in Australia? Or do you think their upgrades for the year might disrupt their performance?”
Fritz replays the video again. “They are slow to start. I know my reaction time is better than this.”
He’s not expecting Henry to answer him until he wakes up, so he’s surprised to get a “Go to sleep” text followed immediately by “It’s 3 in the fucking morning?!! Why are you awake???”
It’s probably rhetorical, but Fritz answers.
I am studying.
Most race engineers would be happy to hear that I take my job seriously.
Most race engineers would think you were trying to steal their jobs.
Go to sleep.
We can review tomorrow morning.
This morning.
Several hours from now.
Jesus Christ.
Fritz catches Henry on the way to the canteen and backtracks so he doesn’t lose him. He’s in the middle of reiterating the texts that Henry never responded to when the race engineer stops him.
“Aren’t you tired?”
“Actually, no.” Fritz takes another long swig from his can of sugar free Red Boar. It tastes like how battery acid looks, but Fritz will take whatever works.
“You shouldn’t actually drink that stuff, you’re an athlete.”
“It’s good luck for today.”
“What is it with you this weekend? Do you have family ties to India I don’t know about?”
It’s probably supposed to be a secret, but Fritz is practically vibrating with excitement. “My dad and I are meeting with Adam Stone today, after the race. If I do well? If I get a good start and defend against the Ferraro? I could be signing a Red Boar contracttonight!”
