Page 65 of Dirty Air
I am so sorry.
Adam invited me to watch from this garage.
I will be cheering for VFIBR in secret.
Henry’s out with the rest of the VFIBR crew on the track, helping the kid get situated before the race. Still, Fritz stares at his phone, hoping for a response. Hoping for something that will absolve him.
Glad you’re okay. - Henry
Why does it hurt so much?
Fritz hasn’t watched a race from his own garage, but it’s intimidating to be on the sidelines at Red Boar. There are frustrated shouts of “COMEON!” when Lucas is overtaken, and simple “There you go”s when Lucas regains his position.
Any time Fritz passes someone in a VFIBR, a band of divine light illuminates his garage and a choir of angels sings.
Red Boar is a high-pressure, high-intensity environment—but that’s expected for a top field team. They’re not fucking around, they’re winning championship titles. And Fritz will be expected to perform as such.
It’s a rush when Lucas’s team pulls a sudden surprise pit stop, forcing every other driver to adjust their strategy. He pops out of the pitlane behind William in the VFIBR and, even on new tires that haven’t completely warmed yet, Lucas still has the engine strength and know-how to power past him.
Lucas overtakes the rest of the midfield like he’s conducting asymphony. He glides between the other drivers, half of whom don’t even defend when they see the Red Boar gaining in their mirrors. It’s not worth the tire deg to fight a losing battle.
Fritz tries to pay attention to Lucas’s race engineer, to hear what Lucas is hearing, but all it does is make his phone burn hotter in his pocket.
Is it presumptuous to think Henry would still want to race with him? Would Henry be willing to change teams—to upend his entire life again—to continue racing with Fritz? Or did Fritz’s unrequited crush make for the most embarrassing contract clause in existence?
Would Fritz have to relive the same rejection year after year?
Lucas wins by just over twelve seconds, and his mother invites Fritz to stand at the receiving line with her.
He gestures to his cast. “You go ahead, I’ll watch it on TV.”
The kid was lapped, so his placement is set in stone. P16. Not bad for a beginner. It was about Fritz’s average his rookie year.
Henry would probably prefer him—someone bright eyed, eager to win, and happy-go-lucky. He has a long way to go, but Henry could get him there. He managed to work with Fritz, after all.
Is Fritz making a mistake? Is he just some rookie with a good team getting shoved up the ranks faster than he can handle?
Red Boar isn’t his home, it’s a win-hungry cult that takes even Lucas’s level of talent for granted.
The only reason anyone is interested in Fritz is because of the British GP win, but Henry orchestrated that. If Fritz had his way, he would’ve boxed far before the red flag. He would’ve been lucky to finish in the points.
Fritz doesn’t deserve Lucas’s seat—it’s too big of a role to fill. Too big for some other German driver to just waltz in and claim. Too big for some inexperienced,stupid, big-headed?—
Thankfully, the garage is empty. Everyoneelse is too busy celebrating to notice him. Fritz shoves himself against a corner. Hiding away, behind a mound of equipment, he calls Dieter.
“Hello?”
“I cannot do it,” he breathes out.
“Fritz?” That’s not Dieter’s voice.“Are you okay? What can’t you do?”
Fritz looks at his phone screen to confirm, but of course it’s Henry. He forgot about the missed calls at the beginning of the race—he’d just redialed his most recent contact. But once he starts, he can’t stop talking.
“Red Boar. It is too much, too big. They expect to winevery single time.I have only won one race, and even that was a fluke! Everyone here will hate me if I sign, I cannot do it.”
There’s a clatter in the background of the other line, and Henry doesn’t fully cover the phone’s microphone when he says, “Go without me. Family emergency.”
“I am sorry.” Of course, Fritz must be interrupting the after-race engineer meeting, “I did not mean to call, but I panicked.”
