Page 20 of Not So Fast
“She was talking about how well you drove in the first two practice sessions. She made some crack about you being more than a pretty face.”
A smile fought to cross Xander’s lips, so he pressed them together tightly. “She’s a funny one.”
“As long as she’s on our side.”
“Right.”
Xander strolled into the garage and actually didn’t recoil when he saw Dirk. The fact that Xander had outperformed Dirk in all three free practice sessions helped. Hopefully, that would continue for qualifying. He put on his gear and climbed into the car, laser-focused. His heart pounded in his chest. Yes, he was desperately clinging to any and all success these days, but when things hadn’t gone your way in a while, it was a natural response. Perhaps it was good for him to feel desperate. It would keep him hungry. And that would help him keep his seat in F1. There was only room for twenty drivers in this sport, and there were hundreds of young drivers dying to take his place.
He had to earn it. Every day.
* * *
Mia sat with her chin on the balcony, overlooking the pit lane. Monza was a charming place, but attending a race byherself was starting to wear on her. It wasn’t that much fun, especially since her host had ghosted her. When she’d attend races in Austin, she might not have been hanging out in the paddock club, but she always had a friend or two to keep her company. She enjoyed sharing this sport with others. It was part of the fun. It was part of the reason for her podcast.
Below her she heard the telltale roar of an engine as the first car came out of its garage and headed down the pit lane to start qualifying. Finally, some excitement. Now to see if Xander’s performance in practice would hold up in qualifying.
* * *
Xander made it through Q1, a feat that had often been a given before this season, but had become a victory in its own right. And now he felt like he’d owned his final lap of Q2, but he wasn’t sure.
“Tell me I got through. Tell me we got it,” he said over the radio to his engineer soon after he crossed the finish line.
“You’re P10. Through to Q3. Great job.”
Xander couldn’t believe the wave of relief that rushed through his body. It was his first Q3 of the year.
Maybe Mia Neal really was a good-luck charm. And this time, she washisgood luck. Not Dirk’s.
* * *
As annoyed as Mia was with Xander, she was about to leap out of her own skin during Q3. Xander’s lap times had only been good enough to put him in ninth place thus far, an achievement for sure, but she was certain he’d be wanting more than that. She watched as Emilio raced across the finish line, setting a time no one would ever beat.
Come on, Xander. One more flying lap, she thought, wondering if she was losing all objectivity. She probably shouldn’t be so invested in him doing well.
* * *
Come on, Xander. You can bloody well do this. Just a few more corners. That’s it. Gun the throttle. You’ve got it.
He hit the straight. Flew across the finish line.
“Where’d we end up?” he asked his engineer.
“Waiting for Laurent and Hubbard to finish.”
His chest heaved. His back ached. He’d put a lot into those laps.
“All right, Xander. Looks like P7 for tomorrow.”
It felt like the sun had just come up. Like it was a new day. In some ways it felt like he’d justwontherace. And although that was a sign of exactly how far he’d fallen this season, he was so damn grateful to be on an upward swing.
“Xander? You there?”
“Yeah, mate. That’s bloody brilliant. Thank you. Thank you for everything. Cheers to the whole team.”
“We’re super proud of you. Excellent driving. Now let’s just replicate that for tomorrow.”
Xander silently nodded, finishing his cool-down lap. Somewhere up in the stands, Mia Neal was watching. He had a lingering desire to see her reaction to his performance. To know firsthand that she’d not only seen that lap, but that she’d also seen he wasn’t a loser. But he couldn’t spend his time seeking external validation, especially from someone who might turn on him. He needed to focus on himself and the job ahead. And Mia was nothing but a beautiful distraction.
