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chibrary · 7 months ago

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Some at the team knew he was the man for the job, but Charles Leclerc's procurement of a seat relied on a neat bit of manoeuvring in order for their boss to agree to a deal.

We're not talking here about the delay that followed Sergio Marchionne's death before Leclerc gained a 2019 Ferrari Formula 1 drive, rather his maiden season of car racing in the '14 Formula Renault ALPS series.

Fortec Motorsport engineer Martin Young knew all about the talents of the 16-year-old Monegasque driver.

"My background is in karting," he explains. "I used to work for the factory teams in Italy. I knew the drivers to watch from karting would be Max Verstappen, Ben Barnicoat and Charles Leclerc, and Fortec wanted to run teams in Eurocup, NEC and ALPS."

It's worth explaining here that in those days Formula Renault 2.0 operated as a pyramid structure, with the Eurocup at the top, and the Dutch-promoted Northern European Cup and Italian-run ALPS series as the base. Fortec was already established in Eurocup and NEC, but was venturing into ALPS for the first time.

"At the time it looked like Verstappen would be doing Eurocup, and we had Ben signed for NEC," continues Young. "I spoke to Jamie Dye [Fortec managing director] and said that if we wanted to move forward in ALPS we needed to get Leclerc.

"We did a test day at Motorland [Aragon] and we sort of lied about his times - we'd put Charles up against a lot of experienced drivers, so he was 1.2-1.3 seconds off - so that Richard [Dutton, team principal] would stay interested in giving him a bit of a deal. Richard was asking, 'Is he really good?', and we said, 'Yeah, we know he's really good.'"

Barnicoat, now a factory McLaren GT racer, was already familiar with Leclerc - as a Racing Steps Foundation protege, he was part of the ART Grand Prix line-up in international karting in 2012 and '13, while Leclerc belonged (and still does) to the All Road Management stable of ART shareholder Nicolas Todt.

"I had two years as team-mate to him in karting," says Barnicoat. "The first year I was directly racing with him, and in the second he went into gearbox [KZ] karts. He was one of the best team-mates I ever had, if not the best. A great guy.

"That first year, Charles won the WSK series and I won the European championship - that was up against the likes of Verstappen, so the competition was extremely high. I feel sort of left out!

"He had a bit more track knowledge so in the first half of the year he was beating me, but then we pushed each other really hard and that worked for the team - we got a lot from that.

"Looking at how good he is, it's nice to know I beat him on occasions, to know that I had the talent and ability to do that."

Fortec was one of the teams that tested Verstappen, and was also eyeing a deal with another talented karter: George Russell, whose plan was to combine Renault ALPS with what was then BRDC Formula 4.

Russell, who now is on course to succeed Leclerc as Formula 2 champion, eventually joined Prema Powerteam for ALPS, but that deal fell over on the eve of the season and he secured a last-minute berth at Koiranen GP.

"We wanted George; we tried to sign him," says Dutton of what could have been a mighty line-up had Russell joined Leclerc. "But he signed for Prema and then [Lawrence] Stroll [who had taken a majority shareholding in Prema] stopped him from going there."

"Me and Charles were testing for Fortec," says Russell, "and at the same time Verstappen was there with Josef Kaufmann Racing, I think. We were in talks with Fortec, but we decided to sign with Prema."

When it's pointed out what a mega line-up that would have been alongside Leclerc, Russell laughs: "In hindsight that could have worked out better for me than Koiranen. That [the late Prema split] put us in the shit a little bit, and three weeks before the first race I didn't have a deal. We took the gamble on Koiranen."

Autosport reminds Dutton of an awards evening over the 2013-14 winter when, asked about Russell, he said: "We've got someone even better - a lad from Monaco..."

"It was really quite a late deal," recalls Dutton. "He missed most of the winter-test programme. But you just knew he was the real deal. In and out of the car he knew what he wanted. In lots of ways he reminded us of Verstappen when we tested him."

Young confirms that the sum total of Leclerc's pre-season mileage was four days at Aragon, and two at Barcelona, before going straight into the pre-weekend test for the Imola opener.

"The first three race weekends his experience was a bit low," says Young, "but as soon as he got on the podium he was there every weekend.

Leclerc went on to finish runner-up to the flying - and experienced - Nyck de Vries in the ALPS points, with two race wins at Monza under his belt, but perhaps the more impressive performances came in his three 'wildcard' outings in the Eurocup. The first was at Spa, one week before the Belgian track's ALPS round.

"He was 30th in qualifying at the Eurocup," says Dutton. "We changed everything - we couldn't understand what the hell was going on. One week later he qualified third for ALPS. That was really, really special."

In his next Eurocup outing, Leclerc took a fifth and a second at the Nurburgring, and in his final one he took a brace of seconds at the Hungaroring.

"I was looking after Matt Parry and Jack Aitken in Eurocup," says long-time Fortec driver coach Matt Howson. "I'd heard [Leclerc] was something maybe a bit special, but you hear that all the time, and wait until you see it yourself.

"Usually you understand the driving style straight away - what's good, what's bad - and the thing with Charles is it didn't matter whether there was understeer or oversteer, he seemed to deliver a lap time."

The cerebral approach of Leclerc and engineer Young frustrated Howson at the Nurburgring.

"He'd never seen the place, and there were only two 45-minute [test] sessions, and furthermore Martin was determined to try things on the car," says Howson.

"I said, 'Don't do it, leave him out'. He was last in the second session, and then he was P3 on the grid for the second race - that's unheard of in Eurocup [for a newcomer]. Renault is a very finicky formula, and it all has to come together to deliver results, but Charles seemed impervious to everything.

"Based on that first year, I knew he was a little bit special. Whenever he was tested in Eurocup, he defied his experience. That's a marker - that you can break all the accepted rules."

Talking about that Nurburgring episode, Young says: "That literally sums up Charles Leclerc. That year we were struggling in Eurocup, and I said I'd come in with Charles and we'd do some testing. Going into qualifying he'd never run new tyres, but he went from last to the front. Nothing ever fazed him."

In Young's view, he also compared favourably to Lando Norris, who tested FRenault cars with Fortec in 2014 before his first steps into single-seaters: "I worked with Lando towards the end of the year, and Lando eventually got to the same point [as Leclerc] but needed a lot of testing, but Charles could just get in and drive. It was second nature to him."

Russell took a distant fourth in the ALPS standings, although he did claim the 2014 BRDC F4 title.

"With Nyck winning the championship it didn't make any sense to me, but I think at the time there were a few dodgy chassis around," he says. "When I tested Nyck's car it was extremely different in terms of characteristics. I wasted a season there, but it was character-building."

He also suffered from chicken pox that caused him to miss the Monza round, where Leclerc took his two wins.

"I didn't think it affected me at the time, but I struggled a bit for no reason in the following few F4 races," says Russell. "It was quite severe - I've still got some bad scars. I put my family off their dinner a few times!"

But Russell trumped Leclerc by joining Tech 1 Racing for the final Eurocup round at Jerez as a wildcard - and winning: "I got my self-confidence back a bit, jumped in that car and won."

Both Russell and Leclerc had initially targeted a full season in Eurocup in 2015, but such were their reputations by the end of '14 that each went to the Formula 3 European Championship, Russell with Carlin, and Leclerc with Van Amersfoort Racing.

Fortec tried to hang on to Leclerc for F3. "We tried so hard to get him for F3, but we lost him to VAR," says Dutton. "We did some tests with him in the F3 car and he was straight on the pace. At Silverstone he was quickest of everybody there, and then we went to Valencia with him and we had a nightmare with mechanical issues. I think that didn't do us any good."

All who worked or raced with Leclerc agree about his qualities as a man.

"Of all the drivers in F1 who've come through us, Charles is the one who gets [guest] passes for the British Grand Prix," says Dutton. "He had Martin [Young] and Jamie [Dye] there this year the whole weekend, in Sauber hospitality. He's a proper guy."

"I still speak to Charles every week or so on various topics," adds Young, who attended Leclerc's initial grand prix free practice outings in 2016. "He's still exactly the same person."

Barnicoat, who is one of the drivers for the McLaren hot laps at F1 events, bumps into Leclerc regularly.

"When we raced against each other in Renault there was quite a lot of rivalry from what we'd had in karting," says the Briton, who added three 'wildcard' ALPS outings as direct team-mate to Leclerc to his title-winning NEC campaign.

"But it would have been nice to get more direct comparisons. In 2013, when we were in karting, I went to the grand prix with him in Monaco and stayed on his uncle's boat, and had a really good time. We spent a lot of time together, and although we were rivals we helped each other out. He was a good friend of mine and still is."

Leclerc is also resilient. "Jules Bianchi came to the Hungaroring Eurocup round to mentor him," says Howson, "and I understood then how close they were. After that incident [for Bianchi] and his father [who died in mid-2017], he's probably been tested off track more than anyone else, but it's not bled over into anything on track.

"He's incredibly mature. He's relatively introverted - he doesn't come in and make lots of noise, but he's polite, considerate and always looks you in the eye when he talks to you. It doesn't matter whether he's got loads of cameras on him, he'll always come over for a chat."

Russell, meanwhile, is "100%" sure that Leclerc will flourish at Ferrari.

"Charles is one of a handful of others I put in the best-of-the-best group," he says. "In my opinion he absolutely deserves his chance at Ferrari. He's got the speed and the talent, and I'm excited to see how he fares next year. I've no doubt that he will be competitive."

#series:f1 #year:2018 #driver:george #driver:ben.barnicoat #format:article

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littlemisspascal · 2 years ago

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Part 1: Hello, My Name Is...

Summary:

“Hey.” A hand lightly grabs onto your elbow just as you turn to leave. You turn back, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at Javi’s proximity, that same soft look in his gaze. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you. I think we’ll make a great team.”

It takes a second for the words to register and when they finally do—

Oh.

You nod your head, smiling wide, a surge of excitement washing over you. “Me too, Javi. Me too.”

Pairing: eventual Javi/Fem!Reader "Oddball" (OFC)*

Word Count: 7000+

Rating: T

Warnings: Formula One AU ft. multiple Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe characters, Human AU, Canon Divergence, Switching POVs, Worldbuilding, Social Media Fic, Headlines inspired by true events but edited for this plot, Slowest of Slow Burn, Language

Author Note: So excited to begin the next arc of this story & for Javi and Odds to finally meet 😊 Thank you everyone who's given this series a chance, I appreciate all of you!

Winter Banners credit here!

A03 Link | Series Masterlist

*see series masterlist for more info

[Collection of sticky notes pasted on bathroom mirror in your handwriting]

It’s a beautiful day

Remember to smile!

Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat.

[A new note with hastily scribbled words is added to the bunch]

I can handle this

There are many perks which come with being an F1 driver besides being paid to do what you love. Getting to travel across the world nine months out of the year; 5-star hotel accommodations; free clothes and accessories to represent your team from head to toe. But your brand-new Vulpecula GT is the gift that keeps on giving, especially when the cold winds of winter blow into Altair, dropping the temperature significantly. What would have been a miserable journey on your bike to HQ is a pleasantly warm and comfortable trip in your beautiful silver baby with padded leather seats.

You may or may not press a kiss against the steering wheel after parking, your heart growing just a little bit larger to accommodate this wonderful treasure.

The clock chimes nine as you step through the entrance doors, letting out a relieved breath when the heat of the building melts away the chill that nipped at your exposed face on your short walk up the pathway. You’d been a nervous wreck this morning, rifling through your closet for an outfit that was professional yet warm at the same time. Vivian had explicitly told you no when asked if hoodies or sweatshirts counted as business attire which meant your options were frustratingly few.

You tug on the collar of your turtleneck sweater, then spare a subtle glance down at the rest of your outfit, praying there aren’t any toothpaste stains anywhere. Once on your crotch area during your high school years was embarrassing enough to live through.

It’s been awhile since you’ve felt this level of nervousness before. The kind of nervousness where your fingers can’t stop fidgeting and your heartbeat resembles a dull roar of thunder and time has two speeds: a cheetah or a snail, no in-betweens. You wish you had someone to distract you from your spiraling thoughts. Your friends, your parents, even Diana would be welcome despite her usual method of making you do squats or jumping jacks or another equally annoying exercise.

You’ll have Vivian as one familiar face during the meeting at least. You’re on good terms with the older woman, admiring how she can switch aspects of her personality from friendly and wisecracking to fierce and competitive on the spur of the moment. She’s been patient with you during your journey to this point, and now that you’re here, an official driver for her team, you want to make her proud. You want to silence any possible doubts that all the time, energy, and funding spent on you weren’t gigantic wastes.

Photographs of past Vulpecula drivers line the white hallway walls as you head to the conference rooms, footsteps echoing off the concrete tiled floor. The images remind whoever sees them of the team’s long history and its accomplishments. For some viewers they stir feelings of nostalgia, but for you they fill you with the desire to become a part of the Vulpecula legacy. To one day see your picture hanging there and maybe, if you’re lucky enough, a championship trophy in your hands.

Inside the main meeting room you discover a small group already seated at the long wooden table taking up the majority of the space. Vivian’s at the front, some executives and engineers you vaguely recognize meeting once or twice sitting on either side of her; then there’s the pit crew chief, Melshi, and the number one mechanic, Cassian, sitting side by side, attached at the hip just like they are in the paddock garage during race weekends.

Vivian stands up and pulls you into a bear hug when you draw closer, her favorite greeting style, squeezing you so tight you swear you hear your ribs groaning like they’re on the verge of snapping. She’s in high spirits, smiling widely and looking mere seconds away from bouncing up and down with giddy excitement.

“I have such a good feeling about you two,” she says, never one to beat around the bush, hands squeezing your shoulders once, twice, and then bobbing her head affirmatively. “2023 is going to be a great year, I just know it.”

Her positive vibes are contagious, bringing a smile to your own face that lingers even as you take a seat and notice for the first time the last empty chair remaining is right across from you. Clearly it’s meant for Javi. The seating chart most likely designed to force you and him to talk to each other.

And there’s that nervousness again, back with a vengeance.

It’s just…meeting Javi, officially face to face, right here in the beating heart of your career, makes everything seem overwhelmingly real all of the sudden. You’re an F1 driver. You’ve made it. Everything you’ve done, all the blood, sweat, and tears have brought you to this moment. You’re half-tempted to pinch yourself, one last test to confirm this isn’t all an elaborate dream.

You can blame the chill that runs down your spine on the weather, but it’s not so easy to explain away the heavy weight settling in your stomach like a stone.

The door opens, thoughts falling silent as you look up to meet brown eyes.

“Javi!” Vivian calls out, standing and gesturing him over. “Come on in, don’t be shy. Everyone’s excited to finally meet you.”

The man steps further into the room, flashing a dimpled grin that leaves you a little stunned. You thought it before, a couple months back in the paddock, and you think it again now: Javi is even more attractive when seeing him in person. He could have easily been a model in another life—warm brown eyes resembling melted caramel when the light hits just right, a strong nose and chiseled jawline, disheveled curls giving the impression he just rolled out of bed and yet somehow he makes the look work. Plus, nobody should look as immaculate as he does in a black puffer jacket and matching trousers.

Your eyes follow him, watching Vivian introduce him to everybody, handshake after handshake, polite nice to meet you’s falling off his lips and do your ears deceive you or does he actually sound sincere? He wears an easy smile, if perhaps a little nervous looking around the edges (or maybe that’s wishful thinking), shoulders drawn back and brow pinched in concentration as he engages in conversation with the higher-ups. A professional, that’s what he looks like. And you? You’ve just realized your socks don’t match.

The age gap of five and half years suddenly seems massive between you and Javi. You have a lot of growing to do, a lot of learning, and not just when you’re behind the wheel of the car. It takes all your self-restraint not to slump down in your chair with the desire to disappear from view.

Finally, after his introductions to Cassian and Melshi have wrapped up, it’s your turn. Brown eyes momentarily pin you in place, body glued to the leather seat, and you think your heartbeat can be heard by the whole room, seconds away from bursting out of your chest and making a bloody mess on the tabletop.

He steps closer, grin widening, as warm and bright as fireworks during New Years, and says, “Oddball.”

The sound of your name jerks you out of your daze, standing up so fast you nearly send your chair toppling over. You wince at the loud noise, embarrassment flooding your system. Somewhere from the other end of the table, someone (probably Cassian, the jerk) barely conceals their snort of laughter behind a cough.

It’s just shy of mortifying.

Javi doesn’t stop smiling. Doesn’t laugh, either. The only change is his eyes—a subtle softening with an emotion you’d label as fondness if you actually, like, knew the man. Since you’re barely even acquaintances though, you’re uncertain what the look means. If it even means anything at all.

You run your hands over the front of your turtleneck, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles, and fumble for words that won’t make you sound like a complete idiot. “Yo.”

Wonderful. You’ve made it officially mortifying now.

He chuckles and holds out a hand. “It’s great to meet you.”

Growing up, one of your father’s life lessons was how to give a proper handshake. First impressions are important, he’d always say, and every night you’d practice until it became second nature: keep it firm, keep it dry, and keep it short. Also a smile goes a long ways.

“Yes it is.” Your eyes widen. “Oh, no, that’s not—I meant, it is great, like, in general!” you say hastily, dropping his hand and doing some sort of childish thumbs up gesture you immediately regret. “Great to meet you! Like you said. Face to face finally. It’s super…great.”

You’re honestly beginning to think you’ve been cursed to forever make a fool of yourself in front of Javi.

“Well said, Odds. Well said,” Vivian laughs. She gestures for Javi to take the empty chair you’d predicted was his. “We’ve just got a few things to discuss, some dates to go over. Then we’ll take a couple of photos and both of you will go on with your day, alright? Oddball, sim work as usual. Javi, a tour to get you familiar with the place.”

“Sounds great,” Javi agrees.

You just give a wordless nod, sitting down again and avoiding looking up from the very interesting grooves in the wood even when Javi tries to catch your eye across the table. Embarrassment clings to your skin, teeth worrying your bottom lip. Your anxiety has always been a fickle beast, refusing at the worst of times to be pushed to the back of your mind where you’d prefer it to be.

Vivian’s talking, saying something about data and statistics, but between your rampant insecurities and Javi’s nearness, it’s a hopeless cause paying her any attention. If there’s anything really important being said you’re sure someone else will repeat it later or pass the info on to your manager. So in the meantime, your gaze flicks between the table and your fiddling hands in your lap, leg bouncing a restless rhythm, riding out the anxious wave until it’s over and calmness returns. It’s fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.

When it’s time for photos, Vivian stands in-between you and Javi, arms thrown enthusiastically around your shoulders. You smile at the line of people with their phones out, looking like a room full of proud parents taking pictures of their kids’ first day at school, and you realize for Javi, that’s exactly what this is. Day one in a brand new town in a brand new place with brand new people. For all your teammate’s experience and skills on the track, he severely lacks your knowledge and familiarity of Vulpecula.

Which means you both have some learning to do. And that is a surprisingly gratifying thought.

It takes a second for the words to register and when they finally do—

Oh.

You nod your head, smiling wide, a surge of excitement washing over you. “Me too, Javi. Me too.”

Vulpecula HQ is massive, a labyrinth of hallways and offices and staircases Javi knows will take him weeks, possibly months to memorize. But it becomes abundantly clear during his tour with Vivian—a CEO who’s blunt, loud, and so totally unlike his previous team principals he can’t help but marvel at her—that should he ever find himself lost, there will always be someone nearby to point him in the right direction.

People here actually seem to care about each other. About him, even, and they’ve only literally just met him. They talk to him like he’s a person, not a driver or pawn to manipulate. Ask him how he’s settling in, what he likes to do in his free time, if he has any holiday plans. They seem genuinely interested in his answers too, not politely faking it out of professional courtesy like they did at Triple Frontier and Crane. At Black Gold the staff only cared about his hobbies if they negatively affected his results, telling him to quit them if they did. And back then, young and eager to please, he obeyed every command without question, no matter the personal sacrifice.

It’s…nice to be heard for a change. If he’s honest, he thought it would be a struggle to connect with Vulpecula. Oddball is the rookie on the grid, but around here Javi’s the newbie at the lunch table. A newbie who just last month was their competition. The warm welcome by a building full of strangers was an unexpected, but pleasant surprise. It has made the nervous knot of tension in his chest loosen for the first time since he signed his contract, replacing it with a budding sense of belonging he’s never felt during his years in F1.

And as for Oddball—she’s the biggest surprise of all, he thinks. She’s got more layers than an onion. He’s seen her own personal videos, how she acts around her friends and the press, never did he anticipate her to be shy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, no. He actually found himself rather endeared by her awkward fumbling, like witnessing a baby horse learning to stand up on wobbly legs. It’s just…he’s a little unsure how their relationship will progress from here. Her determination to avoid eye contact with him wasn’t exactly inspiring.

She’d smiled at him at the end, at least. Bright and excited and so very, very young. Me too, Javi. Me too.

He doesn’t know much about Vulpecula yet, doesn’t know what the future will bring either, but what he does know from personal experience is that teammates who can get along with each other have better seasons than those who don’t. And if he can be a good teammate for Oddball and vice versa, then he thinks there’s no reason why they can’t maybe one day be good friends as well.

SPORTS: THE VROOM ZONE

Exclusive: Ahsoka Tano Discusses Formula 1’s Heavy Toll on Mental Health

By Poppy Adams | December 5, 2022

In a city of dome-roofed, adobe buildings all the same shade as the encompassing sandy desert, Ahsoka Tano is just as instantly recognized by her white-and-blue dyed hair here as she was in the F1 paddock six years ago. Remembered fondly by the racing community for her sharp moves on the track and even sharper tongue in the media pen, Tano has settled down in Mos Espa (a favorite spot for retired and current F1 drivers alike) and enjoys a peaceful life after successfully securing the world champion title back in 2016 she’d been chasing since she was a youngling.

I meet with her at the Mos Espa Grand Arena, the site of several world-famous races from pods to swoop bikes, but most importantly to the present company, it’s also where the Mos Espa Grand Prix has been held annually for almost a hundred years. There are no events this week, no 100,000 fans screaming their lungs out in the stands. It’s just Tano, me, and two delicious cups of Deychin tea.

Tano, dressed in a blue tank top and matching leggings, spares a moment to gaze at the starting grid below, no doubt remembering the days when she was down there looking up at where we sit now. “I’ll never forget it,” she says, tapping her temple with that famous crooked smirk of hers. “The good, the bad, and the ugly.”

The “ugly” side of F1 is why Tano and I are meeting this December afternoon. The Outer Rim native twice made history in the sport by being the second female driver to compete and also by being the second female driver to win a world championship title, but her rise to the top wasn’t an easy one. Looking back at old interview footage will show a young woman fearless of her competition and full of a passionate love for racing, but off-camera she was plagued by anxiety and insecurities. “It’s still a little hard to process at times. How some of my darkest moments are so deeply intertwined with some of the best years of my life,” she says.

She tells me about the way she was encouraged to never let herself appear weak when cameras were around, “to maintain this image that I was invincible, the definition of confident.” In the aftermath of making mistakes on track, where every 10th of a second can determine where a driver ranks against their competition, Tano would spend hours worrying about the potential consequences on her career, if they would set off a domino effect ultimately leading to her downfall. “I would just keep on spiraling and spiraling deeper into this horrible pit,” she explains. “And I couldn’t tell anyone about it.”

When Tano sought out therapy at the end of 2015, she did so feeling burnt out and at the end of her rope. “I considered quitting racing. I talked with my manager about buying my way out of my contract and everything, but he convinced me to give therapy a chance first.” She smiles then, a beaming grin brighter than the overhead sun. “Thank the Maker I listened to him.” Therapy gave Tano the outlet she desperately needed, a place where she could “open up about my darkness and find the light again.” She returned to the grid in 2016 as a proud advocate for mental health awareness, breaking protocol by candidly discussing anxiety and depression during press conferences and on social media to her millions of followers. “I refused to be silent anymore,” she tells me. “The more I spoke up, the more people I impacted, the more acceptable a topic it became to hear about in the paddock.” Since Tano’s retirement, drivers continue to be inspired by her transparency and speak about their own fears and vulnerabilities, a development Tano hopes will continue for decades to come.

Recently Tano has begun planning to start a charity called Fulcrum devoted to helping people, especially athletes, with depression, anxiety, and other mental health related conditions. “It’s a slow process, but if I can help even one single person then all this hard work will have been completely worth the effort,” she says. In spite of the challenges she faced and the dark pits she had to mentally crawl out of, she remains thankful of her accomplishments and for everyone who supported her every step of the way.

“Formula One is not for the faint-hearted. It’s constant pressure, constant eyes watching your every move, constant judgment and opinions,” Tano says.

“Why compete then? Why stay in such a hostile environment?” I ask.

Tano sips at her tea. Her eyes drift to the starting grid again, lips curling into a soft smile, an expression on her face I have a feeling not many can claim they have been fortunate to see.

“For every driver, there will come a moment when you’re driving down a straight at 200 miles per hour, preparing to brake for the corner up ahead, and all of the sudden, every thought fades from your mind. You’ll forget your training, your strategy. All that remains is pure instinct. And you’ll learn in that exact moment, in that fraction of a second, who you are and what you’re made of,” she says. “We compete for the fun of it. We stay to discover more about ourselves.”

The next time you see Javi is at simulator practice two days later. It’s still a bit of a jarring moment seeing him at HQ, even more so finding him dressed in cobalt blue racing gear while talking to one of the simulator operators. Maybe you’re a bit biased, but you can’t help admiring how much better he looks in Vulpecula’s colors than Triple Frontier’s.

You offer a timid smile when his gaze flicks your way, trying to keep your tone light rather than weak and shaky like the rest of you. “First time on the sim?”

He turns towards you, giving you his full attention in such an easygoing, yet intense way it does little to soothe your frazzled nerves. “That’s right. It’s really quite something. A lot bigger than I’m used to.”

“That’s what she said.”

There’s a beat of silence, just Javi staring at you wide-eyed like he can’t believe you quoted Michael Scott in front of him and you staring right back, unable to believe you quoted Michael Scott in front of him. And then, the moment dangling on that thin cusp between hilarity and mortification—a laugh bubbles up out of Javi’s throat, loud and infectious, and you’re both done for. Hysterically giggling like a pair of idiots, like it’s the funniest thing in the universe, like whatever remaining ice between you has officially and eternally been broken.

“Sorry,” you say finally, manic laughter fading into something lighter, friendlier than before. “I watch way too much TV.”

“Inconceivable.”

The familiar word elicits another laugh out of you. “You keep using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means.”

Javi smiles, a radiant and genuine thing, nothing like the stiff, polite ones PR managers insisted drivers learn. “We should watch the movie together sometime. Maybe on our next day off, when this,” he gestures towards the simulator, “isn’t requiring all our time.”

“Think you’re ready for it?” you ask, and you’re surprised by the note of cheekiness slipping into your tone, because this easiness, this playfulness, you’ve only known it with Eggsy and Ben before. And that came after months spent together, after years of building a solid friendship week by week from the ground up—not this fast, not after only one previous meeting.

“Am I ready for it?” he replies, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You’re the rookie around here, no? Shouldn’t you be asking me for tips?”

Your good mood dims a little, thinking about the high number of crashes you’ve experienced these last few months. He’s right, even if he said it jokingly, that you should be asking him for tips. You could most likely learn a lot from him.

But your stubborn pride dismisses the notion with a scoff, reminding you that you didn’t come this far in your career by asking men for advice.

“Nuh-uh,” you say instead, crossing your arms and jutting out your chin. “I’ve got skills that’ll blow your mind.”

He leans forward, mirroring your pose, confidently rising to the unspoken challenge. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Prove it.”

Your lips mouth silent words, mind struggling to keep up with the verbal tennis match, ultimately coming up with an intelligent, ��Huh?”

“You heard me,” is the swift reply, one eyebrow arching up pointedly. “I wanna see the legendary rookie Oddball’s skills. Impress me, rarita.”

In an effort to pretend his unwavering stare isn’t turning your mind to mush, you make an exaggerated show of rolling your eyes and swatting at his shoulder. “Challenge accepted, curls. Step aside and watch the master.”

Snorting, Javi obeys and goes to stand with the rest of the staff half-hidden behind an array of computer screens, who blessedly keep up their professional personas and pretend they haven’t been listening to your exchange. The chief simulator operator gives you a thumb’s up to get in the sim and you grab your spare helmet from the nearby shelf, feeling a pinch of nervousness ache inside your sternum.

It’ll be fine, you think, positioning yourself in the simulator seat, hands grabbing the steering wheel. Just do your best.

Your best is your best until it’s not.

You start off well, braking and accelerating at precisely the right moments, the trees and bleacher stands mere blurs streaking by in your peripheral. You’re in the zone, that precious driver headspace where the only thing you know, the only thing you feel is the car, the car, the car.

And then you’re spinning off track.

For a long moment, all you can do is stare, dazed as if you really had just collided with the barrier. And then comes the sickening bite of disappointment and frustration because you can see the finish line. It’s right there. Right fucking there and you failed to reach it. Again.

Simulation over, silence floods the room. The air seems to turn frigid cold, felt even beneath the thick material of your suit. You want to scream, to curse, to hit something. But you’re a professional driver now, F1 career in its infancy. You can’t risk the bad reputation of throwing a tantrum.

After all, this is just a practice run. No harm, no foul. Except…if you were to crash like that for real, you would have just cost your team not only desperately needed points to stay ahead of other teams, but also hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of repairs, possibly millions. Your team is counting on you not to make dumb mistakes and lately that seems to be the only thing you’re capable of doing. And if you don’t get your shit together by pre-testing…

Your jaws clenches, unable to finish the thought.

The worst thing is, Javi’s staring. Unlike the rest of the room’s inhabitants who devote their focus to pouring over the data, muttering amongst themselves, he’s watching you like you’re a rare bug under a microscope, something peculiar and puzzling. It’s unbearable.

You climb your way out of the simulator, head ducked, jaw clenched. When you turn around, when the helmet comes off, you’ll paste a rueful grin on your face. You’ll accept the pats on your shoulder, the repetitive phrases of better luck next time and we’ll keep practicing, don’t worry. You’ll make fun of yourself, pick apart your mistakes until their sting is gone.

You’ll make everyone believe you're fine. That your anxiety isn’t a problem. That you’re more than capable of representing the team (and womankind) on the grid.

It’s a good plan. A solid plan. A plan that has worked over and over again ever since you signed on as Vulpecula’s reserve driver what feels like a hundred lifetimes ago.

What you don’t count on is Javi approaching you, blocking your view of the strategists and operators with his broad shoulders almost like he’s purposefully trying to spare you from their prying eyes. You slowly slide your helmet over your head, blinking at him, fighting to keep your carefully composed mask in place.

“You weren’t kidding,” he says, tone light yet your spine tenses all the same. “My mind is blown.”

“Right, very funny,” you reply sourly, rolling your eyes.

His hand reaches out and brushes against your elbow, a reassuring touch your anxiety-stricken mind doesn’t know how to process. “I’m serious. If not for that last corner curb, turning just a hair too early, you would have beaten the fastest lap record by three seconds. You’re quick, Oddball. Smart, too. You’ll learn from these mistakes, become a better racer.” A pause, another soft nudge against your arm. “Maybe even better than me if you’re really lucky.”

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until a choked laugh escapes you. Sounds more like a wheeze, actually. High-pitched and painful and all wrong. But it cuts through the anxiety, takes you out of your head for a blissful moment.

Javi, the dear man you’re beginning to suspect doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, makes no comment on it.

“Okay, curls,” you say, and you’re not ready to smile yet, but you’re definitely closer to feeling like your usual and real self than you were before he came over. “Your turn. Let’s see what you got.”

He moves to grab his own spare helmet from the shelf. And there’s a moment, barely a glimpse, where your eyes lock with his, and somehow you know he hears the unspoken thank you lodged in the back of your throat.

With a great promotion comes a greater responsibility. Now that you're an official driver for the team, you’re not just expected to race for them, you’re expected to promote them too. Which means a whole new intense level of media and sponsoring obligations you never had to deal with when you were in F2.

Vivian assigns you a PR manager—a blonde named Barbara Minerva with a friendly smile and a penchant for wearing animal print—to help you prepare for the big adjustment, training you on what and what not to say as well as how to control your facial expressions when the press are shoving microphones at you. The last thing you want is your pineapple face witnessed by millions of people worldwide.

You like Barbara, you really do. She used to work for Black Gold so she’s an expert on handling pretty much every type of media scandal or drama outburst one can imagine. She instructs you on when to be serious and when to be coy with the reporters, how to neutrally navigate uncomfortable topics without pissing anyone off, and even comes up with a hand signal to use when you’re feeling overwhelmed and need her to intervene. Barbara’s great, but that doesn’t change the fact media training is fucking exhausting. Brain working overtime, critically analyzing every word that comes out of your mouth, every facial tic and flutter of your eyelids with a giant magnifying glass, alarms blaring with every perceived flaw. You start dreading the hour each day, counting down the minutes until you can escape and give your pounding head a break from the information overload.

And this is just the training. It pains you to think about how much worse the real thing will be, even with Barbara swearing she’ll be by your side through it all.

After media training, you fall into a routine of grabbing a snack from the mess hall on the third floor, usually an apple or a granola bar, something Diana wouldn’t give you the stink eye for discovering, and then finding a quiet corner to sit and decompress for a few minutes.

This isn’t a new thing—this desire for privacy, for solitude. You used to do it back on Sorgan, too, when the bullying from the other kids got under your skin, self-doubts bubbling to the surface. It became increasingly harder to find a quiet space once you switched from karting to formula racing, more eyes and more judgment seeking you out, and it's kind of funny how your world became so much larger and so much smaller simultaneously.

You’re musing over this thought, chewing on an apple while nestled in a lounge chair, minding your own business, when you’re interrupted by the soft clearing of a throat. You look up, nearly choking on your mouthful when you find Javi staring down at you, dressed in a flannel plaid shirt that’s tight around his broad shoulders and carrying an apple of his own.

One day you hope the sight of him will stop sending your heart into cardiac arrest. Preferably soon, because you’re really not sure how much more you can take.

“Mind if I join you?” Javi asks, gesturing to the other lounge chair. He’s looking at you with those doe brown eyes all round and full of hope you’d have to be a heartless monster to deny him, so you just nod your head.

For a long moment neither of you say anything. It’s not an awkward silence, but it’s not comfortable either. Just two people existing in the same time and space. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Javi leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on the table, and it’s a little unfair how easily he can settle into new places, blending in like he was always meant to be there.

“So,” he starts, mouth curling into a grin when you look over, “you come here often?”

“It’s nice,” you say. “I like the quiet.”

“Oh.” Javi tenses, spine straightening. “I-I can go, if you want me—”

“No!” You throw out an arm as if to physically grab him. He freezes, one leg raised off the table, blinking at you. Oh, God. You’ve really made it weird now. Licking your lips, you lower your tone back to its usual pitch, reassuring him, “It’s fine, really. I don’t mind you being here.”

It startles you to realize you’re not lying.

The reason you seek out alone time is just that, to be alone. When you’re in these moods you don’t like anyone invading your space. Not your friends or your parents. Nobody. It’s an unspoken rule of yours.

But then there’s Javi, settling back into his seat with a warm, dimpled grin, looking so strangely content to be allowed to stay, and it doesn’t seem so bad making an exception for him.

“I like the quiet, too,” Javi admits. “Back home, there are these cliffs overlooking the ocean for miles and miles, endlessly blue. It's my favorite sight on the whole island. I could spend hours up there…”

He trails off, lost in a memory, and for the first time since arriving at Vulpecula he seems dejected, eyes dimming. You’re familiar enough with the look of homesickness after seeing it in the mirror a dozen times to recognize it on someone else’s face.

“There aren’t any cliffs or oceans in Altair, but there’s some pretty great restaurants and bakeries,” you say. There’s a French café down the street from your apartment which you can confidently claim makes the best croissants in the whole world, buttery and flaky and oh so delicious to enjoy on your cheat days. “Festivals and concerts, too, if you’re interested.”

Javi looks at you, a mix of interest and surprise. “Are you offering to be my tour guide, rarita?”

“Only for the sake of the team, of course,” you tell him with mock seriousness. “Can’t have you winding up lost in some back alleyway before a race weekend.”

“The press would have a field day,” he agrees, voice just as deadpan. His eyes widen with alarm. “Ay, Dios! Think of the fans! Their memes will be absolutely merciless. I’ll never leave my apartment again.”

You can’t keep up your straight face, laughing and shaking your head. “Exactly. Lucky for you, Altair is basically my second home. I know it like the back of my hand.”

“Lucky me.” He nods, running a hand over his curls, and, okay, maybe you really do have a serious heart condition because what is happening. Distracted by the frantic beating, you nearly miss him asking, “You grew up in the Outer Rim, right?”

“That’s right.” Pride slips into your voice, gesturing towards yourself with a thumb. “Straight outta Sorgan.”

Javi chuckles. “Do your parents still live there?”

“Yep. They’re krill farmers, just like everybody else in the village. They fly out to races when they can, and when they can’t, well,” you shrug, “there’s always phone calls, right?”

His lip twitches, an aborted frown. “Yeah,” he says after a moment’s hesitation.

Okay. There’s obvious tension there. Curiosity prickles at the back of your mind, but when you notice the way his gaze has fallen to the floor, resembling a kicked puppy, you decide you don’t want to ask about it if it makes him look this sad.

Your fingers drum against your forgotten apple for a few seconds, then go still as an idea occurs.

“Hey, um,” you say tentatively, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. “I know you already got a tour of HQ from Vivian before, but how would you like a proper one? Oddball style?”

Javi blinks, eyebrows scrunching together, and the look really shouldn’t be as cute as it is. “Do I dare ask what ‘Oddball style’ means?”

“Nope. You’re either in or you're out, curls.”

“In that case,” Javi says, a smile spreading over his face. “Count me in.”

F1 Driver Javi Gutierrez Moves to Altair Ahead of Upcoming Season with Vulpecula

Written By: Raquel Wilde

"I'm looking forward to making memories here," says Javi Gutierrez, born and raised in Mallorca. "Altair's a nice place with nice people. It's starting to feel like a home away from home."

Gutierrez, who began racing in Formula 1 in 2018 when he was 21, has always felt drawn to the world of motorsports, claiming there's "no better feeling in the world than being behind the wheel". He will join Vulpecula in 2023 after finishing 11th in the driver standings this year with Triple Frontier.

He'll be paired with rookie driver known to Altair locals and the world as Oddball. Together they'll train at Vulpecula Headquarters these upcoming winter months to prepare for pre-season testing in February.

"I'm already planning on showing him all the best restaurants and sights," Oddball says, who has called Altair home for the past two years.

Oddball has become a familiar and much-loved presence to locals, often spotted buying groceries, biking around the park, and attending special events. In response to Gutierrez's arrival, signs of support have begun appearing in shop windows and on front lawns, welcoming him to the community and the massively adored F1 team.

Vulpecula CEO Vivian Etten has said Gutierrez is the leader the team needs to overcome their recent struggles. "He's made a lot of progress since his rookie year," Etten claims. "He's got the skills, the knowledge, and the right attitude."

If Gutierrez had not pursued racing, he would have tried to become a professional swimmer. It remains a favorite exercise and pastime of his. Perhaps when the weather turns warm, he might give the local rec center pool a visit when he’s not busy up at Vulpecula HQ.

Only time will tell what next season will bring for Gutierrez and Oddball. I imagine readers are hoping for podium finishes just as much as I am. In the upcoming weeks, Vulpecula's new drivers will be attending the Drive Awards and also enjoy some time off from their F1 duties to celebrate the holidays with their families.

“Gabriela!”

The brunette PR manager turns to find Barbara Minerva half-running, half-stumbling towards her in leopard print high heels. Memories of their shared seasons together at Black Gold come rushing to mind, leaning on each other when it felt like everything else was falling apart, and Gabriela can’t help opening her arms to embrace the other woman.

“Long time no see,” she says when she pulls back. Friendships are hard to maintain in the world of F1, especially when drivers are no longer on the same team. Gabriela can only recall seeing Barbara once during Javi’s time at Triple Frontier, and that had been just a passing glimpse across the paddock. “I love what you’ve done with your hair.”

“Aw, thanks. I like it better this way too.” Barbara smiles, eyes crinkling behind her glasses, and reaches up to touch the shoulder-length blonde waves. She then gestures towards Gabriela. “You look just as fabulous as I remember. How have you been?”

“Highs and lows. Mostly highs, thankfully,” Gabriela answers. A staff member walks by then, neatly sidestepping around them before carrying on down the hallway and the interruption reminds her exactly where they are. “Wait. Barb, what are you doing at Vulpecula?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear? Ballard isn’t the only one Black Gold gave the boot.”

“They what?” Gabriela’s jaw drops. She might be a kickass PR agent (in her opinion, at least), but that doesn’t always mean she has full control over her own reactions. Case in point.

“It’s all good though,” Barbara reassures her, pointing to a pin on her shirt Gabriela had failed to notice before. It’s the Vulpecula constellation logo. The same one Gabriela’s wearing beneath her coat. “Vulpecula reached out much more nicely than Black Gold ever spoke to me. Offered me more money too,” she adds with a conspiratorial wink.

The brunette starts to laugh, but then understanding fully sinks in. PR managers are brought onto F1 teams to handle the drivers, and since Javi already has one, then that can only mean—

“You’re Oddball’s manager?”

“That’s right.” The two women trade matching smiles. “She’s adorable. A giant work in progress, but adorable.”

Gabriela winces sympathetically. She remembers her early days with Javi when he made his rookie debut, how eager he’d been for people to like him, how hard she’d had to work to prevent the light in his eyes from disappearing completely after critics started dismissing him as an insignificant presence on the grid. He’s grown up since then. He’s put up walls too. And she wants to be proud of him for not letting the negativity drag him down, but the thing about walls is that they keep him safe, yes, however they also prevent people from getting close. She hates to think of Javi as lonely, not someone as sweet and considerate as him.

“Speaking of Oddball,” Barbara’s voice shakes her out of her head. She blinks back into focus, finding her friend holding out a torn piece of paper with numbers scribbled on it. “This is her cell number. Vivian told me to make sure Javi had it.”

She takes the paper from her and stares down at it for a second before neatly stuffing it in her pocket, unsure whether to feel confused or offended Vivian didn’t reach out to her directly. Maybe the team principal wanted the two PR managers to meet up, aware of their history with each other. What’s done is done now, Gabriela supposes, shoving the mixed emotions aside as quickly as they sprung up.

“Thanks. I’ll make sure he gets it,” she tells Barbara. “You know, it really is great to see you again. I’ve missed having someone to gossip with over a drink.”

“Wine nights!” Barbara cheers, then immediately slaps a hand over her mouth when her voice echoes loudly off the walls.

They both burst into laughter not even a second later, so loud a couple of heads poke out of nearby offices to see what’s going on only to then shake in amusement at the pair.

And for the first time since Javi signed his contract with Vulpecula, the nervous knot in Gabriela’s stomach doesn’t seem so big anymore.