Against You

Monza

"Fifth," the woman pulls a face. "It should have been higher, but we got caught in a yellow flag on our first attempt and hit traffic on the second."

"No time for a third try?"

"We wouldn't have made it. It wasn't the best strategy from the team..."

I smile sympathetically and turn to head back to my cabin, allowing a grin to widen across my face as I go. Lando came fifth.

I got pole.

Lando POV

I march into the paddock, hood up, headphones blasting, and only one thought racing through my head.

Oscar on pole.

My chest burns with envy, disgust, rage. I slam the cabin door behind myself and throw my body down on the sofa. I put my head in my hands, but soon I'm restless and tearing on my race suit. My mind is screaming to get out there and beat him. Beat everyone. Prove to myself beyond all doubt that I am worthy of my race seat, and no self-important rookie can beat me at my own game.

The pre-race briefing is tense and short. I hang on every word, memorising everything my engineers tell me about the conditions, the upgrades to the car and the tyre performance data from yesterday. I don't glance across the garage, but that doesn't stop me hearing Oscar Piastri's irritating voice and self-important laughter.

How did I let this happen? How can Oscar, a rookie, be getting better qualifying positions than me who has four seasons of experience with this team in this car? Is he really getting under my skin that much? Has so much really changed?

With a click, the last of my seat belts is secured tightly around my torso.

"Good luck, Lando."

"Go get 'em!"

"Come on, Lando, full send!"

The shouts of my teammates mix with my own nerves as I drive the car out of the garage and join the line in the pit lane. Of course Oscar gets there just in front of me. I stare at his rear wing as all twenty cars rumble around me, waiting for the green light to release us onto the track. I hate him. I can't let him win, and it's about more than just proving myself. I know he needs this win to feel deserving of his seat. Right now he's unsure, insecure. I will be his downfall, I will fight my way through from fifth place to push him off the podium. I've faced worse opposition.

And if things go really wrong, I can always run him off the road.

The light changes. Why does the lap to the grid feel so much like the beginning of the race? Watching Oscar's rear wing lead me round the track gets me more focussed than I've ever been before. It makes my fingers itch. It makes my heart pound.

I hardly walk three steps from the car in the time before the race. I pull on my headphones and run through every one of my greatest moments in my head. My first podium in Austria. My first win in Monaco. Everything I've achieved, everything I deserve. The atmosphere is electric as I get back in the car and start the formation lap. The crowd are lost in red and green smoke, the track is hazy as I take up my grid position.

I'm on the verge of a heart attack as the lights turn green.

Everyone attacks, everyone wants it. We fly down the straight, past the stands of fans cheering for Ferrari, and bunch up into the first chicane. I brake as late as possible, but it isn't enough to overtake Carlos Sainz.

I settle into the race, but I don't settle into fifth position. My engine whines and my tyres scream but I have to get the maximum out of the car. The trees blur either side of me. I can't let Oscar get away. I can't let him win.