I KNOW PLACES | George Russell

18. Goldfish

Miami
Sunday

Ariella's pov

I'll spare everyone the details of the race. Long story short, I finished 2nd after I fucked up in one of the corners and went too wide. Still a podium but could've been better. At least the team still got the same amount of points, considering Max was the one to pull ahead after the mess up.

I pull my helmet and balaclava off with more force than intended, frustrated with myself for the mistake on track.

"Be a goldfish." Max suddenly says from next to me. I blink at him. "Sorry?" I ask, thinking for a moment that I may not have heard him correctly.

He weakly chuckles. "Goldfish have 10 second memories. Forget about that one mistake or it'll hold you back." His advice is wise. I'd expect nothing less from him. He rests a hand on my arm, giving me a smile before he goes off to his interview.

Even if the explanation makes sense, it's still funny to think about me turning into a goldfish. I kind of wish I was a goldfish now. I mean, they have nothing to worry about. Ever. They spend their entire lives just swimming, a simple life.

Though on second thought, it sounds kind of sad. Doing the same thing day in and day out, having no real purpose. I don't think I want to be a literal goldfish anymore. I'll settle for a metaphorical one.

Gemma's directing hand flushes away the thoughts that are swimming through my mind, now directing them to focus on the interview.

The interviewer—a guy—stares at me like I'm the one wasting his time. "So another 1-2 finish for Red Bull. Can you comment on that turn 7 in lap 50?" He asks in reference to my mess up. Something in his tone is condescending.

I shake my head, highly disappointed in myself. "Uh, well I broke too late and turned too wide. But thankfully the team still got those point for p1. Max is an excellent driver," I look to where Max is standing and smile, remembering his wise words about being a goldfish. "Props to him for that finish." I say when I turn back to the interviewer in front of me, the smile still on my face.

His eyes narrow at me. "So are you not disappointed about that mistake?" He spits the word mistake out like it's a disease.

I shake my head quickly. "No don't get me wrong I am upset with myself for that, but I've gotta look on the bright side." I shrug. "It's still a podium finish and the team still gets those points." I nod. The interviewer thanks me and Gemma takes me away by the arm.

The press conference is the worst thing that would possibly happen. Max is sat in the middle of the couch, me to the left of him, and the p3 finisher to his right.

George finished p3.

Max was giving the both of us suggestive looks the entire time, shifting his eyes from me to him, or from him to me. And tapping me with his foot and giving me looks every time George was asked a question. I wanted to take the pillow from the couch and throw it at his face.

The three of us are walking through the paddock now, Max being between George and I.

"I feel like I third wheeling." Max throws his head back laughing at his own joke. "We aren't even together." George is quick to defend us against the accusation, making Max raise his brows suspiciously.