Lando POV
The summer break has been boring. At first I enjoyed it, I relished the opportunity not to have to see Oscar every day, not to have to listen to his annoying voice and his irritating laugh all the time. But then I got restless. I streamed on Twitch, I visited my family across the country, I went karting with old friends and even had a night out in London, but now I'm jittery. I miss racing, so one fresh Tuesday morning I fire up my McLaren and head to the MTC.
My smile fades when I notice Oscar's car in the car park. Shall I slit his tyres? Open my door into his bodywork? Disconnect the wires that lead to the headlights?
I push my hands into my pockets and stride towards the building. That would all be too obvious.
Inside, the place is quieter than it has been since pre-season. No pit crews training, nobody on the simulator, and no Grace or Zak Brown forcing me to do things I don't want to do. I wander around the atrium, marvelling at the beautiful classic cars and historic racers McLaren have collected throughout the year.
"Lando Norris! What are you doing here?"
I don't recognise the person who calls my name. They aren't in McLaren uniform and a little way behind I see a salesperson scuttling in high heels to keep up with her client. The man must have come to buy a car, and an expensive one too, seeing as he's getting the full tour.
"I thought I'd duck in and see how the team's doing," I smile, doing my part for the brand.
"Can I get a photo?" the big man asks. I agree and the salesperson takes the photo on her phone as the man puts his arm around me and makes a thumbs up. "Thanks! Can I ask you a question?"
My stomach twists. "Sure."
"Do you and Oscar Piastri really not get on, or is it all an act?"
My face flushes. Exactly the kind of question I don't want to be answering right now. I think back to the meeting with Zak Brown. Sweep it all under the rug.
"Oscar and I have a good working relationship. We're teammates, not best friends, but there's no bad blood between us," I lie. All of his blood is bad.
"Well it sure looks real," the guy laughs. "I wouldn't be surprised if you'd run each other off the road by the end of the season!"
I chuckle nervously and the salesperson mercifully whisks her client away from me. Note to self: stop engaging with members of the public one-on-one.
I decide to get lunch at the canteen for old time's sake, even if the place is deserted. I choose a healthy sandwich and pasta and pay at the till before turning my tray towards the window. But someone is already sitting at my favourite table.
Oscar Piastri.
I simmer quietly. I love the way the summer sunlight hits my face when I sit there. I love watching the shallow waves move across the lake as cars come and go beneath me. Now Oscar is watching them. Now Oscar is yellow in sunlight.
That's just my luck. Only two people in this entire canteen, and one of them is Oscar Piastri. I sit at the opposite end of the room beside the bins.
After a while spent staring at my phone instead of the beautiful trees which surround the car park, Oscar stands up. I trace his movements, cap pulled low over my face in the hopes he won't notice me. He walks past, drops his tray in the correct place and skips off downstairs. What is he doing here? Using the gym?
I glance over at my usual table, wondering if it's worth moving over there to eat the last two bites of my pasta. That's when I notice the dark grey shape lying under the chair. Oscar forgot his bag.
I snigger and glance around. I don't see or hear anything behind me or downstairs so I scarf down my remaining food, bin the waste and scuttle back to the counter.
"Can I have a biscuit please?"
"One?" the lunch lady sneers at me.
"Yeah."
"Take it, it's on the house."
"Thanks."
I grab a papaya orange napkin and bring both of my treasures back to my table. I root around in my own bag and am overjoyed to be carrying a pen for once. I spread the napkin out on the table and touch the pen lid to my lips.
What to write?
Enjoy your laxative, I scrawl.
I hastily wrap the biscuit up, making sure the note will be hidden when Oscar first opens the package. Then I take a couple of glances around myself and speed walk to the table where Oscar's bag lies in a heap on the ground.
I place the biscuit just under his sweaty gym shirt and speed walk away from the scene of the crime. Will he know it's from me? Will he believe my message, will he even see it?
As I pack up my own things to go home, Oscar comes back in for his bag. We make the briefest of eye contacts as we pass before I escape down the stairs and back home in my car. Mission accomplished.
Oscar POV
I get home from the MTC gym at around two o'clock. The sun is high and hot, a rarity for Britain, so I settle down on the roof terrace of my apartment building. There's a great view across all of Woking and the surrounding countryside and none of the other residents ever use this place. I lie back on a sun lounger and scroll on my phone for a while, then I start getting too hot. I reach into my bag for my water bottle, but I can't find it.
"Damn it, don't say I forgot it again..." I mutter to myself as I pull the bag onto my lap. I rifle around and start pulling out sweaty clothes. No water bottle. But I do find a suspicious package at the bottom.
This looks familiar.
I unwrap the orange napkin and the sight actually makes me laugh. Just like in Bahrain at pre-season testing, inside the napkin is a generic McLaren hospitality biscuit. I take a bite and smile across Woking.
It's obvious Lando put it in my bag. He was the only other person I saw in my entire day at the MTC, and he was alone in the canteen with my bag when I forgot it for a few minutes. He even caught my eye on his way out as if to let me in on a secret joke.
Could this be the start of an apology? Could Lando Norris finally be seeing the funny side of things?
I finish the biscuit and wipe my hands on the napkin. As I rub it this way and that, a flash of black ink catches my eye. I unfold further.
Enjoy your laxative.
I stand up like a shot.
"What?" I gasp, holding the napkin at arm's length and reading the same inscription over and over again. But the biscuit tasted so normal! I didn't see any white powder or weird additives, and the texture was normal too. I scrunch up my nose and pay attention to any feelings in my stomach. Everything seems normal. Maybe it's all just a joke...
But what if it's not?
I sit back on the sun lounger, turning the napkin in my hands. Would Lando do something like that? Where would he get a laxative, and is that the whole reason he came to the MTC today? To poison me?
I toy with the idea of forcing myself to throw up the cookie, but that sounds disgusting and I've only just had lunch. I decide to wait it out and trust Lando hasn't gone full psycho in the two months since our meeting with Zak Brown.
I take deep breaths. I have to calm down. If I'm not going to vomit the biscuit up, I'm going to have to wait it out and see what happens. I pull out my phone, check the time back home in Melbourne and video call my parents, hoping they'll already be awake.
My mum answers the call.
"Hey Oscar," she yawns. She's clearly just got out of bed, her blonde hair unbrushed and her eyes bleary. "Your father's still asleep. Big night last night."
"Was it?" I chuckle nervously.
"Yep. Party at the Lawrences' place. Big winter barbecue, but it started to rain at about eight o'clock. We had to go inside, and you know how it is. Once you're all sitting around the table you just eat and drink, and nobody wants to go home because of the rain..."
I lean my chin in my hand as I watch my mum explain her night. I smile faintly as she rambles. I miss her and the rest of my family. It's hard without their advice and I rarely reach out for support. I know I should do it more. Even her bad storytelling calms me down.
"... So that's enough about me. Tell me. How are you over there, baby?"
"I'm okay, Mum. It's hard. I've been training a lot in the summer break and it's been nice to have a break from the pressure."
"Don't let that American man work you too hard," my mum commands sternly and I laugh.
"He's my boss, and I'm a Formula One driver, not a waiter or a builder. I can't just ask for fewer hours."
"I don't want my baby boy getting stressed. You just have fun and enjoy every second, because one day you'll be my age and all your best days will be behind you."
"Don't say that, I'm sure you have plenty of good days still ahead of you."
"Like what?"
"Like the day I come home in December."
My mum smiles warmly and stirs her coffee. I smile back and we look at each other for a while.
"I'm sorry honey, I have to go. I have a lot to do today and the dog is looking at me with those sad eyes."
"Take him on the big walk, to the park."
The dog, Penny, barks in the background. My mum purses her lips and rolls her eyes at me.
"Now you've done it. I have to go, nice to see you sweetie! Call more often."
"I will. See you, Mum."
"Bye!"
I hang up the call and lean back, staring at the clear blue sky. I really should phone home more often.
In the next two hours, nothing happens to my stomach. But my mind runs away with me. Lando loves to pull pranks. What if this one is for real?
It can't be. That would definitely be grounds to fire him, especially if I was sick for days. I take out my phone, pull up an e-book, and do my best to relax for the rest of the summer break with no more thoughts of Lando Norris.