Max
We have been sitting for two hours, waiting for other drivers to show up. Christian told me to be on time at eighteen o'clock, and it's already after twenty and there's still no one there. He claimed that being late would affect the reputation of the whole team, but apparently he was joking to get me here. Annoyed, I bang my fist on the table, making Daniel jump up on the chair next to me.
"What did that poor table do to you?"
"Fuck it. I'm going to my room." I'm already about to get up, when suddenly the door of the room opens and Lando, Carlos, Oscar and Pierre walk in. I let the air out loudly through my mouth, feeling Daniel's gaze on me, like - what did I tell you?
"Hey, what are you guys so early? So eager to get to know each other better?" smiling Norris takes the chair next to Daniel, looking in our direction. Sainz sits in the row with him along with Pierre, and Oscar adds a chair to sit next to his teammate.
"Early?" I ask puzzled. I arrived on time, he is the one who is late. No one informed me of this planned lateness. Is this supposed to be a joke? A punishment?
"Well, yes, after all, we were supposed to be on the twenty." Oscar glances in our direction.
I exchange glances with Daniel, hearing Carlos' snort, which breaks the silence. I shift my gaze to him, feeling a growing nervousness. I don't like him because he is a Ferrari driver who is a colleague of Leclerc, who is also a Ferrari driver. Everything is clear.
Just as I'm about to comment on his behavior, I bite my tongue, recalling what I said before coming here. I'm supposed to be an oasis of calm so I don't go to this shit again.
"They sent you before, didn't they?" Sainz asks.
"Apparently we misunderstood something." I sell out in response before Daniel, who would probably, like the last moron, tell the truth.
I listen to the conversation between the two McLaren drivers, and every now and then I respond when they ask me a question. Daniel, Carlos and Pierre are talking about some other topic, which interests me little. In fact, I'm surprised that Lando and Oscar haven't pounced on me yet, seeing my discouraged face for being there. Or maybe I'm such a good actor and it doesn't show.
Suddenly the other drivers, who must have met in front of the building, enter the room, because they are talking and laughing. When they become aware of our presence, they smile in our direction.
"Hi everyone!" Charles, is the first to speak loudly, glancing in our direction, only ignoring my face with his eyes. The clown of the show has arrived, and I still have no popcorn.
"Hi Charles!" everyone replied almost simultaneously.
I don't know how he does it, but there is no person but me who doesn't like him. He always pretends to be great-pleasing, which probably blinds their eyes and they can't see what he's really like. I'm the only one who can see it, so that's why I don't talk to him.
"Hi." I repeat after them, with a lack of enthusiasm and much quieter, but it doesn't escape anyone's notice. Suddenly the eyes of all nineteen drivers fall on me, however, it has no effect on me. Still bored, I'm sitting sideways on a chair, leaning with my back against the wall.
Leclerc wrinkles his eyebrows, looking at me suspiciously, but to my surprise, he makes no comment, which also causes puzzlement among the other drivers, who now shift their gaze from me to the Ferrari driver.
"Hi." he replies, while feeling the gaze of everyone in the room on him. A gentle awkwardness has set in.
Suddenly Norris spits out the water he had been drinking and starts coughing. He visibly choked on it. Oscar pats him on the back, and Lando finally takes a deep breath, pulling away from his teammate's hand. Daniel scratches the back of his neck, glancing at Pierre, who shrugs his shoulders.
"What?" I ask exasperatedly, rolling my eyes as the silence becomes too quiet for me, and Leclerc doesn't bother to interject.
"No, nothing... It's just... Well... You... You said hello..." says an abashed Piastri. The others nod to him, with a nod.
"Lewis, it's nice that you're back in the silver car." Charles says suddenly, sitting down next to the boy.
And suddenly, as if by the touch of a wand, everyone starts talking to each other, ignoring the subject of our greeting. I understand absolutely nothing. I look at the Ferrari driver, who, focused on the conversation, ignores my gaze. He wasn't angry, he didn't look like he wanted to kill me, he answered me. Damn, did he have the same plan as me? Did he think of what I came up with? If so, maybe even better. All the more reason for everyone to believe in a settled dispute, and I won't have to go to such circus parties again.
"Do you think you'll be fast again?" I hear Carlos' voice next to me, who sat down while I was far away in my thoughts.
I glance in his direction. In addition to him, in some sort of mutual adoration circle are George, Daniel, Yuki, Fernando and Checo, who has been asked a question. Each of them looks at Perez, expecting an answer. He, on the other hand, with the eyes of a beaten dog, looks at me to be the one to answer, and the rest, as if they know what's in his head, shift their gaze to me. I tense my muscles, feeling uncomfortable here. I don't like people. The media most of all, but the drivers, maybe not so much that I don't like them, but that I don't like talking to everyone at once when they exert such pressure.
"Yes," I answer truthfully.
"Very?" Russell smiles in my direction, probably having a fast Mercedes in his mind. That hasn't come together in several years - fast and Mercedes.
"Enough so that you won't catch up with me when I make a pit stop." I also lift the corners of my mouth up victoriously, hearing the laughter of everyone but George, who stops smiling upon hearing my words. He rolls his eyes, crossing his offended arms over his chest.
In time, the atmosphere relaxes. After half an hour, Daniel ordered to bring alcohol, and everyone agrees with him. The tests are three days away, however, I refuse. Charles, Pierre, Oscar and Checo do as well. However, sobriety does not prevent a good time. I laugh, looking at the drunk drivers. Every now and then I talk to someone who sits next to me, and I don't feel overwhelmed like I did in that circle.
Suddenly a Ferrari driver sits down next to me. I turn with a smile in his direction, because drunk is really survivable, but the smile disappears when instead of Carlos I see Charles' face. He looks at me seriously, thinking about something.
"Leclerc." I say reluctantly.
"Give yourself up, Verstappen. I'm here because, like you, I don't want to see you, so shake my hand, smile and pretend this is our sign to reconcile, because the cameras are fired up and probably everyone is watching us." he says with a smile, although he doesn't look happy at all, but the cameras don't show it.
I nod, acknowledging his point. I extend my hand toward him. He shakes my hand gently. I force myself to reciprocate the smile as we continue to maintain eye contact. I don't know how much time, but we've been in this position for far too long. I take my hand away, breathing out, but I continue to play up appearances, not looking at him with hatred any more. He does so as well. He stands so that the cameras can see his face and winks at me, turning on his heel. He helps Pierre up from his chair and he and Carlos carry him almost in the air as he leans completely drunk on their shoulders.
Okay, that was awfully weird.
***
The tests passed quickly and smoothly. I made my comments, which made the employees sick of me, but I can't help being demanding. If I give my best and lead the team to the top, they have to provide the conditions for me to do so, and for that to happen, the person who drives the car has to know what needs to be improved to make it better.
Today is race day. I finished yesterday's qualifying in pole position, which I'm damn happy about. I didn't think I would be here. I thought Charles had a chance to win with me, especially since he went much faster in Q2, but that's nothing. It's better for me. I'll be able to annoy him when I get so far away during the race that he won't catch up with me, and the world title will be gone on my rear of the car by the first race.
"How's the attitude?" Checo stands next to me as I put on my overalls.
"Same as always. Let's smash them so I don't have to see any more comments where people think Red Bull isn't fast this year." I wink at him, taking my helmet from the shelf.
"Yes, let's do it." he agrees with me as we both move toward the track, where our cars are already set up.
Perez didn't have as much talent and luck as I did, as he starts a few places behind me, but I have faith that he'll make it and before I know it, he'll be on P2.
I don't look around to avoid being distracted. After that drivers' meeting, no one brought up the subject until today. I don't know if it's the calm before the storm or if our plan with Leclerc worked. I'm betting on the latter, because we avoid each other as much as possible. I didn't see him once during those few days, except for his car on the track, so I consider it a success. Of course, I didn't spare myself curses, commenting on his driving, with reciprocity, which I saw on the Internet, but this can be taken with a pinch of salt, right?
After the anthem and photos, I put on my helmet and got into the car. My team lowers the car onto the track, takes the umbrella and leaves the asphalt. It's time to show what I can do this season.
"Ten seconds to the formation lap, Max." I hear the voice of my race engineer.
"Yea, copy."
As the lights go out, I set off to warm up my tires. Every so often I glance in my mirrors, where I see a red Ferrari. I brake and accelerate to get ready for the race. After a few minutes, I stop at my starting spot and hold my breath, looking ahead. This is my favorite part.
"All cars on the start line." I hear a voice somewhere in the distance.
I feel how suddenly the whole world is somewhere far behind me, behind a fog and a wall that doesn't let any sound through. I can only hear my heartbeat and my own breathing. I put my hands on the steering wheel, watching the red lights come on. Time slows down, problems drift away, and I feel free as I move off briskly, flush with the lights going out.
It's always at the first turn that the most happens, because all the cars are close to each other. Leclerc also knows this, and wants to take advantage of it, because after a while he finds himself flush with me as we enter the turn. I don't let up, which causes him to brake, hiding behind me so as not to cause damage to his front wing. I lift the corners of my mouth up victoriously, because although I haven't won yet, I feel like a winner.
The rest of the race passes quietly. I have to ask for some TV to be mounted or popcorn to be delivered, because everything was boring. By the end I was riding with a big lead over my teammate, who made up places by climbing the podium.
"Ferrari still has problems with the car." I hear suddenly.
"Is this something new?" I laugh, finishing the penultimate lap. "For as long as I can remember, they were... Themselves. Circus people, with the clown in the lead."
"How wrong am I, thinking you're talking about Leclerc?"
"Damn near not at all."
"Not commenting. Last lap, Max."
With a smile on my lips, I drive the lap and pass the checkered flag. I thank the team for a good car and congratulate them on a great start to the season, as everyone did a good job in their role, getting us to P1 and P2. At P3 is Charles, which I won't say surprises me. They had problems with the car, and he did tolerably well for being in a Ferrari. But of course I won't congratulate him.
I stop the car in front of the one and get out, immediately running to the team that is waiting for me behind the barriers. I jump towards them, and they shout, congratulating me and hugging me. With a broad smile, I thank everyone individually, and then walk over to Perez.
"Well done." I shake his hand, which he immediately squeezes.
"Yes, good job." He agrees and walks over to the team to, as I did, accept congratulations on the podium. A perfect start.
After the interview, I take my helmet and water and go to the room where my salvation, the air conditioning, is. Tired, I put my things on a shelf and sit down on a chair that stands to the side. I never pay particular attention to which chair has the number one. It's not important here. I look at the replays of the race with curiosity, because driving in front, I saw absolutely nothing interesting, and some cool action happened. For example, the Ferrari fight, the overtaking of Perez and the bumping of the cars at the end of the pile.
"Hot here." I glance at Perez, who enters the room.
"Damn, agree." I laugh as he sits down next to me. "I saw them take turns overtaking each other." he comments on the successive turns where Carlos overtakes Charles and vice versa. What a circus...
"Yeah, a spectacle." I lean against the backrest. "But they drove well." I add reluctantly.
Leclerc enters the room. Without looking in our direction, he puts away his things, puts on his cap, and before Checo has time to say anything, the organizer comes after us to tell us go to the podium. Charles almost runs out of the room, making my teammate and I look at each other uncomprehendingly, but without commenting we also follow him.
I wait my turn and walk up to the podium, waving to the fans. I stand on the top step, feeling pride and joy bubbling up inside me. Although I don't look it, inside I'm jumping, like a little child who got a lollipop. Each race brings me closer to more records, which causes joy.
I straighten up, removing my cap as the Dutch anthem begins to play. The men next to me do so as well, however, when I feel Charles' gaze on me, I uncontrollably turn toward him.
"You act as if you're the winner, not your car. Let's be honest, you drive terribly, and if Perez were me, I would quickly and easily overtake you not once, not twice, but as many as you can catch up to me, which is zero." he says loud enough for only me to hear. He smiles mischievously while doing so, and holds a baseball cap in his hands.
I clench my jaws, trying to ignore him. I can't let myself be provoked. Not here, not now, not during the anthem and the crowd of people and cameras. I look in front of me again, counting to ten in my mind, which helps me blandly. I clench my fists, beating myself up with my own thoughts. I don't want to do something that I will regret and there will be terrible consequences. And on top of that, I know that I will let Christian down with such behavior. I don't want to do that, because he is for me, like a father. I want him to feel pride, not disappointment.
"Daddy must be proud that..."
I don't let him finish. Every sentence he says about my father is always the worst that can pass his lips. And he knows it always works. I do bad things every time he mentions him. It's such a red rag to the bull. He takes advantage of it again, and again I get carried away by my emotions. I act under the influence of nerves. I don't wait for anything. I simply find myself in front of him in two steps and, taking a swing, I punch him in the face with my fist. Confused, he takes a step back to avoid falling and catches himself with a sore jaw.
"Don't ever fucking talk about my father again, or you'll regret it." I say through clenched teeth. "I at least have a father." I add with a smile full of venom.
The brunet, without waiting for anything, also moves toward me after a moment of shock and pushes. He is furious, just as I am. In the distance, I hear rapturously held breaths, whispers and shouts. Some are cheering, others are challenging. We start jostling each other, hitting each other with our fists from time to time. I feel blood pouring from my nose. Leclerc doesn't look any better. He has a cut lip, a red cheek where there will be a bruise and tumbled hair. We take turns challenging each other, looking at each other with hatred in our eyes. Under the excitement, I don't even know what words are being said, but they are definitely not nice, as Perez, who is trying to separate us, looks at us in shock. Suddenly there is silence. The anthem ends, and some security guards run up to the podium finally separating us.
"Truth hurts, Verstappen!" he shouts as they lead him off the podium.
"I hope they get you out of here, Leclerc!" I exclaim.
I stick out my middle finger behind him, and after a while I'm also led out. I make the biggest mistake I could. I turn behind me, finding Horner and my team with my eyes. They look at me with disappointment, sadness and shock. I shift my gaze to the others, who look similar. Checo takes mine and his a cup, a medal and champagne from some people, after a while following me.
I don't put myself down, I just nervously walk down. Charles is not of the same opinion, as he tries to break out of the hug by saying something in another language, and when I pass him, his face turns red with anger.
"What the hell was that!" he shouts after me, referring to hitting him.
"Surprise, you fucking mother fucker!" I exclaim and fall silent. The victorious smile has yet to fully emerge, and it is already coming off my face. In front of me stand Christian, Frederic and several people from FiA. They look once at me and once at Charles, who immediately calms down at the sight of them. I'm fucked, but I'm comforted by the fact that this asshole is too. I dragged him down with me, so I can lose while feeling victorious.