Page 15 of Dirty Air
Fritz is about to offer to grab another when the race engineer’s tongue darts out and licks the utensil.
Henry turns back to the screen, picking at his lunch while he rattles off numbers, but Fritz’s attention stays glued to the fork in his hand.
It’s not a benchmark anyone takes seriously, but Fritz places fifth in FP2. If nothing else, it’s a huge boost to his confidence for qualifying tomorrow.
When he whips his balaclava off, he’s surprised to spot his mother and sister in the visitors’ section with their matching headsets on.
“I thought you wouldn’t be here until tomorrow,” he greets them in German. “Did you find the garage alright?”
His mother wraps him in a hug that lifts him off the ground,though he’s almost a foot taller than her. “You don’t eat enough,” she scolds him. “And you never visit us while you’re here.”
“I don’t have the time,” he whines as she pinches parts of him and titters about his weight. “And you should blame my performance coach and weight restrictions, not me.”
“You should fire that boy for starving you.”
He should, she’s right. “You love Dieter, Mama. And every performance coach will say muscle is more important for driving than sausage and strudel.”
“Then where is the muscle?” Ella teases.
“What are you talking about?” Fritz flexes like a bodybuilder and his confidence plummets when they laugh at him. He isn’tthatfunny.
“Entschuldigung.”
Fritz turns, but the last person he expects to see is Henry.
“Mein Name ist Henry,” he announces when he holds out his hand to Fritz’s mother.
“Did you teach him German for us?” Fritz’s mother asks in heavily accented English.
“Why would you do that?” Ella asks, also in English.
If Fritz had his way, this conversation wouldn’t be happening in any language. “I didn’t teach him anything.”
His mother smiles at Henry. “Your German is very good.”
“You speak English?” Henry grimaces with embarrassment. It’s cute.
“Not very well,” Ella lies. “You are Fritz’s new race engineer! We like to hear you, but they only ever play his complaining.”
Mama tuts. “I did not raise him to complain so much.”
“It is a high-pressure environment, Mama.” Fritz doesn’t complainthatmuch. He’s just sensitive to how the car should feel.
“When you raise a baby boy who likes to projectile vomit allover your expensive rugs, you can talk back to me about high-pressure environments.”
Fritz gapes. “How do you know that word in English?”Projectile?
Henry receives a call on his phone and excuses himself. He’s so rude for not taking Fritz with him.
Fritz’s mother and sister demand to be introduced to everyone in the garage. They’ve asked a bunch of times before, but Fritz has never been so prepared.
As he greets everyone by name, he can tell his family is both impressed and disappointed that they can’t tease him about being anti-social.
When they get to her, Madison digs out her phone. “This is good timing! I wanted to show you something. You met a fan in line?” She pulls up a video and the family crowds around.
Fritz watches as the video version of himself jogs into frame and exclaims, “Das ist mein Gesicht!” It’s not hard to place which fan interaction it was, but he had no idea the whole thing had been recorded.
It’s humbling to watch himself overreact to a little bit of attention.
