Page 38 of Overtake
The pit lane speed limiter gives him five seconds to reset his mind. Distracted driving is always dangerous, especially when you’re going three hundred km/h.
“Heinrich’s watching sector times,” Roxana says as the crew swarms his car. “Says the medium compounds should give better rotation through 13.”
A roar of engine noise grabs his attention as Petra’s car screams past the pit wall. He checks the F1 TV feed. Another purple sector.
“How many fast laps has she done?”
“Six.” Rox doesn’t point out that he didn’t ask about Lynch or Gavril or Wyn or any of the other drivers putting in fast laps. “All within a tenth. Very consistent.”
“Unlike someone’s concentration,” Heinrich cuts in. “Focus on your own telemetry, Conejo.” It’s a rare rebuke.
Mediums on. Front wing changes complete. The crew steps back and Nico’s number one mechanic guides him into the pit’s fast lane. At the end, he gets a green light and accelerates. Nico clears the pit lane and weaves to warm the new tires.
“Right. Let’s see what these changes do for 13.” Roxana’s voice in his helmet centers him. “Three flying laps, then cool down. And Nico?”
“Yes?”
“Trust your own lines.”
He almost protests, but there’s no point. Rox knows him too well. He focuses on the car’s response to the wing adjustment and medium compounds, seeking the balance between speed and control.
Turn 13 approaches.
“Yellow flag, yellow flag. Spin in turn 4. It’s Wyn.”
Again. It’s the second time this session.
“Is he okay?” Nico backs off.
“He’s fine.”
Nico swallows a curse. Graham’s been in the garage all morning with his film crew, dogging every step Wyn takes. The man doesn’t know when to fucking quit.
The yellow flags clear and Nico starts his first flying lap. The circuit opens up before him, empty and perfect. Just him and physics.
The front wing changes work their magic through turn 13, the car finally settling into that perfect space between grip and slip. Nico’s instincts take over. He’s best when he doesn’t think about each input.
“Purple sector 1,” Roxana reports. “Looking clean.”
The car dances through the chicane. Everything’s flowing now. No more thoughts about karting or a rejected dinner invitation or the way Petra finds impossible lines through corners. Just him, the car, and the track.
“Sector 2, purple again, Nico.”
He hits apexes perfectly, riding the kerbs just enough before straightening into the exits. The car responds like it’s reading his mind.
“P1, Nico.” Roxana sounds satisfied. “One-thirty-one-point seven-six-three. Beautiful lap, Conejo.”
“Vale.”
His satisfaction lasts exactly three corners.
“Hayter’s on another flyer.”
He’s watching his mirrors, knowing she’ll appear any minute now?—
There. She takes a line through turn 4 that shouldn’t work but somehow does. It’s like she has her own laws of physics.
“Focus on your own lap.” Rox knows he’s watching Petra. “Two more runs, then we need to check tire wear.”
