Bahrain

Apex

 

 

She's more nervous than she's ever been in her life, but it's a good nervous. It's a nervous she hasn't felt before. It's the kitewire in her stomach, the butterflies turning and righting and telling her to keep her head up and smile and pretend she isn't nervous at all. Pretend she isn't about to step into a multi-million dollar car for the very first time and ignore all the possible things that could go wrong and perhaps still might. She's done it thousands of times in training, but training is just that. Training is expensive simulators and virtual reality headsets and motion-sensitive seat arrangements. Training isn't the real thing, no matter how much she wishes it were.

'We're here,' her driver says. He smiles at her through the rearview mirror and she smiles back. It a reassuring look but it doesn't do much. She doesn't even know if the guy driving her is part of their team. If she's being honest she knows a lot less than she thinks is necessary. She opens the door and steps out into the cold January day in the parkinglot and waves at the driver as he pulls the car around and drives off. The building in front of her looks a lot cheaper than she remembers it being last time. No enormous radio towers or state-of-the-art glass complexes or anything remotely of the sort. Just a small office and a garage and the test track beyond. She listens to the wind a moment. The sun is small against the back of her neck. She stands there for a while not quite knowing what to do or where to go. It occurs to her that the only instructions Wendy gave were Turn up and Don't get lost. But a minute later the front door of the office opens and Wendy steps out and offers her a smile and draws her in for a hug.

'Seulgi,' she says. 'Didn't get lost, then?'

'Guess not.'

She's already wearing her engineer's overalls, the grey uniform jumpsuits with wings of red and gold down the arms and black patches on the shoulders and the tire-and-wings combination logo on the chest bearing the words APEX MOTORSPORT. 'Come on,' she says. 'Let's get you started.'

'Already?'

'There's no time to waste. Why, you scared or something?'

Seulgi only beams. 'Never,' she says. 'I'm as ready as I'll ever be.'

'That's what they all say.'

'Yeah, well. They're not all me, are they?'

Wendy takes her through the offices room by room, introducing her to a various host of faces she knows she should be remembering but isn't. People all dressed in Apex uniforms sat around computer screens and tablets and typing away and listening through earpieces to conversations Seulgi isn't privy to. They wish her good luck. Tell her to break a leg. She thinks if she's not careful on the corners she might just do that.

Out in the garage she takes a good look at the car for the first time. It isn't the first Formula 1 car she's ever seen, not even close. Seulgi likes to think of herself as something of a fanatic, and the noticeboard in her room at home with the ticket stubs of eight consecutive Korean Grand Prix attendances is pretty supportive of that. She's got pictures with all of them. A 2007 picture of her smiling with Lewis Hamilton. Felipe Massa on the podium in '08. Vettel's only championship win in 2011. And a distant picture from the stands of Korea's only championship winner, Bae Irene, smile playing on her rather attractive face, damp with sweat and hair all matted and wetlooking and a rosetinted blush on her cheeks and her hands hoisting the 2018 Korean Grand Prix trophy high above her head. Seulgi remembers that weekend very clearly. She remembers standing there seven days after reading the contract sent to her in the post and thinking: That could be me next year. That really could be me.

'Well,' Wendy says. 'What do you think?'

She spends a long time taking it all in. From that close there's something different about it she can't quite explain. It looks inhuman. How low and long it is, the sleekness of the body, the vaunted slats along the front wing, the spoiler at the rear. It looks like something devised from the smoking lobes of a madman. She paces around the car a couple times and back again. Her hand runs along the cool carbonfibre and the inside of the monocoque and down the back of the seat. Her seat.

'You look like you've seen a ghost or something,' Wendy says with a laugh.

'Something like that. Holy . This is mine.'

'Yes it is.'

'This is actually mine.'

'Well, not legally. You don't own it or anything. But yeah. Sure.'

'Can I?'

'That's what we're here for, isn't it?'

'I can't believe it. I can't believe I'm actually here.'

'Best get believing it soon.'

She looks at Wendy and Wendy just laughs. 'Pick up that jaw,' she says.

'I can't believe it.'

'I'm the same sometimes. Don't worry, you get used it. Eventually.'

Seulgi looks at the car again and back at Wendy and thinks that's a very tall order indeed. It hits her suddenly how unlikely the circumstances of their scenario is. She's known Wendy since she was a kid. Days spent in the backgarden sun racing plastic toy cars and making engine sounds with their mouths and now this. 'Holy ,' she says again, more to herself than anything. She follows Wendy back through into the offices and switches into her driver's overalls in the changingroom while Wendy tells the others they're about to start. When she goes back through they're all already in the garage and the car is on and the engine putting out a low and throaty hum that sounds like an aspirated heartmurmur. She climbs into the tiny seat and fits her legs to the pedals and fastens her helmet and Wendy passes her the steeringwheel for her to slot in and turn on.

'You ready?' Wendy asks. Seulgi gives a thumbs up. She isn't ready. She never will be. But what's the good in saying such? Sometimes the uncomfortable nature of a thing is in itself comfortable. That certain fear is reassuring. It reminds us we are still human.

'Okay,' Wendy says. She makes an O with her hand and checks to see if the headset is working and Seulgi nods. She can barely hear over the engine, which is strange and exciting and feels new even though it isn't at all. The other engineers sit around the computers by the left wall of the garage, the dials and numbers and lines and grids on screen like NASA machines at work. Wendy gives her a thumbs up and a wave of the hand, which means You're good to go, and that's all she needs. She feels the gas pedal under her foot feel like a thousand pounds of pressure. It's now or never.

'You're good to go,' Wendy says. 'Don't spin out too quickly.'

She taps at the gas and the entire car lurches forward like it weighs nothing at all. Like the only thing with any tangible weight anywhere even near the car is Seulgi herself, as if without her there it might simply float off. The acceleration is blinding. Games and headsets can't compare and never will. She nods to herself. I can do this, she says. I can do this. I've only been training by whole life for it. Just a little bit of time.

Then she slams down on the accelerator and is gone.

 

 

 

The three weeks of practice go by so quickly Seulgi has to stop once she's pulled the car back into the garage and make sure she's got the date right. And to make sure she's not in a dream. Pinching at the back of her hand does the trick, even with gloves on. Wendy comes over and taps on the carbon nose and gives her a thumbs up and Seulgi offers one back. All she can smell is the gas and her own sweat pouring from her against the heat of the engine. She pulls herself up out of the seat and takes off her helmet and tosses it onto the table nearby. The smile Wendy gives her is one of pride.

'Well?' she says. 'How'd you feel out there?'

'Good. Felt good.'

'What about the tires? How are you feeling on the mediums?'

Seulgi takes a look at the rear tires. The yellow racing lines and the Pirelli stamps on the outer rubber. The tires themselves look roughly worn and chaffed in the twenty-five laps she's been out there. 'Much better,' she says. 'Better than I was last week. I think I just needed to get used to them, is all.'

'You were flying through there those last few laps.'

'Yeah?'

Wendy nods. She holds up the time display on her tablet so Seulgi can see it better. 'You did a one forty-four point three a couple laps back. Your best ever on the mediums by far. So, not bad. Not bad at all.'

'Thanks,' Seulgi beams. She wipes the sweat from her brow and runs a hand back through her hair. Wendy tilts her head. There's a love in those eyes, an admiration of their lifelong friendship. As if she too can't believe where they are. 'God,' she says, 'this all feels a bit like a dream.'

'You're telling me.'

'How are you feeling?'

'For the race, you mean?'

Wendy nods. Seulgi holds out her jittering hand. 'Like that,' she says.

'I don't blame you.'

'What if something goes wrong?'

'It won't.'

'But what if it does?'

'Then it won't be from your end. This is a team effort.'

'I might, though. Might do something wrong, I mean.'

'Stop it.'

'Wendy—'

'You're the most naturally gifted driver I think I've ever seen, and I'm not just saying that because you used to beat me every time we played Need For Speed. I mean it.'

'I'm just nervous, is all.'

'And you've got every right to be. But you'll kill it. I know you will.'

Seulgi nods. It's more to herself than anything. 'God,' she says. 'I don't think I'll ever get used to it.'

'Good.' Wendy laughs. 'Might make you go a bit faster, in that case.'

 

 

The first time she meets Sooyoung is in the waitingroom just before the press conference. She's standing by the catering table helping herself to a ricecake when Seulgi goes over and smiles at her. Sooyoung smiles back. It's an affable smile, one of mischief and a little bit of impatience and the same reckless adrenaline running through Seulgi. 'Hi,' Seulgi says. 'Nice to meet you at last.'

'Yeah.'

Sooyoung pops the ricecake into and chews. She's tall, a good deal taller than Seulgi, darkhaired and striking and perhaps a little bit too laid back but Seulgi doesn't mention it. She shakes Sooyoung's hand and says, 'I can't believe I didn't meet you in practice.'

'Guess we had our times mixed up. Or something like that.'

'Must've done. I'm Seulgi.'

'I know. I'm—'

'Sooyoung.'

'Call me Joy. All my friends do.'

'Right. Joy.'

'You want one of these? They're so good.'

Seulgi shakes her head politely.

'You look nervous.'

'That obvious?'

'Yeah.'

'Look at me.' She holds out her quivering hand. 'I'm a wreck.'

Joy giggles. 'Relax. You'll be fine.'

'I hope so.'

'I remember my first time. Feels like yesterday. No, seriously, it does. Hard to believe it's been four years.'

'How did you cope with it?'

'I didn't.'

The look Seulgi gives her has her laughing again. She nabs another ricecake and bites into it nonchalantly. The other drivers have started to fill the room behind them. People Seulgi still has to meet. 'Honestly, I just told myself I'd done it before,' Joy says. 'I mean, it was technically a lie, but it got me through it alright. And once you do one, the rest become a breeze. They just sort of all fall into line, if you know what I mean. Have you spoken to the others yet?'

'Only to Wendy and the mechanics.'

'She's good, is Wendy. Seriously the best. I kinda wish she was still my engineer. You can't go wrong with her in your ear.'

'I hope you're right.'

'You need to lighten up a bit.'

'I don't think I can.'

'Then if you're going to be a ball of nerves, at least be a ball of nerves during free practice. Don't let it distract you during qualifying. Or worse.'

'I'll try my best.'

'You're a good driver,' Joy says, and the sincerity in her voice is a tad startling. 'Seriously. A really good driver. I mean, think about it. Korea's been the fasting growing country in terms of the number of drivers. We've got, what, five on the grid now? Six with you. Ten years ago we had none. Everyone wants to drive F1 cars now and yet you're the one that's actually here doing it. You're the F2 winner. That counts for something. And with the car the way it's looking this season, I'd say you've got a good shot of being near the top, if you can keep yourself together.'

'You're just being nice.'

'Sure. But there's some truth in there. You're here for a reason. That doesn't mean I'm going to play nice, though. It's everyone for themselves once you get out there. No team orders, nothing like that.'

She holds out her hand and winks and Seulgi shakes it. The room has already filled with the other drivers, all dressed in their fitted uniforms already, a wash of colour emblazoned on the different prints, the nametags of sponsors and teams everywhere. Ferrari, McLaren, Chamisul, Cook-Honda, Boone. By the door one of the drivers for Hewitt-Mercedes watches the TV playing the early morning broadcast. The two drivers for Racing Line are stood in the corner talking and laughing. Seulgi thinks she isn't the only one that looks nervous. By the window to her right she spots Irene and Yeri talking quietly. She's never met them before but she knows them all the same. One year ago they were idols to her, larger-than-life superstars on the grand stage that she would watch wide-eyed and very jealous. Yeri the youngest driver to ever start on the grid. Youngest podium position. Younger Grand Prix winner. Now they're rivals dressed in the bluewhite colours of Samsung Racing and that's all they are.

'Quit staring,' Joy says. 'Before someone sees you.'

'Sorry.'

'Nothing to apologise before. Just keep it on the low.'

Seulgi turns to the TV. A drone runs a flyby of the circuit from five hundred feet. It's a circuit she's seen many times before. She's driven down the long Bahrain back straight thousands of times in sims and videogames but never for real and suddenly her hands are shaking again. When the man with the tablet and the in-ear headset steps in and tells them it's time for free practice she turns to find Joy but Joy's already gone.

 

 

The red and white paint glints in the eye of the sun like liquid silver. Even with her helmet on and her headset in she can hear the others. Behind, in front. In practice it doesn't matter where they are. Only that they're somewhere along the track and she can hear the engines howling in the warm afternoon air and feel them rumble in electric thunderclap the same as her own. When she turns the car in at turn fifteen and hammers down the straight in eighth gear her headset jolts awake in a blare of static and she almost loses control of the back end.

'Woah,' Wendy says, voice almost lost in the static void. 'Careful now.'

'You scared me.'

'Sorry. You need to relax a little.'

'How much longer have I got?'

'Last two laps. Try and keep the pace for now.'

'Keep the pace?'

'Don't ruin your tires.'

She's allowed one cooldown lap and then it's back into the pitlane. She stops the car in the garage and climbs out and unclips her helmet. It smells of sweat and exhaust fumes and gasoline and it doesn't matter because her hands are shaking and she's flushed like never before and the rest of the mechanics and pit managers are clapping. She spots Wendy coming over from the back and taking off her earpiece and letting fall about her shoulder. The other drivers pull into the pits further down. All she registers is the noise, so loud she has to shout to be heard over the engines.

'How'd I do?'

Wendy motions her over to the stat screen at the rear of the pitwall. She points out a list of times, the numbers green and purple in places and some orange and names running up and down the board like the display on a spaceship. 'Okay,' she says. 'So, we're looking good so far.'

'Is that it?'

'What else do you want? I can't tell you anything else until qualifying. I'm in the dark a bit here.'

'But we're doing okay?'

'Yeah, we're doing okay.'

'How's the pace compared to Joy?'

Wendy made a fifty-fifty gesture with her hand.

'Is that good or bad?'

'It means keep your head down and keep putting in fast laps. How are you feeling out there anyway? Still nervous?'

'Duh.'

'Good. Nervous is good.'

'Yeah,' Seulgi says. She turns just in time to see Irene's bluecoloured Samsung pull into the pits three stops down in a flurry of exhaustsmoke.

 

 

It isn't like anything she's ever felt before.

Ten thousand laps in the simulator and five hundred in two weeks on the test track and thirty in free practice and none of it compares to the surge she feels in her spine when the engines spool up during qualifying. Everybody's giving it their all and she knows it. She can feel it. She catches sight of one of the LG-Renaults in her wingmirror, the number twenty-two driven by Jennie Kim, veering a slight off to the right and locking up her brakes. It's only a fraction of a second but a fraction of a second is too long. A fraction could be the difference between fourth on the grid and last.

'How are the tires feeling?' Wendy says through the headseat.

'Like the grip's going in the rear.'

'Keep it up. You've just set the fastest lap.'

She clips the apex a slight too hard going through turn eight and has to fight the opposite lock to stop the car going wildly off to the wrong side of the track. 'What?' she says. 'Are you serious?'

'Keep your head down and keep going.'

'Fastest lap?'

'Seulgi, focus.'

On the third and final round of qualifying she feels the old set of soft tires began to falter. It's almost strange how in tune with the car she feels. How much it feels like an extension of her body. She turns and it goes with her. She shimmies about and the car rattles, weightless and so easy to move. The afternoon sun lies hot in the barren sky and the cockpit feels like it might burn up at any moment. She can feel the sweat running behind her ears and pooling around the collar of her overalls. 'Alright,' Wendy says, voice static and ruptured. 'Two minutes to go. You've got time for one more lap. Make it count.'

'How are we looking?' Seulgi asks. She smoothes the kerb at turn eleven and listens. The silence feels like forever. Part of her hopes so desperately to hear those magic words - pole position - but the static cuts in and Wendy's there and she says, 'You're looking at P3. That's P3.'

Seulgi curses under her breath.

'P3 is better than we ever hoped for,' Wendy says. 'A top-three start in your first race ever is probably some kind of record. Just keep your head down and get the car back in one piece.'

'Who's ahead of me?'

'Joy's got about a tenth up on you in second.'

'Who's on pole?'

She feels the weight of the entire championship come down on her when Wendy answers as she's doing two hundred along the back straight.

'Irene,' she says.

 

 

She manages about three good hours of sleep on Saturday.

The other drivers are up and suited by the time she reaches the paddock and checks her helmet and fastens the straps of her gloves. They've all got their little pre-race rituals. Joy stretches out against the back wall of the Apex pit garage and Yeri jumps about on the spot as if she's skipping rope and somewhere down in the LG-Renault garage Jennie hums to herself and Irene is already in her car, halfway wheeled to the front of the grid. Seulgi watches her go. The atmosphere is electric. In the stands the vast crowd wave like performers at a parade. She can hear them all the way from down there. The bright carbon of her car's bodywork gleams in the white heat of the sun like poured metal. Already she's sweating. She puts a gloved hand out and it shakes all of its own accord and she can't find the willpower to get it to stop.

'Hey,' Wendy says. 'Hey, Seulgi. Look at me.'

'Yeah.'

'You good?'

'I'm terrified.'

'Just stick to the strategy and you'll be fine. You've got it in you, I know it.'

'What if I screw up, Wendy?'

'You won't.'

'What if I do?'

She puts a hand on Seulgi's shoulder. 'You won't,' she says, and the determination twinned in her wide eyes is almost enough to stop Seulgi's trembling. 'Third on the grid is insane. Just don't do anything you wouldn't do in practice.'

'I can do this.'

'Yeah, you can.'

'I can do this,' Seulgi says again. It's a mantra more to herself than anything and Wendy breaks into a proud smile and taps the side of her helmet. 'This is it,' she says. 'All the games, all the days we spent playing pretend. All leading up to this. Let's go get it.'

'Alright. Yeah.'

'You can do this.'

The formation lap to warm up their tires is the most nervous she's ever been in her life. Everything seems to be moving far too slowly. The welling in her gut is like a punch, hard to breathe. Joy and Irene trail the safety car around turns two and three and onto the leftmost straight and start snaking in the road to heat their tires and Seulgi does the same. They look like cars on ice, endlessly slaloming at eighty miles an hour and dipping in the corners and snaking again, left to right to left and back again. It's something she's done so many times before in practice but this isn't practice and every time she so much as nudges the steeringwheel the rudest synapses in her brain tell her she's going to spin off and crash and blow the engine and that will be that. One race finished before it's started and eight million dollars in engine damage. It's only when the safety car pulls away and they line up on the grid and the board of lights flashes that she accepts she hasn't crashed and this is really happening.

'Alright,' Wendy says in her ear. 'Good luck.'

The engines spool up. Eight thousand revs under braking and then nine thousand, nine and a half. The tension is like nothing else. The cars sound monstrously impatient. If it were not forty degrees Celsius and the daysky were not so bluely warm and sunlit you could be mistaken for believing it to be distant thunder cracking in the void of the world. The last of the marshals skitter from the front of the grid and the first red light goes up. Seulgi holds her breath.

The second light, the third.

On the fourth light she says a little prayer and everything falls silent. You could hear a pin drop. The fifth light. Then it's lights out, and her foot is to the floor, and everything becomes a blur.

 

 

The race is fifty-seven laps. It takes her twenty-nine to realise there are still only two cars ahead of her and neither of them are Irene's Samsung.

The dark paintwork of the LG-Renault glimmers like an evil spirit in the sunlight and six seconds ahead of that Joy weaves around turn eight and slows for the straight coming onto turns nine and ten. Seulgi glances at her wingmirror. The other cars are a distant memory, even the lone Samsung. Her hands are still shaking but it's not nerves anymore. It's something new and exciting and a little overwhelming and it tells her to keep going. To just push it a little further. She breezes the racing line at turn eight and takes the next corner faster than her previous best and feels the car shift with her. Everything is suddenly so comfortable, so right. At turn ten the static in her ear cuts in again.

'Alright,' Wendy says. 'How are you feeling?'

'Good. But I need those new tires. I'm losing grip. I need the mediums.'

'I know.'

'Tell me what's going on.'

'Joy's pitting this lap, but she'll be on a used set of mediums.'

'Okay,' Seulgi says. The two-hundred mile an hour straight before turn eleven makes her head spin. 'Tell me how I'm doing.'

'You're about one and a half seconds a lap quicker than the Renault and eight tenths faster than Joy.'

'Holy .'

'Yeah. And that's on old softs. You're lucky you're not iceskating out there.'

'Eight tenths faster?'

There's no response. The flitting Renault comes into view over the crest at turn twelve and slows and then is gone again. Seulgi can feel herself catching it. 'Wendy?' she says. 'Wendy, talk to me.'

'Okay. Alright. The plan is to box this lap.'

'What? Now?'

'Yeah.'

'But Joy—'

'Is boxing as well, yeah. We're doing a double stack. Then the plan is to let you race. Like I said, no team orders.'

'I don't understand.'

'You're faster than the Renault. Much faster. It's no threat to you. The best thing to do is bring you both in as soon as possible and change your tires and let you race again. It's early enough in the season that the guys are letting you prove yourself in this one. Just don't push it too hard. We need that one-two finish.'

'Oh God,' Seulgi mutters, the realisation dawning on her. It's halfway down the back straight when her DRS kicks in and her car surges past the Renault in a gigantic drainsuck of clean air and cuts up into second place. The crowd erupts. She can see them on their feet from there. 'Okay!' Wendy shouts. 'Brilliant driving. Brilliant. Keep it up like that.'

'Wendy.'

'Yeah?'

'How am I doing?'

She hears Wendy laughing into her headset. 'You're a damn superstar,' she says.

'Where's Irene?'

'Retired with a gearbox issue about ten laps ago. Did you not realise?'

'I guess I was concentrating too hard.'

'You don't need to worry about her now.'

'Oh my God,' Seulgi says again. It's only in that moment the fact she has a chance to win hits her. On the main straight she cuts into the pitlane five seconds behind Joy and loses no time at all. She's in and out, a clean exchange of tires, and the new mediums feel instantly smoother the moment she's back onto the straight and accelerating for turn one.

'Keep it up,' Wendy says. As if she needs any encouragement. On the next lap she sails past Jennie in the Renault to retake second and then it's just her and Joy, and the gap is closing. Lap thirty-three. Thirty-four. By thirty-six the wing of the other car is quivering in the heat and the gap is still closing and Seulgi's heart is racing so fast she thinks she might have a heart attack and not finish the race at all. 'Wendy,' she utters, voice shaky and on the edge. 'Wendy, you there?'

'Yeah. What's up?'

'Tell me what's happening.'

'Joy's last lap was a one minute thirty-three point six.'

She flattens out the apex at the bend ahead and sees the rear wing come into view again. It's close. So very close. By the time she's on the main straight again the chance is so real and so tangible she can almost feel the inevitability of it.

'Jesus,' she hears Wendy curse.

'What? Tell me what.'

'Your last lap.'

'What?'

'You've just done a one thirty-three three. Fastest lap of the race.'

She thinks it's a joke at first. Even when she makes the first attempt at passing Joy and is cut off unceremoniously does she still think it's Wendy having a laugh at her expense. On lap forty-one she looks back and sees the two Renaults as nothing more than tiny shifting imprints in the quaking heat. She tries again to slip past Joy on the inside and Joy swerves over the racing line and cuts her off. Then on the next corner she does the same again. On turn fifteen just before the main straight she switches to the outside line and brakes too late and locks up and costs herself half a second.

'Steady,' Wendy says. 'Take your time. Don't get too aggressive.'

You're right, she thinks, but aggressive is her driving style and they both know it. It's the reason they're all on their feet in the Bahrain stands for her. It's the reason she's even there at all. The laps wear away and she's still behind. The Renaults are long gone, so far back she doesn't even realise they've been overtaken by Yeri in the lone Samsung until Wendy tells her. 'How are my times looking?' she says.

'Incredible. You're about three tenths a lap quicker than Joy, and you've got fresher tires. She can't keep this pace for long.'

'I can't get past her.'

'Don't worry about that.'

'Wendy.'

'You've got nine laps to go. You've got all the time you need.'

'I can't do it.'

'Yes you can.'

She thinks briefly about Irene and knows she shouldn't, because telling herself the only reason she's in second at all is because Irene pulled out with a car problem does nothing for her self-esteem, nor her confidence. Wendy tells her again to calm down. The pale sun shines off the car in front and the paint along the orange lettering ripples like molten gold. They tear away from the straight again and beyond the tremor of the grandstands on lap fifty and Wendy is silent. At turn one she tries again and Joy catches the apex just in time to stop her.

'I can't do it,' she says.

'You can. Have a little bit of faith. You can get her at turn nine next lap.'

'It won't work. She'll be expecting it.'

'It doesn't matter.'

'I won't have DRS.'

'You've got the talent, though.'

'And so does she. She's too good for something like that.'

On the left straight they're less than a second from each other, so close they're almost touching. Everything else is in the past. The crowds dim and quiet. Joy weaves about and her tires are failing but failing too slowly for Seulgi's liking. 'Okay,' she says. Wendy hears her but it's a chant more to herself. 'Okay, Seulgi.'

They come down to the sharp right at turn four and Joy brakes first. It's a simple corner, perhaps the most simple on the track, and that's what Seulgi wants. She turns the car right and takes the inside line and sees the only chance she has. Wendy never speaks in her ear. One and a half seconds last a lifetime and more. She dives down the inside and brakes so recklessly late it draws a gasp from the crowd and slips along the inside line and then she's clear. She's done it. Joy weaves in the wingmirror. As if she can't quite believe it herself. The crowd erupt. Seulgi's hands are trembling and her grip is clammy and she can barely see out of her visor and it's a good twenty seconds before she hears the static of the radio again.

'Holy ,' Wendy mutters. 'Tell me you didn't just do that.'

'Yeah.'

'On turn four.'

'Uh huh.'

'You're insane. That's the most insane thing I think I've ever seen on a racetrack.'

'Worked though, didn't it?' She takes a moment to think about that. 'Oh my God,' she says. 'It worked. I'm P1.'

'Yeah. Now keep it that way.'

'I'm P1.'

'I know.'

'Wendy—'

'I know.' Wendy giggles. 'Just don't do anything that stupid again. Not that you'll need to. Time to bring it home.'

'Oh my God.'

The awful dread turning in her stomach tells her Joy's going to get past her again and retake the lead but she never does. The gap is half a second and then one second and then two. By the final lap it's as if Joy had never led at all. The crowd are already on their feet when she hounds down the chequered flag and waves and wipes the mist from her visor. She isn't crying yet. She doesn't even cry on her parade lap to cool down. She won't cry until she gets to the paddock and hugs Wendy and understands exactly what she's done.

 

 

She spots Irene from the podium, stood by the Samsung garage with her arms folded watching the triune of smiles on the stage. She's still watching when Seulgi pops open the champagne and douses Joy and Yeri with it. She watches all the way until the end ceremony is finished and then she disappears back inside and is lost beyond the gathering crowd.

 

 

It doesn't quite hit her until she's sat on the end of her bed in the fancy hotel room late that night. She turns to the ovoid cone of light poised along the ceiling from her bedside lamp and closes her eyes and pinches herself and opens them again. She's still there. The trophy is still on the floor next to her backpack, sleek and alive in the lamplight. She sits there for a long time and then she weeps and it's not with any sort of sudden sadness.

Oh my God, she says to herself. Oh my God I did it.

The first thing she does once she's showered and changed is ring her mom, and the first thing she hears when the phoneline crackles and her mom picks up is a scream like nothing else. She laughs. It's all she can do.

'Yeah. Yeah, I did it. I know. I love you too. Thank you. I can't believe it. Yeah, Wendy's fine. I really can't believe I did it. Okay. Okay, speak to you soon, yeah. Bye. Love you, bye.'

She checks her message after hanging up. Fourteen unread conversations. More than she's had in a long time. The trophy gleams on the floor. She sits for a while not really knowing what to do. Should she sleep? Ring a couple of her friends? Go and find Wendy? Should she start practicing again already? Maybe find a sim and hop on? The flight out isn't until midday tomorrow and she's got time to waste. In the end she turns off the bedside lamp and puts on a jacket and goes down to the hotel minibar in search of a drink. The surprise she gets when the only other person there is Irene, sat with her legs crossed by the counter, sipping a tall Martini from a cold glass, is sudden enough to make her think about turning around. But she doesn't. She musters up the courage and sits beside her and orders a beer and tries to smile and fails miserably. Irene just looks at her.

'Hey,' Seulgi says. 'You don't mind, do you?'

'No.'

She thanks the bartender and takes a pull on the beer with a wince. 'Congratulations,' Irene says. There's nothing to her voice that gives her away, nothing to gauge what she's feeling. Perhaps regret. Perhaps a simmering anger. Whatever it is Seulgi believes it isn't pride or excitement or even care. 'Thanks,' she says.

'You drove a good race.'

'I'm sorry about what happened to you.'

'Yeah.'

'What was it?'

'Gearbox failure. Then the whole car shut down on lap twenty-six.'

'Jesus, I'm sorry.'

Irene sips her Martini. She isn't looking at Seulgi and it gives Seulgi the perfect opportunity to mindlessly gawp at her. The dim pinchbeck glow of the chandelier on the ceiling runs off her face like wet gold. Outside her racing overalls she looks like something from a dream. 'Don't be sorry,' she says, putting her glass on the counter. 'These things happen. It's just part of racing.'

'Still though. You had it in you to win.'

'Yeah. I did.'

'I'm sorry.'

'It's only the start of the season. There's a long way to go.'

'True.'

'I saw that move you did, by the way.'

'Move?'

'On Joy. When you went down the inside.'

'Oh. Thanks.'

'You're lucky you didn't cause an accident.'

Seulgi just looks at her. Irene sips at the Martini and settles the glass on the countertop. Her fingers dance around the tall stem. 'But sometimes you've got to take risks,' she says. 'Sometimes you've got to put yourself in those positions. Seems like you've learnt that already.'

'Seems I have.'

'You're fast. And I don't just mean on the track.'

The smile that comes to Seulgi's lips is involuntary. 'What?' Irene says, tilting her head a slight.

'Nothing. It's just, you were my idol when I was still in sim racing. You were the one I looked up to.'

Irene purses her lips and turns away and drinks again. It must be something she hears every day, thinks Seulgi, but it doesn't stop her saying it. 'This all feels like a dream,' she says.

'Yeah, well.'

'Sorry. You must get that all the time.'

'Don't sweat it. I'm used to it.' She tips back the dregs of her drink and holds the glass up in the narrow light and smiles a soft and professional smile. 'I think I should get some sleep,' she says.

'Yeah. Me too.'

'Well done today.'

'Thanks.'

'I look forward to China.'

Seulgi breaks into a grin. It's all she can do. 'Yeah,' she says. 'So do I.'

She's still grinning when Irene's halfway through the lobby and the minibar is empty.

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TEZMiSo
Feeling very tempted to bring this story back lmao, guess I just can't keep things completed

Comments

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wolyoooo88
#1
Chapter 9: Oh God, they are so soft, seriously 😭
ChoiSan
#2
Kind of crazy but the new F1/Racing movie being produced alongside Lewis Hamilton starring Brad Pitt is called ‘Apex’ too and the fictional team it features is called ‘Apex GP’.
KangLj #3
Ever since I came across this story eventually things about formula 1 is mysteriously magnetizing unto me on my socmed
KangLj #4
Chapter 11: Heck this story just brings me to F1 racing and racers like literally immerse me to their universe, my YouTube suggestions are all over about F1 this is great. I ing cried out of kilig when Irene confessed her love to Seulgi good gracious, Monaco became so special so suddenly because of this story jesus I love this story it makes my imagination wider and healthier and opens to a new experience. I learnt a lot and crave the rare moments of Seulgi and Irene that makes it so special gosh
railtracer08
357 streak #5
Chapter 11: Man that was nostalgic. Reminds me of the time wheni used to actively follow F1 back when M.Schumacher was tearing it up. I honestly didn't think I'd love this story as much as i would but each race in each chapter felt different and watching their relationship progress is just *chefskiss*. On to part 2 then!
railtracer08
357 streak #6
Chapter 8: Oof, that was unexpected
nzone89
#7
Chapter 8: Hands down this is my favourit fanfic ever. It was written so good that I feel like those are not characters anymore.. Hope you'll write more stories like this.. or continue this to next book.
ArmoredPenguin
#8
Such a cool concept I wish there were more F1 stories
hi_uuji
#9
Chapter 11: ARRGGGHH I had no idea this would be so cool. I'm really not a fan of racing, I prefer something like football and badminton. But wow! I didn't know my adrenaline would be pumped just by reading the words here and a little research and watching the 10 best f1 battle moments in history. I still can't believe that I've finally finished a long story where I usually only read one shoot. I'm so glad I found this story. It feels like I've read something like this too on wattpad with a different adaptation and I'm still enjoying all the thrills. WELL DONE!!
hi_uuji
#10
Chapter 9: I'm practically sreaming with all butterflies in my stomach