Against You

Monza

Oscar POV

Monza isn't just a race. The buzz of the crowd mixes with the wind in the trees and the roar of the cars, taking me back to racing with Prema and living in Italy full-time. The fans are wild, waving huge flags and letting off coloured flares. For Italians, this isn't just a race. This is religion, and Monza is their church.

Qualifying is going well. My car blasts down the long straights, pressing me backwards in my seat as I battle all my instincts and don't slow down. The dynamic corners provide so many options to get the best out of every lap. And the crowd react to every move I make. I feel like I'm flying.

But the time for experimentation is over. Both Lando and I have made it to the final round of qualifying, and now the lights are green for me to give it everything I've got.

I pull onto the track and breathe deeply. The only thing that matters is my lap. Nothing else. I might only get one chance at this, no room for error. I complete my warm-up lap and floor the throttle down the main straight.

Every muscle in my body is focussed, firing in perfect time. Adrenaline lights up my veins, controlled enough not to overwhelm me but intense enough to keep me sharp. I clench my jaw, power round the final corner and cross the line.

It's good enough for second place.

I can hardly catch my breath as the engineers pull my car backwards into the garage. I keep my visor low, blocking out all distractions, as they place two screens on the car in front of me. One look at my data shows me the glaring area where I've lost time. Lando's data is also on the screen, but his lap was almost half a second slower. I smile, skin buzzing with renewed energy.

I drive out of the garage readier than ever. Gone are the days of being unsure in the McLaren, now I can feel every nuance of the incredible machine I sit inside as it screams and throws me round every corner at breakneck speed. The trees wave me past, the fans blur into one loud mess of encouragement. I take every corner with absolute precision and time every gear change to the millisecond. I turn the final corner to enormous cheers, or maybe they're booing because I'm not driving a Ferrari.

"That's pole position!"

The adrenaline dump stuns me like a crash. What? My body shakes and my head falls backwards. Pole position? There must have been a mistake.

"Really? Me?"

My engineer laughs down the radio and a grin splits my face. It's real, I did it. I'm going to start on pole for the Italian GP. I turn on my radio and whoop for joy.

"And well done to the team as well! Thank you for giving me this car in my first season, it's not often that a rookie gets an opportunity like this, so thank you."

"That was all you, Oscar. Great performance."

Interviews go by in a haze. I'm making a fool of myself, laughing giddily and covering my face with my hands to hide my happy tears. Guanyou pats my back with a grin and even George Russell congratulates me. I give him a lopsided smile, confused. I thought he was Lando's best friend.

Lando.

I spin around and scan the pit lane until I spot one of the McLaren engineers. It's been more than six months and I'm still terrible with names, but I flag down a woman who works on Lando's side of the garage.

"Hey!" I gasp, still breathless from the shock.

"Hey, Oscar," the woman smiles. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you," I grin, almost forgetting what I came here to ask. "I was just wondering what position Lando finished in."