24 year old Olivia meets Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz at Spa Grand Prix. They become friends, but things quickly escalate and feelings become complicated. How does someone pick between two people they love?
A/N: This is how I would picture Gemma. She's gorg, you guys will love her eventually<3
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I learn over the next hour that the rude girl's name is Gemma. I've lost count of how many people have come up to her to talk about her 'feed', which I'm assuming is her Instagram. She must be an influencer. The banes of our generation. She puts on a sweet voice and smiles for them, but I know under all that she's just cold and entitled. And yes, I'm judging this off of one encounter, but it was a very telling encounter. "Gemma, hey, what's up?" A woman in her forties approaches Gemma. Great, another one. Gemma smiles and claps her hands together. "Jodi Fetcher, good to see you. I'm very well, thank you. Just here collecting some content for the feed. Formula 1 seems to be trending, and although I find car racing so tiresome, it's what the people want." She sighs as if it's a chore to be here at this race. I roll my eyes at her, in a way which I thought was discrete, but the Jodi woman noticed and smiled awkwardly before walking away. Gemma shoots me an accusatory look. "What?" I play innocent. She crosses her arms. "You're scaring away my followers." She complains. I scoff at her remark. "I think you're the one scaring them away. You're dressed like you're going to a funeral. An all black matching set to a motor-race, really?" I attack her outfit, knowing she will be very defensive of her fashion choice. Instead of gettin angry, she just looks sad, making me feel somewhat guilty. "Well, I've never been to one of these before, so I apologize that my attire bothers you." She says sarcastically, her cold demeanor making a return. I decide that I like her spark. I extend my hand for her to shake. "I'm Olivia." I say. She looks at my hand for a moment, considering the truce. She eventually shakes my hand. "Gemma. Gemma Harper." She's English. I had a suspicion, but her accent is quite vague so I had to rely on her surname to tell me. "So you've never been to a Grand Prix before, Gemma?" I ask, striking up s friendly conversation. Her guard seems to drop a bit when she realizes I'm trying to be nice. "No, I feel a bit lost to be honest. I thought there is only one race, but there was one yesterday too? It's so confusing." She says. I understand where she's coming from. "Ah, no. Yesterday was qualifying. Quali is when the drivers have to try drive a really fast lap so they can start the race closer to the front." I explain. She listens closely. "They have an hour to do this, and the bottom drivers get eliminated every 15 minutes and will be stuck in those positions to start the race." She nods, understanding a bit more. "Ok, I think I get it. There's just so much lingo to pick up on." She complains. I nod my head. I never really struggled with this because I was born a Formula 1 fan, but she's completely right. It can get really confusing. We sit in peace, waiting for the race to start.
The formation lap starts, and Gemma gets very confused because she thought the race had started. "I thought they have to drive fast at the beginning?" She questions. "This is just the formation lap, so they can get into the right grid spots." I explain. She 'ahhhhs' and puts down her phone, which she was using to record as we lean over the balcony. I alert her once the red lights start to go on. "It's starting," I whisper. I'm not sure why I whisper it, but who cares. "And it's lights out and away we go!" Max has a good start, maintaining the lead through the first corner. Bottas slides into Magnussen, taking them both out of the race, putting Russell up two places into 13th. Everything else remains the same for the first lap. The first half of the race is rather boring. There's a bit of movement in the midfield of the pack, but nothing drastic has happened. Carlos took the lead of the race for a couple laps as Max got new tires, but then Carlos had to pit too, so he was down to 3rd. He won back his position in 2nd easily. There were five laps to go, and Carlos was 1.3 seconds behind Max, with slightly fresher tires. I bit my nails, a bundle of nerves. Gemma gives me a judge glance. "What's up with you?" I move my head to face her but keep my eyes on the screen, not daring to look away for a second. "I'm close with Carlos, so I'd really like him to win." I tell her. "But you're Dutch, surely you would support Verstappen?" "Most Dutch people, yes, but I was born into a Ferrari family." I shut down the conversation, needing to focus on the race.
It's the second last lap when Carlos gets the job done. He makes a daring jab down the inside, forcing Max to let him through. I jump to my feet and cheer at the top of my lungs. Gemma, who seems to be warming up to me, laughs at my passion. I take out my phone to record a video. Just as I press the record button, Carlos screams over his radio. "YESSS BOYS, COME ON!" "Good stuff, Carlos. Let's keep this lead now." I beg for the race to finish once Carlos is in first. Max is still within DRS distance, but it proves to be enough for Carlos, and he crosses the finish line in first, winning the Dutch Grand Prix. I cheer like my life depends on it, encouraging Gemma to cheer too, to which to her credit she does. We make our way to the VIP area under the podium, ready for the trophy ceremony.
