A star to be driven | f1

02 , in which the stars align

-LOUISA-

I bit the edge of my pen as I looked at the crumpled pieces of paper in front of me, as i ran my hand through my frizzy hair. Then I stared at my questions scrawled onto the paper, feeling as hopeless as I could have been for the past few weeks. It was no doubt that I was a mess.

My interview with George was up in a few hours, and all I managed to do was write two basic questions on "how was the race" and "what do you feel about the race". Like was that seriously all I could produce as a news reporter?

I'm starting to think that this job is not cut out for me. It's only been a few days since I started my job as an f1 news reporter, but I'm already feeling like a wreck. I guess that's probably the only thing you can feel after your boyfriend of two years decides to cheat on you with your sister, then  goes on to abuse you because you're apparently at fault for it.

I sigh as I try to refocus my thoughts on the questions I should be producing, but it seems like I'm at a loss for words. It's been like this for a while now, and I'm starting to hate this feeling.

I've been dreaming of being a news reporter for so long now, but now that I've finally reached my goal, I'm questioning myself on whether I'm good enough for this job. I'm so stressed that my hair is falling out, and I'm fully blaming this on my ex- boyfriend for not only ruining my job, but also my whole life.

On my first day, I couldn't even get through the paddock crowd at the Bahrain Grand Prix, let alone find a spot to sit in the reporters room. Just as I thought things couldn't get any worse, I lost my notebook which I had compiled all the best questions to ask a formula one driver.

This meant that I had also lost all my scripts for my live report of fp1 that I had to attend in a few hours.

I ended up running out of the reporters room, missing my RARE chance to talk to THE Lewis Hamilton and THE Max Verstappen, only for me to spill some bullshit on the f1 live about how I loved formula one instead of giving actual information on how the free practice went.

On my second day, I looked like a train wreck, having to rewrite my prompts and notes. Then, I walked into the Mercedes garage, all ready for an interview, only to bump into a mechanic and spill my fresh, hot coffee all over the mechanic and on my newly, perfectly ironed WHITE shirt. I was so embarrassed that I cancelled the interview, then ran away with a coffee stain on my shirt.

Now the third day has come and I have not only managed to give myself a swollen eye from crying, but I have also managed to give myself a good ten minutes to write a whole report on qualifying, and produce a whole interview for the Mercedes team, in which I messed up completely yesterday.

I stood up from my table, realising that I will never be able to produce some good quality questions and scripts, and started making my way through the paddock to the news room. I combed my hair with my fingers and I adjusted my new dress, trying to look as presentable as possible in front of over 20k f1 fans who were watching this live.

As I stepped into the room, my news partner, francesa, also known as my only pillar of support right now, turned to me with a concerned look.

"Girl, you look totally wrecked. Are you okay?" She said with a joking tone, but her smile never fully reached the corner of her eyes.

"Yep, just going through it... I'm going to have to rely on you to make the reports for this qualifying session." I smiled lightly as I flipped through my notebook, going over the few lines that I wrote. 

She nodded with sympathy as she hit the button record, allowing us to show up on the live Instagram f1 channel. My weary face changed into a bright smile as I faced the camera, hoping no one noticed what was beyond it.

Francesa was one of my best friends who stuck with me through everything as we grew up. With our parents being close friends, we basically knew everything about each other, and soon developed a passion of news reporting and formula one during our teenage years.

We did everything together, and though Francesa did start reporting for f1 a bit earlier, I soon joined her and we were both reporting for f1, just like we always wanted to. I am just glad to have someone in this field that could at least guide me on what to do  as a f1 news reporter.

My thoughts were soon cut short as I soon heard Francesa calling my name, and I nodded in agreement, completely unaware of what she was saying. In a blur, the live ended and we both headed to our office to rest.

"Lousia, seriously. Were you even listening to the whole live? I felt as if I was talking to a wall. I know that you're still shaken up by what happened with that horrible ex of yours, but I can't keep covering for you like this. People are going to notice." Francesa chided.

The moment I heard the word ex boyfriend, I felt a lump form in my throat as flashbacks of what happened started to cloud my memory. I pushed it away as my eyes started to rim red. "I'm sorry" I murmured as my fingernails dug into my knees, as I tried to forget everything and focus on the race.

"I need to head to the Mercedes garage for my next interview, but i promise I won't leave everything to you for the post race and mid race show."

Francesa sighed as she slowly nodded and walked away, half convinced on what I just said as she went over to brew a coffee. A pang of guilt stung me as I knew I should not be putting the stress and work on her just because of my personal issues.

I slowly got up and headed to the Mercedes Garage, still feeling awful about everything as a tear slowly slipped down my cheek.

I brushed it away as I approached the garage of Mercedes, checking that I had everything, before preparing myself for my first interview, praying to all the gods that I would not mess this one up.