Switch Positions (Formation 1, #2)

Chapter Matt Hernandez

MATT HERNANDEZ

DRIVER, ANDES RACING

“Matthew!”

Matt steps up to the camera with a fair amount of trepidation. Reporters aren’t ever this excited to see him. He runs a hand through his dark curls and clears his throat. “Hello.”

“Everyone’s talking about your sudden announcement. You’re driving for Kaas next year?”

“People are talking about me?” Matt can’t imagine he’s the source of anyone’s curiosity. “Are you sure? Not the rumors about Lucas retiring?”

She grimaces, proving his point. “Well, that’s also…”

The Lucas rumors might be unfounded, but they’ve spread like wildfire. That’s how it goes for Matthew Hernandez. Any time he has good news, it’s buried. Whenever it's bad, it’s flaunted.

It’d be nice if his move received just one news cycle in the spotlight. Something to make Andes feel even an ounce of regret for the way they dumped him.

The universe always picks favorites, and Matt is nobody’s favorite.

Still, it’s nice of the reporter to bring up his move. Good of her to say anything that didn’t involve—

“What will you miss the most about Andes? Your teammate?”

—him.

It’s okay. Matt prepared for this. Deep breath and—

“I’ve been with Andes for a long time—longer than Robert has, actually—so I have a good relationship with the entire team. I’ll miss a few of my mechanics—and my race engineer, of course—but I’m ready for a new challenge. I’m excited to grow with Kaas.”

“And Robert?”

Matt forces a smile through clenched teeth. “Robert’s a challenge I’ve already outgrown.”

After the press pit, Matt’s PR handler pulls him through the maze of hallways and into Robert's garage. Too many people are packed into the small space for what looks like a surprise meeting. Matt's stomach drops as he takes in the crowd.

It has to be about his departure—there’s no other reason for such a fuss. Matt had hoped he’d be able to tell everyone individually, instead of standing in front of a team he’s worked with for years and announcing his move.

No one cares what Matt wants, so he’s pushed to the front.

“As many of you know—” Sylvain bellows. A hush falls over the room as unsteady glances dart between the team principal and driver. “—Matthew has decided he will no longer be racing with us next year.”

Matt did not decide this.

Matt was told he wouldn’t be given a contract extension after four long, loyal years to the company and had to scramble to find another team. In the end, he only barely managed to land on his feet at Kaas—something he will never take for granted.

It just pisses Andes Racing off that he signed with another team so quickly.

“BOOOO!” Reggie shouts.

“Traitor!” Peter chimes in.

“Don’t leave us!” Nate fake-cries.

His garage has known for weeks. Matt texted the group chat as soon as the horrible phone call ended.

“Settle down,” Sylvain massages the bridge of his nose, seething with displeasure. Hearing that people in the team actually like Matt must be the bane of his existence. “Now—”

Matt braces himself to be put on the spot. Though he hates public speaking, he’s still prepared. He pats his pocket, making sure he has the speech he drew up this morning. It’s just the normal PR-appropriate comments about what he’s learned and everything he’s gained.

It’s quite moving, if he says so himself.

“It’s sad to be losing one of our own, but I’m happy to say, we have good news as well!”

Matt barely manages to catch himself before stepping forward. Good news? For who?

“I am proud to announce that our very own Robert Miller has accepted a three-year long contract extension!” Sylvain starts clapping and the rest of the team joins in, whooping and cheering as the giant idiot emerges. “Would you like to say a few words?”

“Well, shucks. Y’all’re makin’ me blush.” Robert laughs and waves at the team until they quiet down.

Matt wants to scream.

“I’m mighty proud’a what we accomplished last year.”

He shouldn’t be. He was sixteenth in the championship.

“And I’m a-ready t’keep on buildin’ this team up until we got that big ole championship trophy in our hands!”

The crowd goes wild, as it always does whenever Robert speaks. He’s tall and broad, with a symmetrical face, blond hair, and syrupy voice that makes people want to stop and take notice.

Not that Matt has ever stopped or noticed. Not specifically.

He’s just an observant person.

Sylvain claps and says, “That’s all I wanted to gather y’all for.”

He never uttered a single ‘y’all’ before Robert joined the team. He used to poke fun at Matt for saying it until the beefcake showed up.

The same Texan accent—born and bred in the same small town—just doesn't seem quite as vogue when Matt is the one speaking.

“Get back to work. Pre-race meeting in twenty—usual place.”

The meeting goes about as well as it usually does, right up until the lead strategist says, “Matthew, we’d like for you to support Robert during the race.”

“Wait.” Maybe Matt heard him wrong. “Support? But I’m starting ahead of him.”

It’s the third race of the year and the second time he’s outqualified his teammate. Two to one. He’s keeping score.

“When it’s safe to do so, we’d like for you to swap places and defend him from behind.”

“But—?” Matt looks around the room, but even his own race engineer won’t meet his eyes. “Why?”

Because Robert is the golden child. Always has been, always will be.

“Our data shows Robert will be stronger on a track like this. We don’t want to cause a scene by having the two of you fight it out—especially if we can’t count on you to race cleanly.”

Matt isn’t the one who has a problem racing cleanly. Unlike some drivers, Matt knows the dimensions and limitations of his own car.

Hang on.

“Faster on a—?! But haven’t I already proven I’m faster on this track? That’s the whole point of qualifying!”

“Matthew.”

That’s the tone people use when they’re tired of Matt talking. He hears it a lot.

“These are the team orders. We’re looking at the bigger picture.”

‘The bigger picture’ is just a photo of Robert. Probably a billboard ad from one of his many sponsors.

“Whatever,” Matt grunts out.

They interpret it as an agreement.

When Matt spots Robert’s car in his mirror, he curses and tries to push harder. It’s difficult to do when all he has is a fucking Andes.

The crackle of Darian’s voice makes him flinch. “Switch positions.”

Matt ignores the order and continues pushing.

“Matthew, that’s Robert behind.”

“Behind,” Matt repeats. “Copy.”

He’s been racing for long enough to know the other Andes must be at least three seconds back. Quite a big gap, considering Matt is close to DRS behind the Ashton Marvin.

“Distance ahead?” he asks, hopeful.

“I repeat: team orders.”

“You want me to back off Laurent so Robert can pass me?” Matt is sure to enunciate. If he has to bow down, the pundits in the commentary box deserve to know it's not his fault.

“Affirm.”

“Because he’s not fast enough to overtake me himself?”

“Negative.”

“Then I’ll let him through if he catches me.”

The team pulls Matt into the pits on the next lap. He’s released into a crowd of traffic that eats up any tire advantage he should’ve had from pitting so early.

When Robert pits, he’s released into open air. With his fresh tires, he eventually overtakes Matt.

Neither of them makes a point.

Nobody except the pit wall. Their point is loud and clear.

In his hotel room, Matt aimlessly scrolls his feed and tries to calm down. After the race, he received a pretty brutal talking-to. He’s used to it by now, but it’s so much worse when he knows he’s right.

He could’ve passed Laurent. He could’ve pushed his tires another five, maybe even seven laps. Could’ve made the first points of the season, easy.

But Robert is the future of the team. Robert is the one who needs to be at the forefront, in the spotlight.

And if Matt didn’t agree? There’s a fresh-faced reserve driver in the garage every weekend, ready and willing to do whatever it takes to drive the car.

“Don’t make this harder on yourself,” they said. “We all want the same thing.”

Untrue again.

Matt wants to win. Andes wants Robert to win. It’s distinctive enough to matter.

He scrolls past another Andes propaganda video. It’s Robert—it’s always Robert—and he answers the most inane fucking questions.

The blond tips of his long, surfer-boy styled hair sweep back as he pushes it out of his eyes. It looks dyed—the strands darker at the roots. He flashes a smile that also looks purchased.

Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect nose—there’s nothing money can’t buy.

He drones on, pretending like answering fan questions is the most important thing he can do on a race weekend. It’s obnoxious, truly.

The marketing team hasn’t asked Matt to film anything this season. Probably don’t need to, since Robert and his love of… chocolate ice cream has the fans in a fucking chokehold.

A thousand comments? It was only posted an hour ago. What is there to even say?! Chocolate is such a basic fucking flavor.

Matt exits out of his socials and pulls up his texts. If he’s going to wallow, it’s better to do so with company. Even better when the company is just as globally unpopular as he is.

He sends a simple “Dinner?” text to Laurent and waits impatiently for a response.

Ordered room service.

Drinks after?

Just come on up

I always get too much

Help me out or Josh will kick my ass

2378

Matt changes out of his team kit into some sweats and grabs his hat and sunglasses. He rarely runs into Formation 1 fans in the team hotel, but he’d rather be cautious, just in case.

Laurent has a grand total of one plate of food when he climbs back onto his bed. In the warm light of the room, he looks almost like a regular human and less like the skinny, pale, dark-haired ghoul Matt’s come to love.

“Oh yeah,” Matt scoffs. “That’s so much food.”

“Yours is on its way.”

“You’re a conniving son of a bitch. You know that, right?” Still, Matt smiles, grateful to have someone who cares about him. “I can pay for my own food.”