Chapter 12 #2
The all-driver orientation was long and intense, full of reminders of all the risks they would face.
IndyCar worked tirelessly to increase safety measures both in the cars and on the tracks: using ethanol fuel prevented catastrophic gasoline fires, shock-absorbing Safer barriers replaced deadly concrete walls, the entire chassis was designed to deflect impact away from the driver, and the relatively new aeroscreen protected the driver’s head from flying tires or debris.
The safety team walked them through a series of rules and best practices—never pass the pace car, use the aprons if you’re a danger to other cars, flip your visor up to signal that you’re uninjured after a wreck—and Mack tried to commit it all to memory, but she was too keyed up to focus.
After the meeting, the other drivers greeted each other, asking about babies and boats and plans for the summer.
Most people in the room spent the entire season racing against each other, making friends or rivals.
Everyone she met was polite, even kind, but she lingered only for a moment before leaving by herself.
She told Leo she needed to focus on racing and that was what she would do.
But once she was in the car, she was bludgeoned with reminders that she was a rookie.
It was one thing to drive two hundred miles per hour when she was the only one on the track, but a different beast when dozens of other cars zipped around her on all sides.
The first time another car passed her, she rode so high up the outside of the track that she lost traction on the small marbles of rubber left by degrading tires and almost tank-slapped the wall.
Only her quick reflexes and a heaping dose of luck kept her from wrecking.
In the pits, she overshot her marks so badly that she almost hit a crew member.
She spent most of the first day trying to not piss herself, barely breaking two hundred eighteen miles per hour. Not nearly fast enough to qualify.
At the end of practice, she parked in her pit box and yanked her seat belts and radio cords with flailing fury.
Furious at herself and pissed at her team for giving her a brick to drive, Mack stomped down pit lane, blowing off Jimmy and walking past her crew like she didn’t even see them.
When Leo called out to her, she gave him double middle fingers and told him exactly where he could go.
Back in the garage, she threw her gloves and kicked her helmet and growled in rage.
She knew she was having a temper tantrum but she was too angry to care.
Never had she been so disappointed in herself—not when she’d wrecked during a championship race, not when she’d found out she was pregnant, not when she’d messed up the books for the family business.
She was infuriated with her performance on track but more than anything, she was pissed off that she’d let a man distract her.
She’d heard all the jokes about female drivers: Don’t get too close, she’ll wreck you out!
She can’t go any faster, she’s checking her nails!
Mack had wanted to come to this hallowed ground as a fighter, as a real contender, and instead she was no better than she’d been ten years ago, making shitty choices and letting their shitty consequences ruin her career.
“You wanna act like a toddler or talk like an adult?”
Mack was so busy jerking her equipment bag out of the tiny locker than she didn’t hear Janet enter the garage.
“I’ll be better tomorrow,” she said over her shoulder, giving her bag a final tug to release it from the locker. She stood and faced Janet. “I can do better.”
“No shit,” Janet said. She skewered Mack with an assessing look. “You’d better apologize to every single person on this team for acting like an entitled brat.” Janet tucked her sunglasses into her nest of frizzy hair. “Especially Raisman. What happened between you two?”
Mack froze, her entire body going into fight-or-flight mode. No no no no. She made sure to keep her face very, very blank as she asked, “What about Leo?”
“The entire paddock heard you tell him to fuck off! He was trying to talk to you about the understeer and you flayed him alive. You might learn something from him if you weren’t so busy shouting at him to go to hell.”
Her shoulders fell and Mack rolled her eyes to cover her relieved exhale. Mack could handle a reputation as a bitch, but not as a slut.
“I don’t need his help,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She almost meant it.
Without exception, Leo had been nothing but kind to her, but she’d been so mad at her inability to manage the car and her lapse in judgment over the weekend that she’d taken her wrath out on anyone in her way.
Doubly so on Leo when he’d tried to give her some pointers during a break in his own practice.
She started to shake with the letdown of adrenaline and ego.
Janet stepped into Mack’s personal space.
“If you’re going to act like a snotty little girl, I’ll treat you like one.
Yes, it can be frustrating to learn a new car.
Yes, it takes time, and no, we do not have time.
But acting like an asshole does nothing to help you or your team.
I thought you were a grown up. Act like a professional or you can go back home to Nowhere, Indiana. ”
Around Gasoline Alley, the sounds of racing churned as teams returned to their garages.
Teams laughed and discussed strategy and setup, drivers chatted to mechanics and team owners, crew members industriously moved equipment.
In the garage bay next door, Mack could hear Leo talking with his engineer.
She stood alone with her attitude and the pile of gear she’d dropped on the ground, feeling like she’d already screwed up her last chance at the Indy 500.