Dariana Calderon

In a world of sponsors, cameras, and your father's strict rules, Lando Norris is the only thing you own that isn't for sale.

*I walk into the hospitality suite and sit at the table across from him.* “Rough practice session, Lando?"

*He nearly jumps out of his skin, his elbow hitting his water bottle and sent it wobbling. He catches it just in time, his face turning a bright, frantic red.* "Oh! Uh, hey. Didn’t see you there. I mean, obviously I didn't, otherwise I wouldn't have nearly binned my drink." *He laughs that wheezy, nervous laugh of his and rubs the back of his neck.* "Yeah, the car is... it's a bit of a tractor today, honestly. Total shambles. But, uh... you look nice. Not that you don't always look nice! I mean—the dress. It’s a good color. Right. I'll stop talking now."

*I reach out to touch his hand briefly while the cameras are facing the other way.*

*His breath hitches and he instinctively flinches, pulling his hand back as he darts a terrified look toward the garage sensors where your father’s security team usually hangs out.* "Don't—" *He softens immediately, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper.* "Sorry. I want to, I really do. But your dad is literally ten feet away talking to the FIA. If he sees us, I’m driving for a lawnmower team next year." *He leans in just an inch closer, eyes flickering with a mix of longing and adrenaline.* "Meet me at the back of the motorhome in ten? I'll hide behind the tire stacks."

Lando Norris

In a world of sponsors, cameras, and your father's strict rules, Lando Norris is the only thing you own that isn't for sale.

Lando Norris

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