Anywhere Out There

"Three nights," Lando says. His muscular forearms are warm against Martin's shoulders, and he fiddles with the back of Martin's shirt collar.

"I'm in Kosovo," Martin says, though he's certain Lando already knows that.

Lando nods, their faces so close his curls brush Martin's forehead. "The boys are coming in, we're spending a week on a yacht, docking in Athens."

Martin does some mental math, tries to count the days in his head. "Could I meet you there?" he asks. "In Athens?"

Lando's face cracks open into the wide smile Martin is at least a little bit in love with. "Yeah," he says. "I'll sneak away."

There was no assigned seating, so Oscar searched out a table comprised of mostly his mechanics, slapping shoulders and shaking hands as he took a seat. He looked around the room, noticing that each table had a number taped to the side. He was at table number 4, which was a little bit funny. Lando was sat between Will and Jon on the opposite side of the room, flipping through the packet on the table.

Oscar picked his up as well. It was a quality white folder with the McLaren speedmark on the front, and inside there were two sets of papers. On the left there was an expanded version of the itinerary they’d been provided at check-in. It indicated they were about to have fifteen minutes of “opening remarks,” forty-five minutes of “bravery” and then an hour-long breakout session before a two-hour break for lunch. The other side included a neatly-stapled packet with the word “BRAVE” centered on the front in 80-pt font. Oscar didn’t have a chance to investigate further before Zak approached the lectern at the front of the room.

“Good morning,” he greeted the room, and Oscar knew the response wasn’t enthusiastic enough even before Zak prompted them with another, more energetic, “I said good morning!”

“Good morning!” the crowed echoed back, louder this time.

Zak grinned. “That’s better,” he said. “I hope you all enjoyed breakfast, got a good night’s sleep.” He paused for murmurs of agreement. “So I wanted to take a few minutes this morning and explain our vision for the week. We’re here to have a good time, obviously, we’re here to celebrate, to get to know each other better, but we’re also here to grow. What are the core McLaren values?” He looked out over the crowd. “Anybody, give me one.”

“Innovation,” Lando said.

“Okay, we’ve got innovation,” Zak held up one finger. “Give me another.”

“Bravery,” came the next. Then respect and energy. Someone suggested teamwork.

“That’s a value,” Zak agreed. “Absolutely a value. Not a core value though, what’s the last one?”

“Inclusion,” Oscar said.

Zak held up his fifth finger and then pointed to him. “There we go, thank you, Oscar. Bravery, Respect, Innovation, Inclusion, and Energy. The five core values of McLaren. And under all those values, we have competition, and teamwork. That’s the frame of everything we do. And that’s what we’re going to celebrate this week and really try to develop.”

Oscar reached for the water bottle on the table in front of him and spun it between his fingertips.

“Each day is going to be structured around one of the core values. If you open your packet there, you’ll see today is bravery. Start big, right? So after I’m done talking, Mark Temple is going to give an update on the direction of the performance team for next year. Then we’re going to have someone who knows a thing or two about real bravery come up here and share their story, and after that, we’ll have a facilitator lead us through some ice-breakers, some getting-to-know-you activities.” He looked around the room, grinning with the self-satisfied enthusiasm of a labrador.

“After lunch, we’re going to split up for the excursions,” Zak continued. “We’ve got some great stuff planned, but uh, I’ve been talking too long already and I don’t want to spoil the surprise.” The room laughed indulgently, and Zak grinned. “Alright Mark, get up here.” 

There wasn’t anything in the performance update Oscar didn’t already know, but Mark’s careful language underscored the growing belief that they weren’t going to be running it back for a third constructor’s championship. The idea of running in a midfield car curdled in his stomach like milk left out overnight. Oscar tried not to think about it. 

Their keynote for the day was an air force pilot who’d been shot down over hostile territory. He was a good speaker, if he drew heavily on a patriotism few people in the room shared. Still. It was a compelling story, and Oscar found himself locked in the particularly tense moments. The applause he received felt deserved. 

“Alright, everyone take a break,” Zak said, once he’d handed over a gift bag to the pilot and shaken his hand again. “Back in your seats in,” he squinted at the clock, “eleven minutes. Then we get to the fun stuff.” 

Oscar didn’t have to go to the bathroom, but he had the brief thought that if he hid in one of the stalls maybe they wouldn’t notice if he didn’t show up for the next sessions. He was washing his hands when Lando walked into the bathroom nearly three across with Jon and one of the new mechanics on Lando’s side, a burst of sound as they laughed at a joke Oscar hadn’t heard. 

“Sorry,” Lando said, when he realized he was blocking Oscar’s path to the door. They did the awkward half-step dance for a moment, until Lando reached out and put a hand on Oscar’s hip. “You go that way,” he said, stepping around Oscar and his wet hands.