Chapter Text
Sleeping under the laboratory bench was, without a doubt, one of the worst places to fall asleep, but the exhaustion OSCAR PIASTRI felt was so overwhelming that his brownish eyes closed before he even realized it.
— Hey, man, you look awful. — LOGAN SARGEANT’s voice reached the Australian’s ears, who suppressed a yawn and accepted the cup of coffee the American had brought for both of them — Did you sleep? — Logan had a worried expression on his face, and Oscar waved his hand casually.
— I think I closed my eyes for a few minutes on the lab bench. — Oscar began speaking as he pulled his materials out of his backpack — I mean, when I opened my eyes, the sun was already coming through the window. — Oscar shrugged. Beside him, Logan wore an unimpressed expression, and Oscar imagined the other blond was irritated with him.
— You pulled another all-nighter in the lab? — Logan murmured aggressively, since the professor for the Philosophical Ethics class had already arrived — Oscar… — Logan called him, and the mentioned man merely shrugged.
To be honest, Oscar was only enrolled in that class because it counted for several credits toward his degree — just like Logan and the other sixty students there.
— Well, that project wasn’t going to finish itself if I didn’t stay late in the lab. — Oscar suppressed another yawn — Besides, I’ll be free this afternoon, so I’ll be able to sleep.
— You’re basically a bat now, and I’m not even joking, you know that, right? — Oscar could hear the concern in Logan’s voice. Piastri only sighed lightly and gave his best friend a soft smile.
— Well, hopefully in the future I’ll be rich like Batman, then. — Oscar smirked slightly while Mrs. Tolbert handed the Australian his test paper which, to nobody’s surprise, had the highest grade — Seriously. Look at my answers. A bunch of meaningless nonsense. — Oscar quickly changed the subject, wanting to divert Logan’s attention away from himself, while the other seemed to deflate more with every second spent in the chair beside Oscar.
— Dude, how did you manage to get a ten? — Logan huffed, though he didn’t seem irritated — I wrote so much my hand almost fell off and I got a four? What the hell. — Logan grumbled.
Oscar didn’t answer him because he didn’t know what to say, considering he wasn’t even that deep into philosophy and still got the highest grade, complete with a “Congratulations!” written beside it. Oscar’s real focus was mechanical engineering — everything revolved around that, actually. Since he was an Australian at a British university and definitely couldn’t afford tuition at a place like Formula One, he was a scholarship student, which meant he had to work three times harder than any other student, especially in a university full of rich kids, spoiled brats, and trust fund babies.
Besides the mandatory classes for his degree, Oscar was required to participate in an extracurricular activity, so he chose the Automotive Mechanics Laboratory — something Oscar genuinely enjoyed. However, because Oscar didn’t have a fat bank account, he also had to work part-time as an Instructor at a children’s school not far from the university, which paid a decent amount. Even so, Oscar also worked freelance shifts at a repair shop on weekends — which also wasn’t far from campus.
At least, luckily for him, Oscar managed to get free university housing, even if he had to share it with someone else. Either way, MAX VERSTAPPEN was quiet, responsible, and kept to himself — and the same applied to Oscar. Still, the two got along very well, considering they were both outsiders at that university.
— I’m willing to offer a second chance to everyone who failed or got a five or lower. — Mrs. Tolbert’s voice pulled Oscar out of his thoughts, making him look at the woman standing in front of the blackboard, whose expression was far from gentle.
Willing?
The Australian had heard that many students complained about her to the advisors and that the department had forced her to prepare another test. It wouldn’t look very good for Formula One if more than half the class failed the subject, especially because it wasn’t only the lazy students struggling. People who usually only got perfect scores, like GEORGE RUSSELL, looked extremely disappointed on the other side of the room.
— Looks like NORRIS saw a ghost, huh. — Logan whispered into Oscar’s ear, while Oscar focused more on drawing random circles in his notebook as Mrs. Tolbert went on a monologue about responsibility and priorities, though Oscar wasn’t paying attention at all. His brain was so tired that Oscar could barely wait to get home and collapse into bed.
Logan’s comment made Oscar raise one eyebrow, though he didn’t stop focusing on the circles he drew on the paper.
LANDO NORRIS was the star athlete of the class, the golden boy. He walked around campus like he owned the place — and maybe he kind of did, from what people said. All he had to do was snap his fingers and some desperate girl — or guy — would appear at his feet. Or jump onto his lap. Or shove their tongue down his throat. Whatever. He must’ve failed too, but Oscar didn’t feel particularly sorry for him. Formula One was known for two things: hockey and football — though hockey was far more famous than football. Formula One athletes almost always went pro and, while they were there, everything was handed to them on a silver platter — even grades.
Golden Boy? What a joke.
…
Failed.
Lando Norris couldn’t believe he had failed. For fifteen years, Timothy Lane handed out perfect grades like candy. But of course, the exact year I take the class, Lane kicks the bucket and I get stuck with Pamela Tolbert.
It was official. The woman was Lando’s archenemy. Just seeing her fancy handwriting — filling every inch of the margins on his exam — made the Brit want to destroy the paper.
Lando barely scraped by in almost every other subject, but now Norris had a zero in Philosophical Ethics, which, combined with the six in Art History, dropped his average to a five.
And you needed a six average to play hockey.
Overall, Lando was fucked. Lando wasn’t stupid, he just had certain… difficulties — and a lot of laziness. Still, Lando didn’t seem to care if people thought he was dumb. Especially the women and men he could have fun with. The Brit thought they liked the idea of hooking up with a muscular caveman who only knew how to do one thing, and since Lando Norris wanted nothing serious, flings with girls — and guys — who only wanted sex were more than welcome. More time left for hockey and art.
But if Lando didn’t improve his grade, there would be no more hockey. No more art.
The worst thing about Formula One? The dean demanded excellence, both academically and athletically. And Lando had already maxed out his limit of “requests” to professors asking them to cut him some slack with his grades.
— Who died? — ALEX ALBON lightly kicked Lando’s feet, while the Brit was sprawled comfortably across the couch in the house they shared. With a loud huff, Lando sat up and handed Tolbert’s test to the Thai man — Holy shit, man. — Alex handed the paper back to Lando who, irritated, crumpled it and tossed it somewhere random, earning an annoyed “Hey!” from George, who had been reading one of his law books in the armchair nearby — Isn’t the professor giving you a chance to recover?
— She’s “willing” to give another chance. — Lando mocked her voice irritably — A research project by the end of the semester. A thousand times worse than a test. That bitch, I swear her husband doesn’t fuck her properly and she takes her frustration out on students. — Lando grumbled. Alex laughed beside him, seeming happier eating the sandwich he’d made and brought for the group — Fucking hell. — Lando grabbed one of the sandwiches and bit into it aggressively. I’m screwed.
— Did everyone in the class get bad grades? — Alex asked George, since he took the same class as Lando. The latter calmly closed the book he was reading and looked at Albon, not seeming to be in the best mood.
— Honestly, I don’t know, that class is packed with people. — George sighed — I got a six exactly, but it’s still going to lower my average. I’ll probably do Tolbert’s project to improve the grade. And yeah, she really is a bitter bitch.
— Wow. For George to lose composure, it must’ve been serious. — DANIEL RICCIARDO, one of the roommates, had been passing by wearing only sweatpants and no shirt, and stopped in surprise after hearing George Russell curse — Are you guys fucked? — Daniel asked while walking to the center of the room and grabbing one of Albon’s sandwiches. Ricciardo winked approvingly at the Thai man after the first bite.
— George not so much, but Lando… — Alex looked at the sulking expression on the Brit’s face — He needs a miracle. — Alex laughed and Lando mimicked his laugh, prompting Albon to throw one of the pillows at him. Lando caught it and hugged it like a teddy bear.
— Fuck all of this, seriously. — Lando huffed loudly. He had already tried talking to Tolbert about doing extra work to improve his grade, but she’d told him, in that nasal voice of hers, to attend meetings with the Teaching Assistant and participate in the study group. And despite Lando’s packed schedule, he actually did both things — much to everyone’s surprise.
— It’s not even possible to drop the class at this point. — George clarified, and Lando suddenly wanted to throw himself from the second floor of the house. Fuck my life, then. Daniel, who had been chewing silently, looked at Lando carefully with a thoughtful expression.
— It’s the Philosophical Ethics class, right? — Daniel asked, and George nodded briefly — Uh, I think I know another Australian guy who takes that class too and, well, he’s super smart. Maybe if you ask him for help, you might actually get somewhere, Landito. — Lando looked at Daniel strangely. Oh, I’m not going to need to stoop that low, right?
— Hey, actually… Wait a second. — George interrupted while grabbing his phone — People in class were talking about someone who aced the exam because one of the girls saw the ten on his paper. She even took a picture of it… — George looked focused while searching through his phone — Ah, found it. Here.
George handed the phone to Lando, who carefully took it while Daniel sat beside him to take a look too. As soon as he looked at the screen, Lando’s greenish eyes widened at the perfect score beside a handwritten “Congratulations!”
— Hey, that’s him. — Daniel pointed at the screen, right where the name appeared — Yeah, yeah, that’s definitely him.
Lando zoomed in on the image of the test, focusing on the name.
Oscar Piastri.
The Brit didn’t even notice the sly smile spreading across his lips as he read the name over and over again.
My miracle or something like that, then.