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It could have been any other day if you asked Lando, based on how the clouds moved across the sky. That’s how it usually was in Bristol, cloudy and a bit dreary, the sun trying to peek its way through, desperate to be seen.
Lando could find that relatable, in a way. He loved Bristol–he grew up here, his family is here–but sometimes it felt like there was something missing.
That feeling disappears from his body once he sees the smiling little faces of his students, saying a good morning rather loudly, stomping through the classroom with the keychains on their backpacks jingling back and forth.
“Hi Mr. Lando,” one of his Year 3s greets him, dragging out his name into a sing-song, smiling so widely he can see that one of her front teeth is missing.
“Well hello miss Leila,” he says, crouching down to reach her height. “I see a tooth is missing, did the tooth fairy visit you last night?”
She nods her head emphatically as she reaches down into her pocket and fishes out a five-pound bill. “Yes! Look what I got for my tooth!” Leila still has a bit of a lisp with some of her words, the th sounding more of an f.
He gasps with excitement, grinning at her pride. “That is so kind of the tooth fairy,” he tells her. “Spend it wisely, yeah?”
Leila nods her head and skips off to her assigned seat as more students file into his classroom.
The kids seem energetic–as kids at this age normally are–for a Thursday, babbling away with their classmates about setting up playdates or weekend plans with their families. The kids don’t know that they will be having a fun surprise today, as the Headmaster requested confidentiality of the teachers until day-of. He had also asked the teachers not to tell the students until an hour he before arrives, as it will only stir everyone up and cause a frenzy.
Lando trusts his students, so he thinks they deserve to know a little bit earlier than everyone else. Positive reinforcement, he tells himself.
“Hey guys,” he calls attention, his voice reverberating throughout the room. “One, two, three, eyes on me.”
Most students look at him, lingering conversations finally coming to a halt. He waits for complete silence before moving on.
“Today, we have a very special surprise for you all,” he tells them, going over to his computer, pulling up the images he had planned for the announcement. “Who here has heard of F1 before?”
Many students raise their hands, the chatter picking up around the room.
“Like Lewis Hamilton!” One boy, Robbie, blurts out.
“Yes, exactly like Lewis Hamilton,” Lando affirms, giving him an air high five.
He pulls up some photos of the cars, explaining further that Formula 1 entails fast drivers and even faster cars.
“They kinda look like rocket ships,” Leila observes, twirling her hair around her finger.
“That is a great comparison, Leila, very good,” he tells her and she beams. “They need to be designed like rocket ships so the drivers can be fast and win their races.”
He shows them a short clip from an old race at Silverstone, the cars zooming around the track with thousands of fans cheering in the background. He sees the kids pointing at Lewis on the top step, saying things like I want to be like him when I grow up.
He turns the lights back on when the clip ends. “So, I bet you’re all wondering why we are talking about F1 and drivers so randomly today.”
“Very random,” another student, Charlie, says matter-of-factly.
“Yes, Charlie, very random,” Lando can’t help but contain his grin–Charlie always keeps him on his toes during his lessons.
“Well, we’re talking about F1 because we actually will be having a very special guest today,” Lando says.
All the kids gasp, trying to figure out who the special guest might be. Names of Jenson Button, George Russell, and of course, Lewis Hamilton swirled through the room as possibilities.
“No, unfortunately none of those drivers will be here,” the kids sigh and groan. “But! We do have a British-based team driver that will be our special guest. Can anyone guess which British team that might be?”
He knows that some of the kids are interested in Formula 1 from conversations he’s had with his students. One being a Grid Kid, to attending races, or simply watching on television and admiring from afar. He thinks one will be able to find the answer.
“Williams?” One student says.
“Not from Williams,” Lando shakes his head, before pulling up a photo of a papaya.
They gasp again. “Papaya! It’s McLaren!”
“Yes, you’re getting closer!” Lando encourages, presenting a photo of the two McLaren drivers on the next slide of his powerpoint.
“Is it Oscah?!” Another, James, says raising his hand, finally getting to the answer. Bingo.
“Yes, thank you for raising your hand, James,” Lando confirms, clicking to the next slide with Oscar Piastri’s photo and name displayed. “Oscar Piastri will be paying us a visit here at school! And he’s going to come speak to us about how he got to F1. Sounds cool, right?”
All the kids cheer and start chirping amongst themselves, telling each other about how awesome this is.
“Excited, are we?” Lando asks the class.
They all give him a collective yeah! and he chuckles. “Okay, well we have a few more hours of school before he gets here, so we need to be patient, sound good?”
They all sigh and grumble, because how on earth are they supposed to focus on maths when a famous McLaren Formula 1 driver is coming to visit them?! Lando has no idea how they aren’t vibrating out of their little bodies at the moment.
“Good things come to those who wait,” Lando reminds them. “Patience is a virtue, Oscar will be here before you know it.”
Leila raises her hand. “Mr. Lando, what’s a virtue?”
—
His students are absolutely buzzing, unable to stay in their seats completely as Lando tries to get through this singular maths lesson. Maybe he should have waited to tell them about the McLaren driver’s visit like the other teachers had.
But finally, the hour neared and the kids could sense the intense anxiety and excitement in the room, that a McLaren driver, that the Oscar Piastri, wanted to spend time with all of them.
Their excitement was palpable and it only made Lando’s smile and heart grow larger.
Now, personally, Lando wasn’t really a fan of Formula 1. Sure, being from the UK you had friends who karted, spending so much time and energy trying to get good to see if they could make it to the junior categories. Some did, others didn’t.
He mostly enjoyed watching golf and football, played a little bit of football growing up, but was never amazing at it, so he turned to his marks to make sure he could get into a good university that wasn’t too far from home.
But he would watch some races with his mates who were way more into it than he ever was, cheering for Lewis (because hello, have you seen the man?) and going out to the pubs during Silverstone race weekend. He knows who George Russell is (thanks gay Twitter), that Monaco is the crown jewel, and Lewis is the greatest driver of all time, but nothing beyond that. He had to look up who Oscar Piastri even was when the Headmaster had told them about the visit.
There’s so much pomp and circumstance and drama to F1, it almost makes him want to roll his eyes. And listen, he has eyes and he is gay, and Oscar is quite nice to look at from the Google searches and Instagram page stalking he did. Maybe he’ll try to chat with him, professionally of course, but he’s really not sure what they could even talk about.
But his students were excited to meet such a famous and important athlete, one that wanted to speak and spend time with them, that’s all he truly cared about.
—
The kids lined up outside the school, the teachers trying to keep them in place so they would be ready for when Oscar and the rest of the McLaren team arrived.
The headmaster told Lando that he would take Leila to the front, where they would be the first to formally greet McLaren. No pressure at all, he thinks.
Fancy vans turn the corner to the school, and the kids become rowdy, pointing and raising their voices in excitement. Lando puts his hand on Leila’s shoulder and crouches down to be level with her.
“You good to say hello to Mr. Oscar first?” He asks, making sure he can gauge her comfort level.
She almost rolls her eyes at him. “Yes, Mr. Lando,” she says. “It’ll be like when I say hi to you every morning.”
He can’t help but smile at that, because it really is that simple. Maybe he was looking for reassurance to calm his nerves.
He gives her a high five and a squeeze to her shoulder one last time before the vans come to a halt, and the doors open.
The kids scream, excited to meet someone seemingly so important. Other McLaren employees—most likely part of the PR team—step out of the van first, phones and cameras out, ready to capture the day. Then Oscar steps out and the kids go wild.
They jump up and down, waving their hands and arms in the air, trying to get Oscar's attention. He’s wearing the standard McLaren sweatshirt and uniform, cap placed neatly on his head, hair long and peeking out of the sides. He must be growing it out.
He grins at the kids and waves back immediately. His team whispers things in his ear, probably notes of what to say and what the day will entail. The headmaster greets him, shaking his hand and holding her hand out to Lando and Leila, as if to show this is his next stop.
Oscar makes his way over to the two of them, grin not leaving his face. “You must be Leila,” Oscar says and holds his hand out. “I’m Oscar.”
She giggles, but takes his hand and shakes it enthusiastically. “Duh, I know who you are Mr. Oscar,” she tells him, matter-of-factly. “And welcome to Chew Stoke School. I drew you this picture.” She then sticks her hands out to give the picture that she and the Year 3s drew for Oscar and McLaren.
She forgot the “Church” part in the name, but that’s okay, she was doing great. “Thank you, Leila, this is a beautiful drawing,” he says, shooting her a bright smile. She absolutely beams at him.
Oscar straightens up and then looks at Lando. He’s not really sure why his heartbeat picks up, maybe it has something to do with the bunny teeth that peak through his smile or the Aussie accent that for some reason is really doing it for him.
“And you must be Leila’s teacher?”
“Yeah,” he says dumbly. “You can call me Lando.”
”Lando,” he tries out. It sounds quite nice, if he says so himself.
“Welcome, the kids are so excited that you’re here,” Lando tells him, looking back at the students bouncing on their heels.
“Well I’m excited to spend the day with them and talk with them, been looking forward to today,” Oscar replies, and the answer seems truly earnest. Lando sighs quietly with relief.
The headmaster appears once again, instructing the teachers to take the students into the gymnasium for the Q&A part of the day.
“Alright, c’mon Leila,” Lando says, ushering her back into his class line.
“See you in there, Mr. Oscar,” she waves, before scurrying back to his class line.
“Well, I gotta get back to my class before they get ahead of themselves,” Lando says aloud, not really sure why.
Oscar chuckles lowly under his breath, still grinning. Lando can’t seem to look away. “But I’ll see you in there?”
It almost catches Lando out, almost. “Oh don’t worry, I’ll be in the front row,” Even when he stutters, he’s usually good at course-correcting.
“Good,” Oscar simply states, tone soft-spoken, but sure. He makes his way back to his team, most likely to go over the talking points of the presentation.
Ms. Brown, another fellow teacher, raises her eyebrow at him when he makes his way back to his class, who have been so patiently waiting for him to take them to the gymnasium.
“I heard all of that,” she tuts. “Front row, huh?”
“Please hush,” Lando pleads, cheeks growing hot.
“Make sure you ask him for his number at the end of this.” He rolls his eyes, his red cheeks growing a deeper shade of rouge.
—
Lando is not sure whether he should be surprised or not, but Oscar is really good with the kids.
He listens attentively to each student’s question, not breaking eye contact until they finish asking. He gives them thoughtful answers, laughs in the right spots and thanks each one for their curiosity.
True to his word, Lando stands at the front, off to the side, watching Oscar’s every move, like he’s studying the Aussie, trying to figure him out. It also doesn’t help that whenever Lando looks away for a moment to check that his students are behaving, he looks back to see Oscar looking over at him. He gives Lando a quick lopsided smile, without missing a beat, and turns his attention back at the latest student at the microphone. He can’t help that his quick smiles and steady confidence seem to make Lando’s heart race a little.
When the presentation and Q&A ended, they shifted to the second half of the day, where the students would participate in a scooter racing competition.
It’s nearly the end of the school day, so rounding up all fifty students to get ready for an extra session of recess was quite the challenge.
The PE teacher and music teacher helped set all the scooters up for the students, as Lando is given the checkered flag to give to Oscar.
“For another chance to have a little chat with the hot driver,” the music teacher hands him the flag.
“Now I wonder how you found out about that,” he says sarcastically and quietly, hopefully so Oscar, or worse, the headmaster doesn’t hear them.
“Word travels,” he can only roll his eyes playfully as he makes his way over to Oscar and the rest of the McLaren team.
He’s noticed that Oscar has kept his eye on him since they moved outside. Whenever he looks back, Oscar shoots him a soft smile. He sounds like a broken record but he can’t even help it when his cheeks tint pink.
Listen, being the target of attention of a famous and rich Formula 1 driver is something that he is not opposed to.
Some of the team is setting up a tripod and filming Oscar, gathering as much content as they can of the day. “I think you’ll be waving the flag at the end of the race, I was told,” Lando tells him, handing the flag to the driver.
”Oh, you were told?” Oscar asks, but his grin peaks from the corners of his lips. They do look soft and plush and maybe he would just like to know how they would feel against his—
“A courtesy, really,” Lando says, not able to contain his smile.
Oscar chuckles and takes the flag from Lando, hands brushing gently against one another. His touch is warm, contrasting with Lando, who runs cold and wears sweaters in summer months.
It feels nice.
”Well thank you, can’t wait to see who wins,” Oscar says promptly, before his PR people drag him over to the finish line where he will declare the winner.
Lando cheers on his students as he watches them push their scooters around the makeshift paved track the teachers drew with chalk. They’re racing ten laps, which seemed to be plenty for the small children, many of them huffing and puffing with exertion.
On the final lap, Leila is out front pushing her scooter a few meters in front of his other students who are in second and third place, Charlie and Mohammed.
“C’mon Leila! C’mon Mo and Charlie!” He cheers, cupping his hands around his mouth.
Oscar is there waving the checkered flag dramatically, cheering when he sees Leila cross the finish line first.
She stops her scooter and starts jumping up and down with excitement that she won. “Mr. Lando I won!” She tells him, running up to him, smiling big and bright even while missing a tooth.
“I saw that, great job!” He tells her, giving her a high five. Charlie and Mohammed also come up to him and he gives them high fives as well.
They get ushered over to take a picture with Oscar. Lando also gets his phone out to snap a picture—maybe he’ll hang it up on his classroom memory wall.
“Was I as fast as you, Mr. Oscar?” Leila asks.
”You might have been faster,” he tells her honestly.
“Mr. Lando says that going fast is really impressive,” she tells him.
“Oh, he did now?” Oscar smirks, looking over at Lando.
“I mean,” he replies, shoving his phone back in his pocket and walking closer to Leila and Oscar. “Can’t be so hard, right? Press the gas pedal down.”
Oscar stands up from where he was crouching, looking directly at him. He’s objectively much taller than Lando, but he sure feels tiny compared to Oscar—broad shoulders on display as Lando makes a clear mental note of that.
“I wish it was that easy. There are some extra steps that make it a bit more complicated than that,” Oscar states. Leila runs off to her classmates, as the students gather to take a photo together to cap off today’s fun activities.
“I can only imagine–not that I know much about cars, let alone race cars that look like they belong at NASA,” He should really get back to his students.
It’s almost like Oscar doesn’t miss a beat. “I would love to show you sometime.”
And it leaves Lando a little bit speechless, the gears in his mind grinding to a halt at Oscar’s forward question.
Oscar’s steady confidence all day has been attractive, but Lando notices the slight falter in his face when Lando still hasn’t responded.
“Oh, I—"
“Oscar, let's get one last picture for the day before we head out!” Before Lando can even register what is happening, Oscar is being ushered behind the children to take a photo.
Lando just barely thinks to take photos along with the other teachers, mind still full of the Aussie and his bold imposition left unanswered.
—
The kids were bouncing off the walls by the time the final dismissal bell tolls, signalling that it was the end of the day and time for the students to pack their backpacks and head home.
The McLaren team had brought the students candies, the sugar rush at 3pm adding on to their already high energy levels. Lando could never be annoyed, not after seeing the joy on his students’ little faces, talking about how cool it was to meet a real-life F1 driver.
“Bye Mr. Lando!” Leila shouted, waving her hand at him, skipping off into the hallway to find her parents.
He chuckles, now sitting in the wake of silence where the laughter was just boisterous. He already misses it.
He packs his laptop away and digs around to try and find the keys to his car. Goddamnit, they’re in here somewhere…
“Wasn’t sure if I’d catch you before you left.”
Lando’s head shoots up from where he was looking down, to see Oscar standing in the frame of his classroom door.
“Oh,” he says dumbly and immediately cringes. “Hey, I was just—packing. Up my things.” Yeah, no shit, Captain Obvious.
“I can see that,” Oscar replies, stepping inside the room further, making his way towards him. Lando can feel the burn on his cheeks.
The desk is what separates the two, only a meter or so apart. Lando scans his face and down to his torso, taking in the McLaren branded sweatshirt that stretches across his chest just right.
“Orange looks good on you,” Lando blurts out. That definitely was supposed to stay an inside thought.
Oscar chuckles, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, but Lando can see the hint of pink high on his cheekbones.
“It’s technically papaya,” Oscar corrects.
“Oh, my mistake,” Lando interjects, raising his hand up defensively. “What even is a papaya?”
“Not sure, ask the marketing team,” Lando laughs a bit at that, soaking in the easy banter of it all. Or flirting, as Lando would like to call it.
They sit in silence, and it’s comfortable. His stupid smile hasn’t left his face since Oscar stepped into his classroom and into his life.
“You know,” Oscar pipes up. “You never answered my question.”
Lando is pretty quick with it, or so he likes to think. He’s good at flirting, even with guys with soft eyes that he thinks are cute. “I’m not sure I remember there being a question there, mate,” Lando says back.
Oscar playfully rolls his eyes and steps around the desk and closer to Lando, mere inches away now, and he can see the freckles that litter his face. He seems to want to indulge Lando anyway, and Lando wants to kiss him.
“Basically I wanted to ask you out, on a date,” Oscar states, head tilted down, before making eye contact with Lando again. A little shy, even when he seems unfazed. Glad to know he makes him somewhat nervous, and it makes Lando a little smug. “I’m in London through the weekend. Wanted to see if you were interested in dinner in the city.”
“Yeah, you do?” Now he’s just having fun with it, making this millionaire athlete spin in circles.
“Thought you were cute, wanted to know if you were interested.”
“You think I’m cute?” Lando cracks a smile, stepping in even closer and bites his lip, giving the Aussie a hard time but trying to let him know he’s being playful.
“I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, Lando.”
Oscar doesn’t waver, doesn’t break his hold with Lando, as if trying to convey the true meaning of his words.
Lando’s smile brightens, all thirty-two of his teeth showing, taking in what Oscar had said. He takes Oscar’s hand and intertwines their fingers, his heart beating like a hummingbird. Oscar grins too, squeezing his hand back and Lando feels like he could melt all over.
“I would love to go out with you, Oscar,” Lando tells him, squeezing his hand two times and Oscar’s grip tightens around his.
Oscar lets out a breath that he seemingly was holding in, relieved. “Thank god, I thought I’d have to never show my face to the kids again if this didn’t go well.”
“Oh, please,” Lando objects. “I was flirting with you since the moment we met. It was always gonna go your way.”
“Then that’s all that matters.”
“Oscar? You done in there, Romeo?”
It’s a woman’s voice coming from the hallway, definitely from McLaren’s PR team.
“Yeah, one second, Sophie,” he calls back and takes out his phone.
They exchange numbers with the promise of Oscar’s phone call. “I’m kinda old school, I’ll call you,” he tells Lando. It makes sense.
“Okay, you better get going then,” Lando tells him, but doesn’t let go of his hand.
“I should,” Oscar doesn’t either.
“Oscar!”
“Okay, I have to go,” he tells Lando, before cautiously leaning in and kissing Lando’s cheek.
His blush deepens before Lando reluctantly lets go of his hand. “I’ll call you!” He shouts on his way out the door.
“You better,” Lando winks.
Oscar leans his frame against the door, a dopey smile on his face before he gives a final wave goodbye.
And just like that, it’s silent again. And Lando misses it, but this time his heart was full, the pleasant ache of anticipation of tomorrow and of a promised phone call making it beat.