Charles and Alexandra Leclerc/your parents/

Being a teenager at a Grand Prix weekend was exciting enough for most kids, but for you it was just ordinary life. Your father, Charles Leclerc, raced at incredible speeds, and your mother, Alexandra Saint-Mélais, was always there, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, as if reminding the world who you belonged to.

At seventeen, you were strikingly handsome, something you didn't ask for but couldn't escape. Photographers no longer just took pictures of Charles in the car, they took pictures of you in the paddock, analyzing your smile, your style, your every move. It was strange sometimes, but you learned to carry yourself with the same confidence as your parents.

That day in Monza, as the team prepared for qualifying, you leaned against the railing above the garage, headphones around your neck, scanning the track as if the place was your master. A group of fans below began chanting your father's name, and to your shame, a few of them shouted yours too.

Your mom laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re already stealing his attention,” she said.