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SETH
Iinhale,feelingthe burn course through my muscles as I pump my arms. It’s been so long since I’ve run this fast. Honestly, I used to be able to run faster. Still, it feels good being able to finally move and practice with my team mates. I’ve been running nearly every day since the doctor said it was okay. I’ve been pushing myself to move faster, train harder; waking up at the crack of dawn, running for hours on end, until my muscles quiver with exhaustion. Sometimes I worry this is becoming an obsession. I don’t want to injure myself again.
My eyes narrow as another Freshman passes me.
Fire burns within me. In my lungs, in my arms, and in my legs. I push myself to catch up with him, ignoring the ache in my thighs. There’s no way I can let a freshman win. All of my training is for nothing if I can’t keep my place on the team. I clench my jaw, desperately trying to catch up, but it’s too hard. I let out a gasp, my feet slowing as the muscles in my side pull. My shoulders slump and I bend down, inhaling deeply to calm the hammering in my heart. Tears prickle my eyes.
I can’t do this, I think darkly, sniffing to contain my sadness. Big boys don’t cry. I can’t let the others see how far I’ve fallen.
“You okay there, Garcia?” I hear Coach shout, yet his voice sounds distant to my ears.
I scowl at the floor, smudged with black from shoes and dirtied with dust the janitor missed. Move, dammit, I tell myself. I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself. I need to beat someone in the next track meet or I’m off the team. Do you really want to lose your scholarship?
With that, I rise and urge myself forward, yet I’m unable to run for long. My muscles shake, my pace is slow, and I can’t stop the onslaught of curses I throw at myself for being so slow and weak. The old Seth wouldn’t be this pitiful, but I guess he’s gone, replaced with this loser. After several minutes, Coach blows his whistle and my steps immediately halt. I turn back to the bleachers, grabbing my towel resting on the sidelines. Wiping the sweat from my face, I remain in the back, not wanting to see the pitiful looks of the others around me or hear any rue remarks.
“The first track meet is in two weeks,” Coach announces while looking around. His eyes land on me, and I instantly look away. He doesn’t need to remind me. I’ve had the date marked for months now. There’s no way I’d forget something so important when my whole future is on the line.
“I expect all of you to be training on your own,” Coach continues. “Think of your body as a temple. Make sure you treat it right. Don’t go on benders the entire weekend. That will only slow you down.”
I don’t know what is said, but I hear some chuckling in front of me, finding Mike nudging Alex while whispering something. Jealousy stabs through me as I watch Alex whispering something back. I used to be Mike’s go-to man. I used to be the one everyone joked with, the one that everyone wanted to speak with. My towel slips from my hands, but I allow it to fall, not caring if it gets dirtied by the dust and dirt on the gym floor.
Deep down, I know it’s not Alex’s fault. He’s an amazing runner; swift, graceful, strong. He almost looks like he’s flying every time I watch him, which wouldn’t surprise me given the wing tattoos on his ankles. I don’t know why I blame everything horrible in my life on him. He didn’t crack my heel. He didn’t train me to the bone, making me forget to take care of myself. He isn’t the one possibly taking away my scholarship.
I’m the reason for everything wrong in my life. I’m what’s wrong. Gritting my teeth, I try to shake myself of my angst-ridden thoughts and concentrate on Coach’s words. However, they refuse to leave me. Sometimes I feel like I’m falling through the cracks, head first to some greater unknown. I want to everything to return to normal, but I know they won’t. Alex is here to stay. Alex is the fastest runner on our team. He’s the one everyone looks up to now.
And I’m nothing.
“Garcia,” Coach says, waving me toward him. “Can you come here for a moment?”
I wince as I trudge forward, watching the others slowly stride toward the lockers attached to the gym. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch Mike and Alex leave, elbowing each other as they walk, laughing. How I wish I could be them. I already know exactly what Coach is going to tell me. I don’t know why he even bothers, why he even cares for someone like me.
“What is it, Coach?” I ask, forcing a smile.
Coach crosses his arms as he tilts his head, giving me that pitiful knowing look which only makes me feel even worse. “I know you’re worried,” he starts, which makes my smile falter. “You’ve been doing well. Real well.”
“But it’s not enough,” I finish for him, my gaze dropping to the floor. I can’t hide the disappointment in my voice.
“I’m worried it won’t be.”
I grit my teeth. My eyes tingling with unshed tears. I close my eyes, willing them away. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, I repeat in my head like a mantra, however, a sob threatens to surface. Holy crap, I just might cry. I don’t think I’ve done that since I was a kid.
“But don’t lose hope,” continues Coach. “I think you’re almost there. Practice when you can. Stay away from alcohol and partying for a bit.”
I nod. I don’t trust my voice to speak, worried it’ll sound shaky or I will burst into tears right in front of him.
“You still have two weeks. A lot can change in that time.”
Slowly, I open my eyes. I try to hold onto those words. They’re the only thing keeping me going. I still have time. A lot can change, as Coach said. I can still keep my scholarship. I can still run.
“Just keep doing what you have been doing and don’t lose faith.” Coach rests a hand on my shoulder for a brief moment, giving me an awkward smile, before striding past me and heading toward his office.
I heave a sigh, slowly turning around and walking toward the lockers. Hopefully, no one will ask me what’s going on, or why Coach wanted to speak with me. Most likely, everyone knows the reason why. My time on the team is limited. I was lucky the college board gave me the first semester to even get better. I’m sure that wouldn’t be the case for other students, but since I’ve won several trophies for them before, they decided to let me slide.
Until now.
I have two weeks. Make them count, Seth.
Straightening my shoulders, I throw open the door and put on my most smug, confident grin. No one bothers to looks my way as I walk toward my locker. My smile slips as I see Alex leaning against it, already showered and dressed. The guy must be a magician of some sorts. How is he so fast?
