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I blink back my tears. I choke on a sob as I propel myself forward.
“Yeah, Seth!” I hear Hunter shout. “You’re nearly there!”
“Keep going, you asshole!” Lucas shouts, making me chuckle.
I shake my head and focus on the line in front of me, unaware of who has crossed and who hasn’t. Lucas is right. I am nearly there. Even if I do get kicked off the track team, lose my scholarship, my ability to attend school—at least I gave it my all. At least I can hold my head up and know I tried. Several months ago, I didn’t even think I could run again. Now look at me.
I hold up my hands as I cross the finish, tilting my head up to the bright lights above me. My feet slow and I feel arms around me, voices shouting.
“You did it!” Mike shouts.
I chuckle, although the sound comes out like a gasp. “Yeah. I finished.”
“You did well.” Alex hands me a towel.
I use it to wipe the sweat from my face. “At least I gave it my all.”
Mike chuckles and smacks my back. “Why do you sound so dreary? You came in fifth place, numb nuts.”
“Huh?” I look between Mike and Alex, not believing my ears. “What?”
“You beat the Freshmen,” says Alex with a chuckle.
Mike rolls his eyes. “Although, in their defense, they’ve been partying it up since they got back.”
Alex shrugs. “Well, shows them. If they’re not going to take track seriously, they might as well give their spot to someone who actually cares.”
“So… I get to stay?” I ask, still surprised.
Alex nods. “Yep. You get to stay.”
I blink back tears. My heart swells. I choke down a sob, quickly clamping a hand over my mouth. I get to stay. All my hard work has paid off. My gaze lifts to the scoreboard, noticing, next to my number, is my time. Although, my joy is short lived as I look to number 3, Alex’s number. He’s nearly a minute quicker than my score.
My joy, in one swoop, disappears.
***
I find myself in the locker room, not quite remembering how I got there. It’s like my body has a mind of its own. I stare at my locker door, anger making my hands clench and unclench. I should be better than this, better than what I’ve become. I’ve been running since I was a kid: from asshole bullies who wished to pound my face in, from my dad who also wanted to pound my face in, from Mom who wouldn’t stop nagging me. But I couldn’t run away from this—from Alex, who will always be better than me at something. At everything.
My fist slams into my locker, but I don’t feel the pain. I hold my bloodied knuckles up to my gaze. My fist unclenches and I move my fingers. They feel numb. Blood drips down the tips. I need to do better, I think darkly. I need to be better.
I strip and trudge to the showers, allowing the cold water to trickle down my body. I’m hardly aware of the droplets as I stare at the tiles in front of me. My uninjured hand braces against the wall, holding myself steady. The sounds of my teammates entering the locker room echo and fill my ears, yet I say nothing, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I chuckle. For once, the great Seth Garcia doesn’t want all the attention.
How interesting.
“Hey.”
I know who’s standing near me without bothering to look. He’s always there, I’m beginning to realize. He’s always noticing me, checking in with me, like a little duckling following its mother around.
“What, Alex?” I ask without turning.
“Where did you go? One second you were there and then the next you were gone. You missed the trophies.”
Probably because I wasn’t going to get one, I think. I know I can’t say that, so I merely nod.
“Jesus, your hand. Are you okay?”
I nod again, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. “Yep. Totally fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
I shrug. “I tripped. It’s nothing to worry about.”
I fist my injured hand, as if to prove a point, ignoring the pain starting to set in. Maybe not this year, but next year I will beat Alex. I just need to remain focused, like I did this time. No more beer. No more parties. No more putting running last in order to fool around. I can’t be so lenient anymore.
I’m going to show everyone I can be just as good as Alex. I can also make it to the Olympics. I’ll show them all.
