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ALEX
IfrownasI look around at the athletes around me, stretching and preparing themselves for the Olympic tryouts. It’s the preliminary rounds, so there’s at least a hundred of us. We’ll be halved after this race and I can’t stop moving no matter how much I tell myself it will be okay. It isn’t my first race. I have hundreds of trophies decorating my room. I can do this.
But I still can’t help but worry about Seth.
Two weeks ago, he put himself in the hospital. I can’t stop thinking of him: passed out on the bathroom floor, blood pooling all around him, looking so skinny and helpless. Just thinking about it has my insides twisting and my heart pounding. What if we hadn’t realized he was locked in there? What if the gash had been deeper?
I look up at the ceiling, trying to use the light to dry the tears in my eyes. Once again, he isn’t treating himself right. It’s Paris all over again. And what makes it even worse, is Seth won’t even let us talk about it. He locks himself inside his room, or he runs out the door. The doctor told us to make sure he remains in bed. Well, how are we supposed to make that happen when he constantly ignores us?
“You ready, Goode?” Coach asks.
I flinch as I glance over my shoulder, finding him right behind me. “I think so,” I say uneasily. My mind isn’t in the right place. I can’t center myself. All I want to do is run home and yell at Seth; tell him how much of an asshole he is being.
“You nervous?”
I grimace. “Yeah, I guess so.” That definitely is part of it. Nervous that Seth is going to pass out again while I’m gone, worried he’s going to injure himself even more. The guy keeps getting skinny. I honestly want to force feed him burgers and pizza until he returns to normal.
Is that even possible? Can Seth return to the great asshole he once was? Or has he always been this way, just better at hiding it? That thought makes me ache; to think he’s been hurting all this time, hiding it from everyone, plastering a smile to his face. I worry this is only going to get worse before it gets better.
“What’s on your mind, Goode?” Coach frowns at me. “Spit it out now before the race begins.”
I purse my lips, not knowing if I should be talking to Coach about another track member. Although, maybe he already knows about Seth? The team has noticed his weight loss, but no-one really speaks about it. Mike wonders if Seth has caught some strange disease and the Sophomores whisper behind Seth’s back.
“Well, it’s,” I grimace, not knowing what I should say. Sorry, Coach, I’m worried about Seth. He’s gotten so skinny I think he might have an eating disorder. What do you think? My frown deepens. I definitely cannot say that. “It’s nothing,” I say while forcing a smile. “I’m just nervous. That’s all.”
Coach nods and pats me on the back. “You’ll do well. Just believe in yourself.”
Believing in myself is never the problem, I think while searching the bleachers, knowing I won’t find Rachel or the bros. It’s Wednesday. Everyone is in class. I had to tell all my teachers personally that I would be missing the day in order to try out for this. I really wish they could be here. It would be nice to have their support, to have Rachel holding her sign and cheering me from the sidelines.
I sigh and shake my head. I will just have to do this on my own, like all the times before I met the bros and Rachel.
“Calling all athletes!” someone shouts into the intercom. “Calling all athletes. Get into position.”
“That’s your cue,” says Coach while giving me the thumbs up sign. “Give them hell, Goode.”
I nod, striding past him. My hands run over the number clipped to my shirt. Lucky number seven, I think bitterly while placing my feet behind the white line. I lower myself, stretching my legs out while I place my palms on the floor. I stare straight ahead, frowning as another image of Seth surfaces. I stifle a whimper as I think of him dangling in Hunter’s arms, blood staining the white towel Rachel pressed against his head.
What the hell?I scold myself while shaking my head vigorously. Not now. I can worry about Seth at a later time. He’s fine. He’s probably in class right now, being an asshole. Focus, Alex.
I turn to the right, seeing Alistair, someone I used to race with when I went to school on the east coast. He gives me a glare, his dark brown hair hanging over his sweatband. Sweat drips from his nose and plops onto the gym floor. I hold in my gag as he looks away, grumbling to himself. I turn to my right, seeing someone I have never met. He’s younger than me, possibly just turned eighteen and ready to make his name in the world.
He gives me a coy smirk. “Get ready to eat my dust,” he whispers before turning his attentions forward.
I sigh and look ahead, scowling at the track before me. You can do this, Alex, I tell myself over and over again, hoping if I repeat it enough times I will my hard work will pay off and it will come true.
The siren goes off and I propel myself forward, my arms pumping up and down while my legs dash forward. I focus on my breathing: in and out, in and out. I don’t look to my right, nor my left, knowing I should keep my attentions focused on myself. I hear footsteps around me. I hear people shouting, but I refuse to look. It’s different running in a gym, rather than outside. The air is muggy and hot. There’s nothing to look at, no views to enjoy. I don’t feel like I’m flying like I do when I’m outside.
My heart lurches as I think of Seth at Paris, how we ran together, how I had been looking forward to our run. He had been thin then, as well. Actually, he looked like absolute shit. I couldn’t finish the race, because he injured himself. Why did I help him? Seth has always been an asshole to me, but I’ve always enjoyed his fiery presence. Teasing him has always been a great past time of mine. Seth always takes everything so seriously.
But why did I worry about him then?
Why do I worry about him now?
I can understand Rachel and the bros fretting over him. They’ve known him longer. They actually have good experiences and memories with him, whereas I can only recall our bickering. I guess, to me, our bickering has always been a fond memory of mine. Maybe Seth doesn’t think so. I grimace, my legs are shaking, I’m beginning to slow down. I can see Alistair’s back.
I urge myself forward, gasping for breath. My breathing is unsteady. I need to focus, but I can’t stop thinking of Seth. My legs wobble. What is wrong with me? I know I’m better than this. So why is movement difficult?
I pass the finish line, my heart hammering in my throat as I slow down. Looking around, I find several people around me who already passed. I frown. What does this mean? I know I could have run faster. My mind just took control of everything. I pick at my fingers as I look around for Coach. Did I just fuck everything up?
