AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Fucking idiot,” I murmur to myself, my hands fisting. Tears prickle my eyes. After all this time, after all this training, did I really just give everything up? All because of Seth?
No.
It wasn’t Seth’s fault.
The only one I can blame is myself. I should have done some mediation in the morning. I should have yelled at Seth, told him of my fears and worries. I should have told Coach what was bothering me. It definitely would have helped.
“Goode!” I hear Coach shout, see him waving his hand at me in the crowd.
I straighten myself. My fists relax as I breathe in and out. It will be okay, I tell myself. Sure. I’m not the fastest, but I can probably make it to the next round. I stifle my groan and blink away my tears. I haven’t been this slow since I was in middle school and it feels like a punch to the gut.
“What happened?” Coach asks me, his eyes wide as if I’ve suddenly sprouted wings and another head. “I know you can run faster than that.”
I wince. “I-I don’t know,” I say while rubbing the back of my head. “I lost my focus. I-I…” I choke on a sob and I tilt my head back, willing the tears to disappear.
“Hey, it’s alright,” Coach says while patting my shoulder. “These things happen from time to time. Let’s just hope you made it to the next round. You can kill it then.”
I nod, biting my bottom lip. I pick at my nails, not knowing what else to do while I wait around. I can see the judges looking at their papers. I don’t know what they need to judge. All they need to do is look at the numbers and the names and make their call.
“You just needed to be faster than fifty,” I hear Coach say.
I nod. My voice is trapped in my throat. I can’t believe I was so stupid. I can’t believe I didn’t work harder. This is the biggest thing that could possibly happen to me, and I decided to blow it? I decided to worry about someone who absolutely hates me?
Way to go, Alex.
I hear a ding and look up, seeing the board alight with different numbers. My feet shuffle back and forth as my gaze rakes over the numbers, hearing a man announce on the intercom, “If you see your number on the board, please return next Wednesday at 2:00pm.”
“Seven, seven, seven,” I whisper to myself, praying to see my number on the board.
My heart lurches when I see seven, only to plummet when I see that it’s the number on the side counting up to fifty, not the digital version. I’m sure I was faster than most of my peers. I’m always the fast one. There is no way I completely blew it.
“Do you see your number?” Coach asks, his voice hardly above a whisper.
My eyes prickle. I think I am going to cry. I see twenty-seven. I see fifty-seven. But I don’t see my number. My gaze goes up and down the rows again, wondering if this is all a mistake, if this is a terrible nightmare I will awaken from. Once I make it through the numbers, I go through them again. This can’t be happening. My hands fist. My face heats. I feel Coach’s hand on my shoulder, but it’s light, as if my whole body has become numb.
“Goode,” I hear Coach, but I don’t say anything. I didn’t lose. There’s no possible way I could have lost. I’m Alex Goode. I’m the best. I’m as fast as lightning. I’ve been training nearly every day for this moment. There’s no possible way I fucked this up.
“Hey, Alex!” Coach says, louder this time and waving a hand in front of my face.
I blink and turn toward him, feeling a tear slip down my cheek. Quickly, I wipe it away, feeling so weak and stupid for allowing this to get to me. Coach gazes back at me, pity in his eyes, his shoulders slumped.
“It’s time to go, son.”
I clench my jaw, fighting the sob threatening to break through. I give him a resolute nod, my gaze dropping to the floor as I follow Coach’s steps through the gym, trying not to look around at the other athletes. I’m hardly aware of my feet hitting the ground as I hear shouts of joy. Someone knocks into me and I turn, an apology on my lips, but I stop as I see Alistair throwing his arms around some girl. She squeals as he spins her around several times, laughing, looking so overjoyed; happy.
That should be me.
I know I can outrun Alistair. I can outrun everyone in this gym.
So why didn’t I?
I should be going to the Olympics, and yet I fucked everything up all because I was worried about someone who fucking hates me. My hands tighten. I can feel my fingernails pricking into my palms. My sorrow ebbs, soon replaced by anger and I sharply turn away from the couple, stalking after Coach, ready to be anywhere but here.
Coach waits for me as I step into the locker, changing into my jeans and sweater. I hate the way he’s not looking at me, as if he’s ashamed. Most likely disappointed, I tell myself while shoving my arm into my coat’s sleeve. He also wasted his time, helping me after classes, before track practice, and during the weekends. I’m sure he also has a life. He believed in me and I completed screwed it up.
My hand clenches the locker door and I stare at the wire hanger dangling on the bar. What will Mom and Dad say? I wonder with a grimace. All last semester, they wanted me to return home. They were worried I was giving up my medical career for something impossible to obtain. How can I tell them that they were right? How can I look them in the eye? I wanted this to work out. I really did. Now I have to wait two years? Possibly four?
I don’t think I can wait that long, I think while slamming the door closed. I throw my duffel bag over one shoulder while trudging toward the exit, my steps slowing as I close the distance. My parents definitely won’t be happy. Sure, certain sports good stores want me to wear their items, and they’ll have me model for some pay, but that won’t be enough for my parents, not when they know I can do and be better. They’ll make me quit. They’ll make me return to New York. I know it.
