When he finally hands out the test paper at the end of the second week, I almost LOL. The test consists of five short-essay questions, and the questions can’t possibly be any easier. The answers shoot through my mind so fast that my hand gets a bit of a cramp writing the answers quick like a bunny, or you know, quick like me doing a hundred-meter dash. There is no way. No way I’m not acing this one.
I don’t even bother wiping the smug smile off my face when I hand in my paper.
The next class, I basically strut into Mr. Werner’s. Just another straight-A star athlete coming through. Mandy, who’s been eating my dust on a regular basis, gives me one of her very bitchiest bitch faces, but I just swan past her.
Mr. Werner gives me this sort of bemused smile, like he can’t possibly imagine what I’m so happy about. My A+, I want to snap at him. I’m happy about proving you wrong.
Instead, I fold my hands and sit in my seat as prim and proper as can be, and I keep still as he goes around and hands us back our papers. I pick mine up with a small smile.
And freeze.
D minus.
No. Not possible. I know I’ve aced it. I know it in my bones, the same kind of feeling I get right before I blast through the finish line. What the hell is this thing—this grade that’s so unfamiliar to me, it practically looks like a hieroglyph?
Sophie flashes through my mind. She’s flunked his class. Maybe I’m headed down the same path. A wave of black despair surges through me. It takes a huge effort not to scrunch up the paper. My answers have been slashed through hideously. Bleeding red into the margins. An army of red swarming the page.
Weak argument.
Where’s the evidence to support your statement?
That’s quite a leap in assumption.
I look up in time to catch Mr. Werner watching me. Something about his expression makes me start. Then I realize why. It’s the exact same one he was wearing as he watched Sophie get dragged away. An expression that says, Poor little cockroach. Now do please fuck off before I crush you. My hand squeezes into a ball, crushing the test paper, and he turns away.
A folded-up note plops onto my table. First note I’ve received at this school. I unfold it.
Did you ever think you were gonna pass this class? Bye, bitch.
Mandy’s watching me over her shoulder. When I catch her eye, she smiles and blows me a kiss. I give her the finger, but that only makes her smile wider.
***
I don’t have the energy to face other humans at lunch, so I trek through the obnoxiously beautiful grounds and go back to Mather. Maybe I’ll take a power nap. Maybe I’ll just veg out and watch TikToks until my brain drips out of my ears.
The dorm’s eerily silent. Of course it would be. Everyone’s at lunch. My phone boops and I take it out without thinking about it. Then I realize the sound means it’s yet another DD update, and that it’s about me. I really should unfollow #Parasite, but it’s an itch I haven’t been able to stop myself from scratching.
Posted by: @MagicHandzz
Someone PLEASE take a pic of @TrackQueen’s face when she sees this?? #Parasite #trackdrama
Below that is a screenshot of a piece of paper with a list of names.
MATCH LINEUP. FIRST DIV, MID-DISTANCE:
1. Lia Setiawan
2. Stacey Hoffman
3. Arjuna Singh
4. Elle Brown
Joy dances through my mind, flashing with a multitude of bright colors. I’m in. I’ve done what I came here to do. I’m one step closer to that college scholarship.
But just as quickly as it arrives, the bubbles of joy are swallowed by a sudden stab of dread. Mandy’s name is nowhere on the list. I’ve done the thing. The thing Stacey told me not to do on pain of death. I’ve kicked Mandy off varsity.
And suddenly, I find it hard to swallow. My mouth might as well be a desert. How much trouble am I gonna be in with her now?
***
The next morning, I try to shake off the feeling of dread as I make my way to the track for my first meet of the season. As usual, I’m the first to arrive. I’m a chronic early bird.
“Lia!”
I look up to see Danny jogging over to me.
“What’re you doing here?” Not that I’m complaining.
He smiles, suddenly looking shy. Honestly, is there anything hotter in the world than a cute, shy guy? “I just…you know…wanted to wish you good luck, so…good luck on your match.”
Yes, there is. There is something hotter. It’s a cute, shy guy who comes early to your match to wish you luck.
“Thank you.” We smile widely at each other. Maybe it’s the mess of nerves that I’ve become lately, but there’s something magical about the moment. I lean closer to him. My chest gives a painful squeeze. Maybe we can have our first kiss right now, on the empty track—
A shout jerks us apart. “Hey, what’re you doing here? Athletes only!” Coach Iverson strides toward us, pointing straight at Danny, her expression deathly serious. Danny looks like he’s ready to make a dash for it when Coach breaks into a grin. “I’m just messing with you. But seriously, though, get off my track. Go on, get outta here.”
“Yes, ma’am. See you, Lia,” he says, giving me a look that’s a cross between a smile and a grimace. His cheeks look about as red as mine feel.
“Thanks for coming down here,” I call to his retreating back, then I turn back to Coach, cockblocker of the year. “Hey, Coach.” I don’t wait for her to reply before crouching into the first of my stretches. I don’t want her to see the flames on my face. Oh my god, that was almost my first kiss.
“Slept well? Ready for the race?”
No, and definitely not. “Uh-huh.”
Coach Iverson pats my shoulder, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She’s nervous. Which makes me even more nervous. But I can deal with nervousness over athletics. Been dealing with that my whole life.
“Don’t worry, Coach. I’ve got this.” I sound a lot more confident than I feel.
It’s just as well that my teammates start arriving, because I’m out of small talk, and Coach’s nerves are contagious. First one who gets here is Elle Brown. I smile at her, but she rolls her eyes and turns away with a hair flick. I don’t even get a chance to smile at the girl behind her—Arjuna Singh—before she gives me the cold shoulder (minus the hair flick). Wow. I know it’s dumb to expect anything aside from this, since they’ve been ignoring me ever since my first day, but I guess part of me had hoped that they’d get over it on match day. Well, whatever. I swallow the lump in my throat and go back to my warm-ups. When we’re done warming up, I go sit at the bench, but Elle scoots over to block the remaining space on the bench.
“Seat’s taken.”
Watching her and the other girls there, smug smiles on their perfect, manicured faces, I’m suddenly enraged. A small crowd has gathered on the bleachers, but I can’t hear them anymore, not over the roar of my blood. I want to grab my teammates by their hair and bash their heads in. To them, being here’s just a fun after-school activity, something to add to their college applications. To me, it’s this or bust. If I don’t compete, I don’t get a scholarship, and without a scholarship, I can’t afford college. Not unless I’m willing to take out a student loan that will debilitate my future.