I quickly walk off before I say something they’ll no doubt make me regret. Inhale. Exhale. I jog in place, shaking out my arms.
Our event is called, and I walk into position. Someone in the crowd yells out my name. I see Beth sitting next to Danny. They wave at me and shout something. Danny’s going to see me run. I can’t decide if that’s amazing or terrifying. I wave back before refocusing on the track. On my left is a girl from St. Theresa’s, our biggest rival, and on my right is Elle.
“Suck a dick, Lia,” Elle mutters, as we crouch into position.
“Not if I see you first.” I really need to work on my comebacks. Elle looks confused for a moment, then shoots me another dirty look.
I ignore her. All sound is muted, like I’ve dipped my head underwater. There’s just me and my lane. Exhale.
Ready.
Set.
The pistol pops. I shoot forward. Wind whips into my face. Every muscle in my body contracts and pushes. My feet pound the track like gunshots. Just me and my lane, and I’m tearing through it at the speed of light. Everything falls behind me—all the bullshit, Mr. Werner’s class, Elle and TrackQueen and all the other mean girls, all the crap posted on DD about me—I outrun them all, and for the first time since I arrived at Draycott, I feel nothing but undeniable, unshakable peace. I was made to do this. God, I wish this feeling could last forever.
Then, suddenly, I feel the tautness of the ribbon against my stomach, a split second before it rips. Reality comes rushing back with the roar of an asteroid breaking through the atmosphere. Someone grabs me in a giant hug.
“You did it! You broke your own record!” Coach Iverson shouts, practically lifting me off my feet.
“Seriously?” I pant. A laugh wobbles its way up my chest. It’s like a light’s been turned on, chasing away the darkness. Hope. Everything’s still shit, but it’s gonna turn out okay. I laugh again. I turn to the crowd and wave. There aren’t many people—it’s not football or lacrosse—but the ones who are there cheer for me. Okay, some of them are actually booing, but I’m brimming with so much joy, nothing can possibly touch me right now. Beth and Danny are clapping madly, and that’s good enough for me.
“That was amazing! Never seen anything like it.” Coach’s babbling as we walk toward the benches.
Kat, Coach’s assistant, approaches us. Instead of congratulating me, she leans toward Coach Iverson and says, “We need to talk.”
“Be back in a sec,” Coach Iverson says to me, and walks off with Kat.
I look at my time. 2:06. Joy bubbles through my veins. Coach was right, I really did break my own record. If I keep this up, I’ll get a full ride to college, no doubt. I dig my phone out of my duffel bag. I’ve gotta call Ibu. The notification screen is full of new posts from DD.
Okay, I was wrong about nothing being able to touch me, because some of the bubbles inside me deflate at the sight of the new post notifications. I really should delete this damn app.
Instead, I click on it.
Posted by: @TrackQueen
A little bird told me someone’s about to get kicked out of varsity… #NoMoreParasite
Reply from: @Scribofile
Oh??
Below that is a GIF of a man resting his chin on his hands and saying, “Do tell.” The replies that follow are along the same lines. Everyone can’t wait to see what @TrackQueen has in store for me.
My heart does a nervous stutter, and I fight to get it to calm the hell down. It’s just trash talk. I’ve blasted through my first race. There is no way—
“Lia!”
Coach Iverson is storming toward me, her expression thunderous. My throat dries up painfully. No way. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m okay. Everything is okay.
“Yeah, Coach?” I try to keep my voice calm.
“You got a D in English Lit?”
What does that have to do with anything? “Yeah.”
Coach closes her eyes and mutters a curse. “Did the guidance counselor not explain our rules to you when you were admitted? You need to pass all your classes, otherwise you’re not allowed on the track.”
My mind goes blank, like someone’s unplugged it.
“I’m sorry, Lia. It’s school policy. This will be your last match until you bring your grades up.”
“What?” The word rips out of me like a gunshot. No, this can’t be happening. It can’t, it just can’t. I feel as though I’m drowning.
Heads turn to face me. Whispers, snatches of laughter. Everything seems to be spinning. I catch a glance of Stacey, doing her stretches and watching me out of the corner of her eye. Blood roars in my ears.
“I’m sorry, that’s our rules. But hey, I have faith you. You’ll get your grades up in no time. Take the time you’re not on the track to study.” She claps me on the back before turning around and shouting at the other girls, “What’re you all doing just standing there looking pretty? Get ready for the next event!”
Stacey smirks at me and jogs onto the track, her ponytail swinging like a pendulum. The other girls get into position, and just like that, I’m forgotten. A speck of dust, so easily lost in the wind. Despair clutches at my gut. I think I might throw up. Kicked off varsity? I can’t—it doesn’t compute.
My phone beeps again.
Posted by: @TrackQueen
Buh-bye, Parasite! #thankyounext
Below that is a picture of me, shoulders slumped, standing on the track. It’s taken from afar and it’s been blurred out, but it’s still clearly me. Someone here is taking pictures of me. The back of my neck prickles. I look around at the cheering spectators, the girls on the track. No one seems to be paying me any attention. Even Danny and Beth are busy watching the next event. Which is just as well. I don’t really want to interact with anyone right now.
I gather my stuff and walk off the track, glancing behind my shoulder as I go. My feet, flying across the track just moments ago, have turned to lead. I’m off varsity. Tears prick my eyes and my cheeks burst into flames again. I quicken my step.
I manage to hold it in long enough to get in the shower and turn on a blast of hot water, then I sob my heart out. Mid-sob, it strikes me that I’m doing a lot of crying in the shower lately. The thought makes me cry even more, which is massively pathetic, I know, but I can’t hold back anymore.
The cry shower clears my mind a little, and by the time I get back to my room, I’m clearheaded enough to realize that I need to tackle the root of the problem. Mr. Werner’s class.
I take out my phone and do a search for his timetable. As it turns out, he has office hours for the next forty minutes today. Okay, time to grovel.
The walk to Collings Hall, where the teachers’ offices are located, is terminally long. I want to say I’m imagining the stares, but these kids aren’t bothering to be subtle. I keep my head down. One foot in front of the other. And then I’m in front of his office, staring at the little brass plaque on the door which says James Werner. It takes about four aborted tries before I manage to will myself to actually knock on the door.