Coach Polk stood near the starting line as the team huddled around him.
“Ladies, remember, what separates you from everyone else is focus. Start fast. End first. I don’t care about rankings or who you think is better than you. You’ve all trained and worked to be right where you are today. You’ve overcome insurmountable odds.”
Lily’s teammate Heather squeezed her hand, and Lily smiled.
“Winning is here.” Coach Polk pointed to his head. “And here,” he continued, pointing to his heart. “We’ve got more heart than any team on this field. Don’t forget that. On the count of three. One. Two. Three.”
“Go Bison!”
The girls gave each other high fives and began their separate warm-ups. The announcer welcomed everyone and Lily moved toward the starting gate, jumping up and down to loosen her muscles. The sun shined brightly, a crispness in the air.
“Let’s go, Mommy.”
Lily recognized Sky’s voice instantly. She scanned the crowd and found her family in the bleachers. Scott was holding Sky as she waved a sign that read #8 IS MY MOMMY! Scott had her turn the sign around and it read #8 IS MY HOTTIE. Lily burst out laughing, waving to them and blowing kisses. She saw her mom, holding David, his chubby arms waving back at her. Wes was beside her and then she saw Abby. Abby! Her sister was wearing a Bucknell sweatshirt and beaming brightly. Lily couldn’t believe this. She’d never even considered that Abby might be able to attend, and now here she was, ready to cheer Lily on. Lily knew what this meant, how difficult it must have been for her sister to face the crowds and the noise and the potential public scrutiny. It meant everything to see Abby standing there.
Lily placed her hand over her heart and Abby did the same. She could already feel herself growing stronger, just knowing that Abby was in the stands cheering her on. She didn’t know when, but Lily knew that one day they wouldn’t be separated by doctors and guards. One day Abby would be her neighbor. They’d take their children to school, celebrate holidays together. But today is a start, Lily thought. Today is a good start.
Lily forced herself to focus. Her best race was the four-hundred-meter run, and she was up first. She wasn’t the fastest out of the gate, but she was skilled at picking up speed and surging past her opponents. Lily made her way over to the starting line. She adjusted her shoelaces, keeping her breathing even and steady. She always closed her eyes before she ran, saying a silent prayer of thanks. She inhaled, breathing in the freshly cut grass, the coconut essence of her sunscreen, always taking time to remember these moments. She could hear the crowd murmuring excitedly, the low whispers of the other runners as they discussed strategy with their coaches. She quieted her mind, listened to the steady beat of her heart. The announcer’s voice sounded through the loudspeaker.
“Runners. On your marks.”
Lily took her place on the starting mark, staring straight ahead. A hush descended over the crowd.
Bang!
The starting gun exploded, and like that, Lily was off.
She could feel the other runners beside her but Lily blocked them out. She kept running, one foot in front of the other, her arms pumping faster and faster. Her family was chanting her name, and though she knew it was silly, it seemed as if the whole stadium was cheering her on as well.
Lily ran even faster, determined to reach the finish line. She couldn’t wait to hug Abby, to wrap her arms around Sky and Scott, to be surrounded by her whole family in this place that she loved so much. Her lungs ached, but Lily surged forward, passing more runners. She didn’t know if her efforts would be enough to win, but that wasn’t the point. Lily wasn’t whole yet, but she would be. One day she believed that all the pieces of the puzzle would fit again. Keep on going, Lily thought, as the finish line grew closer and closer. Just keep going.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I was nine when I wrote my first novel. Every few weeks I would read the handwritten pages to my mother and twin sister, a captive audience on long car trips. But one day, overcome with crippling self-doubt, I dumped the manuscript in the garbage. Which is why I’m so grateful for the army of people who kept me from committing further crimes against fiction.
To Adesuwa McCalla, manager extraordinaire, you took a chance and never stopped believing in me. I cannot imagine continuing this journey without your tough love and unwavering support. To my agents at WME, Lindsay Dunn and Eve Attermann (whose insightful notes and relentless hustle got people talking), as well as Jo Rodgers and Covey Crolius, who took Baby Doll international, a million thanks.