Incinerate

Chapter 18 - Finish Line, Part 1

PE brings another round of walking around the track. Several little groups break off, and I assimilate into Timbo's. He and his friends go over highlights from Friday night's game, and a ball of guilt nestles in my gut for missing the last half. Hanging at the back of our troupe, I pray they don't turn their attention to me and start asking questions.

"Did you end up making it to the game?" Timbo asks, his big goofy grin making his round cheeks even rounder.

Dammit.

"Yeah," I do my best to sound nonchalant, but feel like I'm not quite there. "I was there for the first two quarters, but I started feeling sick during halftime so Elliot took me home."

"Well I'm glad you're feeling better!" he beams.

"You missed one helluva second half," Harley chimes in."Tons of sacking and hard tackles, good passes. A real solid beating, honestly. A sight to behold."

"It's always a good sign when the season starts with a shutout," Timbo adds with pride on his face.

"Hopefully you guys can keep that energy throughout the year," I say.

"Shouldn't be too hard if The Bull keeps chargin and stompin all over everyone!" Harley gets excited, jumping all over Timbo and shaking his large frame to hype my friend up. It works; he, Harley, and the others start chanting "Let's go Knights!" at the top of their lungs.

Dorks, I laugh to myself.

A shrill whistle demands our attention. The boys' hype cuts off, and the whole class looks to Coach Bloom standing off to the side of the track. His whistle falls from his lips to his chest, dangling from a thin white cord. He sports a pair of Aviators, as well as one of the many HGHS Knights hats I've seen around, to keep the sun out of his eyes.

"Over the course of the next two weeks," he begins, loud enough for us all to hear, "we are going to be training for the Mile. Alongside our casual walks, we will start to incorporate running into our routine. After we have completed our Mile for the beginning of the year, we will continue to run to get our blood pumping first thing. Today, you all will be taking a lap around the track. One lap equates to a quarter-mile, so it will just be a taste of the final thing. Everyone line up at this starting line in front of me. When I blow my whistle, run."

Timbo and the rest of our group take the lead. We wait at the thick white line stretching across the width of the track. For a moment, I wonder how fast Timbo is with his size. On the football field, he seems fairly quick when rushing the opposing quarterback. Perhaps, as Gimli claims for his dwarven kin, he excels at sprinting in short distances. I smile at the thought that he, like the round bully in that movie Sky High about the school for teenagers with superpowers, is the fastest person around.

"Let's make this interesting, boys," Harley says, clapping the shoulders of the guys on either side of him. "Twenty bucks to whoever can beat me."

"Not this again," one of them groans.

"Harley set the school's record for the Mile last semester," Timbo tells me. "4:45."

"Impressive," I comment. "I think I clocked in around there back in Huntley."

"Is that so?" Harley's attention turns to me. "Well how about it, my man? You, me, and a crisp Jackson on the line?"

"Only if you're chill about losing," I tease with a grin. The others give a surprised chuckle at the jab. Harley, however, narrows his eyes with determination.

"You're so going down."

We both ready ourselves, crouching a little as we dig our toes into the pavement. The high and sharp trill of the whistle sets us in motion. Pushing off, we launch ourselves forward into a sprinting pace. Step after step our legs pump in quick and hard succession. A few lanes to my left, Harley focuses with pinpoint precision and intensity, his eyes never leaving the track. Beads of sweat form on his brow, his mid-length honey hair flowing back with his speed.