Black Alley Read Free Page B

legs, and you ran faster to keep from shivering. Yes, the leaves of the spiral-barked maple tree in the playground, as tall as the school, had already turned yellow and purple. But the school . . . Was there a single other building in the neighbourhood that was any drabber? ¡ Ay Marcelito ! The warm-ups were done, the group moved towards Serge, who was standing on the stairs with his stopwatch in his hand. He always, always looked severe, military, but, they had to admit, passionate, too. That day his long speech
was about relay races, about how important it was for them to be the best so the school could improve its image. Despite it all, it’s strange, isn’t it, how his fanaticism was contagious? How they would play along with him! Immense hope swelled their hearts. Yes, Serge, we’ll practise. No, we won’t eat any more junk food. First, we have to beat the other schools in the neighbourhood, then it would be the Jeux de Montréal, then, if all went according to plan, the team would go to the Jeux du Québec. Today, they were going to choose the teams for the grade-five relay. It wasn’t only about getting the four best times in the class, but the best times for the whole of grade five. Everyone understand? Okay, now let’s get to work.
    Serge inspired such admiration that the other teachers were jealous. Whenever the kids spotted him, they’d run towards him and hang from his neck – especially the girls. They’d throw themselves into his arms, give him kisses, tell him secrets. He was a sort of larger-than-life hero for the boys, and the first love of most of the girls. But only races and practice interested him: come on, come on, what did they think, that he was just some sort of entertainer? He’d extricate himself from their hugs and blow a lungful of air through his whistle. Even though there was no chance most of the students would participate in the competition, they would all run, impassioned, trying to outdo each other in the hope of winning his esteem. After a race, it was something to see the losers trying to swallow their sadness.
    As the girls were qualifying, Cléo, standing off to the side with an intrigued expression, watched the boys imitating the way the girls ran. He laughed at the right times and went back to his warm-ups when there was nothing interesting to see. When it was the boys’ turn, silence immediately fell over us. We watched each other furtively. We remembered the relay team from the year before, whispered the names of the team members: Marcelo, Akira, Sylvain and Yuri. Last year, the team hadn’t made it to the Jeux du Québec because of a stupid disqualification. But this year
we were going to get the revenge we deserved! Yep, the other schools were going to get theirs!
    The whistle blew and Akira, the first to position himself on the starting line, took off as if hurtling into space. Since he was one of the fastest boys in the class, it was a good half hour before anyone pushed him out of first place. On the other hand, his time didn’t beat the record held by Yuri, who was the fastest in all of the grade five classes. Sylvain took third place: without his knowing, his mother had put his running shoes in the washer the day before and they hadn’t dried in time. So he’d had to settle for his brother’s shoes, although they were two sizes too big for him. Look! He was swimming in them! Otherwise, there was no doubt, he would have beaten everyone no problem! he said when his race was over, snapping his fingers under Akira’s nose.
    On your marks! You knelt behind the starting line. On Thursday mornings, the day you had Phys. Ed., you had no trouble getting up as soon as the alarm went off. Get set! Your legs tensed. And, although for your Latino friends in the neighbourhood nothing was as good as playing soccer, you liked running the best, especially sprinting. Serge gave the Go! signal and you leapt like a