Seconds Read Free

was only interested in one. And there he was, about three meters down the line. Chatting it up with the guys beside him. Mr. Green Spikes himself. “You’re going down today,” whispered Jake. “Somebody’s going down, and it isn’t going to be me.” It made Jake feel kind of bad when he said this, but it made him feel tough too, and he knew he’d have to be tough out there.
    The official called all runners to the line. Jake got ready. A good start was key.
    â€œReady,” shouted the official. He raised his gun.
    Steady . A group of about ten runners popped the line just ahead of the gun. Barely, but still. False start, thought Jake, and he relaxed again at the line. He waited for the runners to return, but they kept going. They weren’t coming back! He looked at the official.
    â€œFalse start!” he yelled.
    The official shook his head and waved him on. “Go!” he hollered.
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding!” Jake grumbled as he kicked into high gear.
    This was bad. Usually he started out in the top ten, but now he’d have to plow his way through everybody. He caught up to the crowd at the end of the field. Then the path narrowed, and it was steep on both sides. There was nowhere to pass. A heavyset runner in front of him blocked Jake’s way and his view. He was breathing heavily and swayed from side to side when he ran. Move, thought Jake, move! Finally things opened up, and Jake edged by the swayer and at least a dozen other runners. But there were still so many in front of him. Just ahead he saw the familiar flash of the green shoes. Spencer. Good. He wasn’t far ahead.
    Bit by bit, Jake started to move up. The mob ducked back into the forest on the part of the trail that snaked uphill. Trees lined the path on both sides. Runners ahead started to slow. Now what? Keep going! There was activity off to one side. Someone was down. It happened easily in a crunch like this. He’d have to be careful not to trip. Wait. Simon? Was it Simon? It was Simon. Jake recognized the red T-shirt. What had happened? There was blood on his face. His glasses were missing. Runners were chugging by slowly, like cars passing an accident scene. He should stop. Simon needed help. But there was no time for that now. It probably looked worse than it was, and Jake was no paramedic anyway. Plus, there were monitors who would help. It was their job.
    There was a narrow path just off the main trail. Jake saw his chance and slid past the crowd. Maybe Spencer was still caught in the crush of runners. He hoped so. He had to keep moving. He passed another runner. Then a group of four and then another two. Now he was all alone. He ran downhill out of the big trees and over a set of smaller hills in the scrub. He followed the trail through the high grass along the creek. Focus. Focus. Look ahead. Breathe. Breath e. He kept thinking he’d come up behind another runner, but there was no one. It’s mine, thought Jake. It’s mine. Yes! He’d played it smart, and it had paid off. All the sweeter because of the slow start. Keep up the pace. Keep up the pace . He could see the flags of the finish line off in the distance. Maybe five hundred meters. Over the bridge and then up the hill on the other side. Come on . His legs were heavy. His throat ached.
    Jake heard him before he saw him. Heard his feet land on the gravel just before the bridge. Heard him breathing, deeply but evenly. Someone was coming up behind him, fast. Come on. Come on . He wanted to look back, but he couldn’t afford the time it would cost him. He crossed the bridge and ducked under some low trees. Come on . One hundred meters to the finish. Only one hundred meters. Stay ahead. Stay ahead . He climbed the final hill in short strides. Push, push. Don’t slow down . I am not eating mud today, he vowed. I am not. Fifty meters. Twenty. Ten. Almost. Almost. At seven meters he saw the green shoes. At