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three meters he felt mud spray up beside him. He threw himself across the line, but Spencer had beaten him by a step. A second. Second.

Chapter Five
    Jake plunked himself down on the curb beside Simon. “What happened?” he asked.
    Simon had a wicked scratch across his cheek and a purple goose egg on his forehead.
    â€œCaught a branch in the face. Stupid. I should have known. There are always low branches there.”
    â€œHurt?”
    â€œSome. My pride, mostly. My glasses got knocked off in the close encounter with the tree, and when I went off the trail to get them I slipped in the mud and smacked my head on a rock. Little bit of rock and roll.”
    Jake smiled. “Rock and roll, huh? You should come jam with Luke sometime.”
    Simon laughed. “How’d you do?”
    Jake scowled. “Second,” he muttered. “Aargh,” he groaned, flopping back on the grass.
    â€œYou must have had a great run then,” said Simon.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI didn’t see you ahead of me when we took off, so I turned around to see if I could find you in the crowd. When I looked behind me, everyone was coming at me like a freight train. Better keep moving, I thought. When I turned around again, boom! I hit the branch head on. Stopped me right in my tracks.”
    â€œYou were looking for me?” Jake sat up again. He studied the angry mark on Simon’s cheek. “Look, I would have stopped, but I had to take my chance to get through that crowd. It was a false start, you know. That’s what set me back in the first place.”
    â€œFalse start? What is this, the Olympics?”
    Jake shook his head and laughed. “You sound like my mom.”
    Simon gave him a lopsided grin. “Anyway, that’s okay. Max Chen helped me out. He found my glasses for me and then found a course monitor.”
    Max? He was usually in the top ten.
    â€œSure you’re okay?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œSee you next week?”
    â€œYep.”
    On the way to his bike, Jake glanced at the results board taped on the wall of the picnic shelter. He looked for Max Chen’s name: #33. Ouch. Max could have let someone else look after Simon. The monitors would have gotten there without him. All they had to do was help Simon off the course. Then Jake saw something that surprised him. At #96, Simon Patterson. Simon had finished the race, goose egg and all, and #96 was not the last runner in.

Chapter Six
    â€œJake, dinner!”
    â€œComing.” Jake left the running magazine on his desk and headed downstairs. There was an article in it on mental toughness that he wanted to finish. Toughness. That was what he needed to focus on. His back ached a little and the muscles in his legs felt tight going down the steps. He’d added a second run to his daily routine, and his body wasn’t used to that yet. A lot of the articles talked about gradual training, alternating easier workouts and rest days, but Jake couldn’t see how that made any sense. Rest days? How was he going to win if he took it easy? No, he was going to be the toughest one out there. That’s how he would win.
    He entered the kitchen. “Come on, Jake.” His mom smiled. “Dad made his world-famous tacos. We want to eat them while they’re hot.”
    â€œOh, no worries there, gang,” called his dad, wearing the Taco-won-do Master apron he’d gotten for his last birthday. It had a picture of a cartoon guy with a black belt juggling tomatoes while snap-kicking a head of lettuce. “They’re HOT, all right.”
    â€œTacos?” Jake looked over at his mother, who was pouring glasses of water. “Mom, I told you last week I can’t eat spicy food. I need pasta. Lots of pasta. And rice.”
    â€œJake.” His mom laughed. “We’ve had spaghetti three times in the last week. It’ll be good to have something different. And Dad’s tacos are the