Chapter
Eighteen
Jimmy Springer, October 2013
Jimmy picked nervously at his finger
nails. After a brief struggle, he chipped a piece off the end of his left
thumb. It flew wildly through the air and hit the man next to him in the side
of the head. Matt glanced briefly from the road to look at the boy next to him.
“Geez, Springer, would you quit
picking your nails?” he said with a slight shake of his head, “Can’t you just
get them manicured like Reggie’s?”
Jimmy smiled and pulled his hands
apart. “Did he really get a manicure?”
“Nah, just a pedicure.”
They drove down the road slowly,
Matt scanning the street signs carefully so that he did not miss his turn.
After successfully completing his next right, he played with the radio
dashboard, skipping around for a song he liked. Eventually, he settled on a
track and adjusted his volume accordingly.
Meet me in outer
space … We could spend the night, watch the earth come up … I’ve grown tired of
that place, won’t you come with me? … We could start again …
“Who
is this?” Jimmy asked interestedly, his focus momentarily captured. He had been
staring out the window as they drove, taking in the unfamiliar landscape.
“It’s
Incubus,” Matt replied. “Probably my favorite band.”
“Huh,
I guess I’ll have to look into them more.” He continued to look out
absentmindedly from the car, letting his mind wander toward his favorite new
daydream.
Meet me in outer
space … I will hold you close, if you’re afraid of heights … I need you to see
this place, it might be the only way …
It was a crisp Saturday morning and
the Union Valley Cross Country squad was preparing for the following week’s
District One Championships at Lehigh University. To best prepare, the team was
taking a trip to the course itself in Bethlehem to do a final workout. Coach
Ames had supposedly been saving a difficult test for the team, hoping to put
the finishing touches on their fitness before the postseason began.
Jimmy Springer had yet to race
across the Lehigh grass, but that had not stopped him from imagining himself
breaking the tape as district champion. It was a lofty goal, especially
considering his teammate, Glenn Fisher, had beaten him in every race this year.
However, at the team’s most recent invitational, the Pioneer Athletic
Conference Championships, he had finished 2nd overall and had been
gaining quickly on Glenn over the course of the final mile. If I can make up those three seconds the
next time we hit the trails …
A buzz in his pocket snapped Jimmy out
of his revere. He pulled out his phone and swiped onto his home screen. His
wallpaper was a picture of himself and Glenn, arms around one another with
medals around each of their necks. Tapping a green icon erased the picture,
replacing it with a string of text.
“Who’s that?” Matt asked, catching
Jimmy out of the corner of his eye.
“It’s Glenn,” he replied, typing out
a response message. “Wants to know how far away we are.”
“Holy crap, he’s there already?!”
Matt said incredulously, “Practice isn’t for another 20 minutes or so.”
“And how far away are we?”
“Like 20 minutes or so, I think.”
Matt replied slyly causing Springer to sigh in frustration. “What’s the
matter?”
“I’d rather be early on then be
late, that’s all.” Jimmy said sharply.
“But where does ‘on time’ fall on
your spectrum?” Matt asked jokingly. He smiled at Jimmy who apparently was in
no mood to return the gesture. “Alright, geez … I’ll have to set my watch to
match Fisher’s when I see him at practice…”
“What do you have against him, anyway?”
Jimmy responded aggressively. “Why do you feel the need to always disrespect
him?”
“You know Jimmy, I think you give
Fisher a little too much respect.
He’s not necessarily a great leader just because he’s fast-”
“He works harder than anybody on the
team! And he actually cares about
this sport and this team.”
“He’s not the super hero you see him
as, alright. You could stand to have some better role models.”
“What like you?” Jimmy said
incredulously. “Messing around during drills? Walking around with your uniform
around your neck like a cape trying to look cool?”
“You can’t take this sport that
seriously. If you aren’t having fun, you’ll just drive yourself crazy.”
“Yeah, it was real fun when you
berated me for the first few weeks of the year. It was like a damn amusement
park.” Jimmy said coldly. There was a pause as Matt struggled for a response.
Eventually he forced out a dry laugh, quite unlike his previous playful ones.
“Had
that one in your back pocket didn’t you?” He slowed as the light in front
turned yellow and then red. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said softly, now looking at
Jimmy, “I messed up. I let my ego get to me and slipped into a guy I didn’t
want to be. And it sucks because I can never undo what I did. I can never undo
the pain I caused you. But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna do everything I can
to try anyway.” The light changed back to green and Matt returned his foot to
the gas. “And maybe one day soon, we’ll see if Glenn would have handled my
situation any better.”
They
drove the rest of the way in silence before they finally reached the open
fields of the Lehigh Cross Country course. The clock read 10:01 when Matt pulled
his car into a parking space. One minute after practice was scheduled to begin.
Jimmy Springer, November 1st,
2013
“Did you put in three quarter
spikes?”
“Yes, but-”
“I’m assuming you guys have
raincoats?”
“Yeah, Coach bought-”
“And extra dry clothes for after the
race?”
“Yeah, in the van-”
“And did you-”
“Mom!” Jimmy cut across his mother.
She looked angry and her mouth had fell open, as if she was going to reprimand
him. Instead, she thought better of it, closed her mouth and smiled at her son.
“Sorry, honey, what was it you
wanted to ask me?”
The rain pounded on the windows of
the hotel lobby, but otherwise the hallway was quiet. Although Jimmy was now
essentially the same height as his mother, he couldn’t help but feel small
looking up into her eyes.
“When you were racing … you said-you
said your team’s performance was the most important thing right?”
“I always left everything I had on
the course for the other girls. It was my biggest motivation.”
“But, like, what if you had to
choose … between yourself and the team. Like, only one of you could do well.
What would you pick?”
Mrs. Springer looked questioningly
at her son. “Jimmy, you won’t have to pick. The best thing you can do to help
your team is run as fast as you can-”
“But what if it wasn’t?” Jimmy said
exasperated. “What if you had to
pick?” He looked desperately into her confused face. She paused, studying him.
“Well … if for whatever reason I had
to choose, I’d pick my team.” She said finally. Her son nodded, slightly
solemnly. A short ways behind them, the hotel’s elevator doors opened up and a
pack of boys dressed in blue and orange rain jackets stepped out into the
lobby. Catching sight of them, Jimmy crouched to gather up his bags from his
feet.
“Well, this is it.” He said, nervous
energy hitting him like a unexpected punch to his stomach. He looked up into
his mother’s face again. She gave him another warm beam which he did his best
to match. “Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, Jimmy.” He began to
walk away from her, heading for his teammates who had made their way to the
door. Just before he was out of reach, she touched her hand gently to his
shoulder, causing him to look back. “I would have picked my team … But I also
think my team would have picked me.” He grinned and nodded one last time. Then,
trailing the rest of his group, he exited from the hotel into the storm
awaiting him just outside.
His
mother, rooted to her spot on the ground, watched her son go until the van
disappeared into the dark and there was nothing left at which to stare.
Jimmy Springer, October 2013
“You’re
late.” Glenn Fisher said as they arrived. Matt walked lazily over, trailing
Jimmy by a few seconds. The freshman had exited the car as soon as they parked
and immediately made his way to the group of boys sitting on the grass ahead. “And
what’s worse, you are dragging our best young runner down with you.”
Matt looked back loathingly. “Shut up, Fish. I'm not
really in the mood for your crap right now.” He dropped casually to the ground
alongside his teammates Dooney and Armstrong.
“It's not ‘crap’, Matt. We're just weeks away from the
state championship and you are being a poor mentor for our impressionable young
freshman.”
“Don't take yourself so seriously, Glenn,” he said
with a snarl, his hands now tightly balled into fists. “You might start to
think I actually care what you think of me.” They glared angrily at one
another. The rest of the varsity squad sat in tense silence, unsure of how to
proceed. Before either senior could escalate the fight any further, Coach Ames
arrived from behind them. He was carrying an orange measuring wheel and a
matching orange cone.
The tense air still hung around them, creating an
uncomfortable environment. “So what’d I miss?” He said with a smile, looking
around the circle. “No punches I hope? I'd hate to have missed a good fight.”
Jimmy looked across at Matt who realized his fists were
still clenched. “We’re good, Coach.” He said, letting his hands relax. “Fish
and I are just a little over excited about this workout.” He stared up at Glenn
hoping for some support. They locked eyes for a second while Glenn
deliberated.
“Coach, Matt was late to practice today.” He kept his
eyes on Ames and away from the ground where Matt rolled his eyes and raised his
arms in frustration. Coach Ames looked down at his watch to check the time. He
seemed fairly unconcerned with this reported indiscretion.
“Well, I guess that means Burke is going to be our Guinea
Pig for today's workout.” He said, putting his wheel on the ground and reaching
into a black and white drawstring back for a bottle of water. “Fifteen minutes,
boys. I'll meet you at the start line.” At his command, the boys on the ground
rose to their feet, a few brushing stray grass from their backsides. Then they
trudged off into a jog, beginning their warm up routine.
Union Valley circled their route in near silence.
Glenn ran haughty at the front of the pack, controlling the pace, while Matt
ran at the very back, looking standoffish. As Jimmy ran, he felt incredibly
conscious of his position within the group. If he ran too close to the front or
too close to the back, it would appear as if he was choosing a side. The other
varsity runners seemed to share his concerns as they dawdled together in the
middle.
Over the awkward quarter-hour, they orbited a piece of
the course’s perimeter and arrived back at the start line. Coach Ames was still
holding his final cone, tossing it back and forth between his hands. When his athletes
appeared, he looked up for a moment, gestured at the space in front of them,
and then went back to his mindless tossing. Jimmy had come to realize that was
his coach’s cue for the team to begin drills and, as obedient students, the
Union Valley boys wordlessly began their walking stretches and plyometrics.
Over the course of the routine, Jimmy was privy to
both sides of the Fisher-Burke dispute. “He’s just upset because he’s racing so
poorly,” Glenn whispered to Jimmy as they began their high-knees. “Hopefully
lighting a little fire under him will get him going for districts.”
“Maybe he’ll also tell Ames how I colored outside the
lines in 1st grade,” Matt said a shortly after to Reggie Armstrong
while Jimmy was doing strides nearby. “Just so we get everything out on the
table.”
As Coach Ames gathered his troops to
explain the assignment, Jimmy could not help but be concerned that this
animosity might spill over into the workout. He waited anxiously for his
commands directly opposite his teacher. Glenn stood tall to his direct left,
Matt to his farthest right.
“Alright gentleman,” Ames said, addressing the group
with a sly smile, “This is going to be a fun one.” Jimmy looked around the
group. It didn’t seem like anyone was in the mood for fun. “If you take a look
behind you, you’ll see that I’ve wheeled off specific intervals and marked them
with cones.” Springer squinted out from the start line. The sun had risen high
above them and shined majestically across the grass. “We will be doing 5 by
1,000 meters along the exact district
course. And you’ll get only a minute rest in between each rep so I suggest you
pace accordingly.” There was a small stir among the circle.
“I want you to think of this like a race simulation,”
Ames continued. “I expect each of you to time yourselves. We won’t be waiting
for anybody else out there. Once you finish your interval, your rest begins.
Once your recovery ends, you start your next 1,000. No waiting.”
“Coach,” Jimmy raised his hand awkwardly. “What if I
don’t have a watch? How will I know how long to rest?”
“That’s up to you, Springer.” Ames said simply. It was
clear he was not going to elaborate. Jimmy nodded nervously. “Now, as I alluded
to before, there will be a little extra bit of madness thrown into the
equation.” He walked around to a cone on the ground that signified the starting
mark. “Matt has volunteered to be our rabbit for the opening 1,000. He’s going
to help us get out aggressively. And because the state course narrows so
quickly,” he placed the cone in his hands about an arm’s length from the one
already on the ground, “we will be starting in between these two cones.”
The runners looked around at each other in surprise
and concern. At least it’s just at the
beginning, Jimmy thought to himself. We
can spread ourselves out after that.
“There are a few other tight spots like this,” Coach
Ames said as if he had read Jimmy’s mind. “So make sure you always run through
the cones … Make sense?” His athletes begrudgingly nodded their understanding. “Good.
So let’s get started. Burke, step on up.” He waved Matt forward and positioned
him in-between the cones. “Scatena and Paulson,” two of the slower runners from
the team’s varsity stepped into position just behind Matt, standing side by
side. The width of their shoulders was wider than the gap between the cones.
“Dooney, Armstrong and Wagner,” this group was lined three across, “and then
Fisher and Springer.” Jimmy and Glenn lined up last.
The way they had been organized seemed deliberately
inefficient. It would take ages to negotiate the first few steps through the
cones. “Everyone set?” Ames said with a small smile. He stepped back to the
front of the pack and dropped his voice to speak quietly with Matt so that the
rest of the runners could not hear.
Glenn shot a contemptuous look at his Coach before
turning to Jimmy. “Since I’m faster, I think you should just let me go first.
Rather than waste time fighting over pos-”
“GO!”
Matt took off at his coach’s command, but no one else
from the team was prepared for the start. Paulson was nearly knocked over as
Dooney tried to force his way through him. Glenn hopped impatiently up and
down, looking ahead at the ever increasing gap between himself and the tall
figure who had been clear of the madness. Eventually, the next five runners
found their way through the cone and broke into their workout pace. Jimmy
reacted immediately, sneaking in just after Armstrong and inadvertently
elbowing Glenn in the chest, therefore beating him through the opening.
Frustrated, Fisher sprinted madly for the opening
stretch, weaving through his slower teammates and making a b-line straight for
Matt. Conversely, Jimmy tried to control himself. He too was aggravated, but this
workout sounded incredibly difficult. Wasting his energy now would be costly by
reps four and five. Gradually, he passed his teammates, using a well-timed
surge to circumvent Reggie Armstrong just before another narrow set of cones.
By the end of the first 1,000 meters, Glenn had somehow
caught up to Matt and opened up about a two second advantage. Jimmy finished
his interval another three seconds back from the top two finishers. One by one,
the Union Valley runners slowed to a stand-still and took their minute’s worth
of rest. Then, in seemingly the blink of an eye, Glenn was off and running
again, beginning his second interval. Matt followed him shortly thereafter. Jimmy
looked around as if expecting someone to tell him to begin. Armstrong stepped
up beside him and toed the line, still slightly out of breadth.
“What are you waiting for, Springer?” he said annoyed,
before he and Dooney took off like their fellow seniors before them. With a pit
of dread in his stomach, Jimmy remembered he was supposed to time his own rest.
Cursing under his breath, he followed quickly, making up ground in a blur.
Realizing how his panic had affected his tempo, he steadied himself with a
deep, calming breath.
He reached the 2k mark about the same distance behind
Matt as his previous stop, but Glenn was opening up a fairly significant
advantage. In a blur, he was done his recovery period and racing toward the 3k
mark. This time, Jimmy didn’t wait around for someone to yell at him. As soon
as Matt made his move up the starting line, he followed in his wake and copied
his stance before they took off together.
“You’re … losing some rest … doing that,” Matt said as
they ran side by side. Jimmy held up his bare wrist in response. The senior
nodded his acknowledgement. The duo approached another narrow section of the
course and both sprinted hard to try and get there first. But Jimmy was just a
step quicker, he slipped through the gap and didn’t look back. With another
deep breath, he focused his attention ahead. He debated internally whether his
tempo was quick enough to begin a comeback against the leader. At the very
least, the gap between himself and Glenn was not expanding.
At the 3k mark, Jimmy estimated he was about 10
seconds away from Fisher. However, he had also opened up a nearly equal
advantage on Matt who was fading quickly. This left the freshman squarely in
the middle. And still without a watch. Glenn stood at the line, watching
carefully as the runners started to trickle in behind him. When his minute
neared its end, without a word to anyone, he sprang into position to start his
fourth interval. Jimmy made to follow him, but Matt grabbed his arm.
“10 more seconds,” he said softly.
“Is that your rest or mine?” Jimmy replied, noticing
the relative strength in his own voice.
“Yours … I timed us both.” They waited in silence as
the seconds ticked idly by, Springer itching to recommence his chase. “Alright,
get ready … go …”
Jimmy
launched himself into the attack. His legs were beginning to feel heavy and his
previously rhythmic breathing was breaking down. He tried to distract himself,
keeping his eyes ahead on the tall figure of Glenn Fisher. Despite his
struggle, Jimmy could tell that Glenn was hurting worse. Although it wasn’t as
quickly as he wanted, he was chipping away at the ten second advantage his
teammate had previously held. He approached a sharp turn into a hill and
attacked, taking a quick look back over his shoulder for Matt. A gap had opened
between them, enough that Matt wouldn’t be able to split his watch and help
time Jimmy’s rest. I guess I have to
catch Glenn then.
The
fourth rep was by far the hardest, his body weakening with each step. But once
he could see the cones that signified the end of his interval, he sprinted as
hard as he could to get to the line. He was determined to make up as much
ground as possible now. The last rep he would have the extra adrenaline of
racing Glenn head to head. This was the stretch that he had to push himself.
By
his estimate, he had closed the gap down to three or four seconds by the time
he had completed 4,000 meters of hard running. Glenn was leaned over, his hands
on his knees, his lungs fighting for air. When Jimmy hit the line, he looked up
startled. It was clear he had not expected anyone to be following him this closely
so late in the workout. The two stood beside each other without speaking a
word. The only sound to pierce the air was the labored breathing of the
runners, which grew in volume as more teammates joined the throng.
This
section of the course was relatively secluded, with trees surrounding them on
all sides. It made Jimmy feel oddly primal as he watched Glenn, his competitive
instincts seeping into his thoughts, contorting his positive opinion of the
captain into bitter rivalry. Negative thoughts that he had previously shoved
aside were willingly brought out of hiding and thrown onto the fires of
motivation.
Glenn
looked down at his watch and positioned himself in between the next set of
cones. Jimmy stepped up just beside him and crouched into a matching starting
position. After a few seconds watching his wrist, Glenn took off to begin his
final interval. Without hesitation, Jimmy followed, pinning himself to Fisher’s
shoulder. He felt unexpectedly strong. You
can do this … You can beat him …
After
a stretch of patiently waiting, Springer decided to make his bid for the lead.
He took a few hard steps and inched himself ahead. Seeing his surge, Glenn put
his head down and made a hard sprint of his own, taking back the lead and
pushing to try and reopen a gap. Without the energy to respond in earnest,
Jimmy clung as best he could to this move, hoping to gather himself for a
counterattack at the right moment.
With
about 400 meters left, the moment presented itself. A final set of tight cones
were positioned just ahead of a small, wooded patch of trail. With both runners
still stride for stride, the narrow path would slow the momentum of whoever hit
the gap second. Making up his mind, Jimmy decided his best chance would be to
use everything he had to start his sprint now in order to get to the cones
first. Once through, he would need to hope he had enough in the tank to
maintain that effort until the finish line.
Gritting
his teeth and pumping his arms, he changed gears and began to power away from
Glenn. His opponent fought him for the first few meters, but could not match
his top end speed. Slowly, Jimmy began to pull away as they made a small turn
and approached the cones. Springer powered through and continued his furious
charge for the finish. As he completed the turn, he could see the final cones
up ahead of him at the end of the straightaway.
Thud. Behind him, he thought he hurt a
dull crashing sound, but he was too deliriously tired to process what it could
mean. The few particles of energy he could devout to his brain were all focused
on getting to the end of the course as fast as possible. And so he sprinted on
without as much as a look back.
Jimmy Springer, November 1st,
2013
The
rain fell steadily from the sky. Jimmy wouldn’t describe it as a storm (there
was no thunder or lightening), but it was also far worse than just a simple
mist. The course was marred with puddles and the simple act of walking to the
team tent splashed mud across his pants. As he approached the shelter, Jimmy
lowered his hood and reviewed his surroundings. There were few athletes out in
the open, most were packed together under cover.
One
of the few braver, or perhaps more desperate, runners, passed by the opening of
the tent so that Jimmy could get a good look at his expression. He looked
positively miserable. Pressing forward, the wind whipped water droplets into
the boy’s face. He scrunched his nose and lifted his arm in defense. Then, just
as the tent began to obscure him from view, he took an awkward step and slipped
on a patch of grass. He wobbled for balance and stumbled forward but,
fortunately, was able to keep on his feet. Jimmy could hear him swear in
frustration as he disappeared out of sight.
Jimmy
smiled to himself and looked around the tent to see if anyone else had caught
this moment of despair. Most of the Union Valley runners looked just as
defeated as the sliding passerby, staring blankly at the rainy landscape. But
from the opposite side of the tent, he heard a small chuckle. Jimmy locked eyes
with Matt Burke and the two smiled at each other for a moment. Then, in a
flash, their expressions became stoic and their eyes darted in opposing
directions.
Behind
Jimmy, Glenn Fisher was huddled in the corner tapping absentmindedly at the
screen on his iPod. Springer turned to look back at the senior. He looked
slightly panicked, now ripping his headphones from the socket and fidgeting
maniacally with the wires.
“Stupid
rain,” he muttered to himself, “I think my headphones short circuited.”
“Here,”
Jimmy reached into his pocket and tossed his own pair across to Glenn. “Just
use these.” Relief stretched across Fisher’s face.
“Thanks!”
He plugged them in hastily and quickly became re-consumed by his music.
Watching him, Jimmy’s mind flashed back to the bus ride to his first
invitational.
Did you say
something? Glenn’s
voiced echoed in his ear. Sorry, I kinda have
a pre-race music routine …
Jimmy
had been so anxious during that drive. Forced to sit alone with his thoughts,
he had worked himself into a fuss. If he had been left in solitude much longer,
his first trip to Hershey would have played out quite differently.
You looked pretty
bored over here by yourself, thought you could use a little company. A different voice reverberated
inside his head. He glanced vaguely to the opposite side of the tent. But the
man he was looking for wasn’t there. Instead, Thomas Dooney sat in his spot,
plugged into some music of his own. Jimmy looked back out of the tent, checking
the immediate perimeter. When his initial search gleamed nothing, he rose to
his feet and stepped out into the rain for the first time since their arrival.
Jimmy Springer, October 2013
After
a seemingly endless struggle, he triumphantly crossed the finish line. It was
the first time he had ever beaten Glenn in anything. Even on easy days, Glenn
had made sure he was the first one to complete the run, sometimes wildly
surging over the final few meters. Matt had always found this particularly
annoying. Cross Country is 90% mental, Glenn
would say and Matt would reply, Yeah, and
the other 90% is physical.
As
Jimmy turned around to look back at the finishing straightaway behind him, he
saw the two ideals collide. Glenn was practically crawling toward the finish
line. He would run a few steps and then his legs would waiver, causing him to
lose his balance and fall to his knees. On all fours, he would continue
desperately forward before pushing himself upright and repeating the process. Jimmy
gasped and rushed forward to try and help his friend across the line. As he got
closer, he could see beads of water dripping down Glenn’s face: a mixture of
tears and sweat.
“Are
you alright?!” He asked anxiously, “Here, let me help you.” He stooped toward
the ground and extended his arm as support. But Glenn looked at him with disgust.
“Get
away from me!” he said with such contempt that Jimmy took a cautious step
backwards. Behind him the other runners were beginning to come into view. Matt
was first to arrive, pulling up in confusion as he reached the curious scene.
“What
the heck’s going on?” he asked breathlessly, looking from Glenn, seated angrily
on the ground, to Jimmy standing over him surprised.
“He
pushed me down!” Glenn exclaimed furiously.
“No
I-” Jimmy tried to interject defiantly, but Fisher cut across him.
“When
we went through the last stretch of tight cones, he just knocked me to the
ground.” He pointed back down the straightaway. The rest of the runners were now
approaching and stopping to see what the commotion was about. Half exhausted
from the workout, they trotted slowly forward, creating a circle around the
scene. Glenn was still on the ground, wincing and clutching at his leg while
Jimmy turned fearfully in all directions.
“I
… I didn’t think I did … I thought I was clear …” he said, unsure of himself.
He looked desperately at Matt for reassurance. “You saw it, right?”
“Well,
not exactly the tree was sort of in my way …” Jimmy’s heart fell as Matt looked
back sadly. However, he quickly turned to the freshman’s defense, “But it
wouldn’t surprise me if Fisher was just making things up because he lost.”
“And
I’m sure you are completely unbiased.” Glenn replied bitterly. He pushed
himself to his feet, limping slightly on his right leg.
“Don’t
be such a baby-”
Glenn
ignored Matt’s retort and instead looked at Jimmy. “You need to learn to keep
your competitive spirits in check,” he said condescendingly, “You’re not being
a very good teammate by playing dirty just to get ahead.”
Jimmy
looked around at the dramatic faces now surrounding him. The entire team had
arrived and most, based only on a preliminary scan, seemed to be leaning in
favor of the senior over the “hot shot freshman”. Lurking a few feet outside
the circle, Coach Ames was there, watching curiously. He seemed content to
listen quietly and let his athletes settle this recent row.
After
a moment of contemplative silence, Jimmy nodded guiltily. “Sorry, Glenn.”
“You
got to be kidding me, Fish!” Matt burst out angrily. “Are you really this much
of an ass?!”
“Always
out to get me, aren’t you? Looking for any excuse to gang up on me, even if you
are wrong.”
“Wrong?
You just bullied him into thinking he’s wrong! All because you can’t stand to
lose!”
“Really?
Who is it that can’t stand to lose? Who is it that’s a bully? You’ve been
manipulating the kid for as long as he’s been on the team! All while struggling
to even match times from your sophomore season. So I think we know who the
bitter loser is.” Glenn began to hobble off in the direction of the start line.
Matt made a move to lunge forward after him, but Dooney grabbed him around the
waist and pulled back. Glenn seemed not to notice.
“Jimmy and I were
there, we can settle this without you and your ulterior motives getting in the
way. You coming, Jimmy?” He looked back over his shoulder. Matt looked at Jimmy
in exasperation. The freshman looked back confused and upset. Then, he turned
away from Burke and jogged slowly after Glenn Fisher, extending his arm once
again to support his injured captain. The rest of the team followed in his
shadow, leaving Matt standing alone in the middle of the field, watching the
aftermath of his losing battle begin.
Keep it up! I'm loving it!
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