Chapter
Twenty Nine
Ben Havleck, May 2016
He pushed the door open to the dining
hall, his stomach in knots. He probably wouldn’t be able to eat much, but it
was worth a try. The cafeteria was packed with other athletes, up early to grab
a bite before a full day of competition. Most of the benches were occupied by
teammates, some laughing and joking, others discussing strategy. Even the
schools that only had one or two athletes had a coach sitting among them. No
one was alone. Well, no one else was alone.
Ben walked slowly through the food
displays, looking for a suitable breakfast. After a careful perusal, he decided
on a wheat bagel. He lightly toasted it before adding a small layer of peanut
butter. With his main course now set, he grabbed a banana and filled a cup of
water. With his morning meal set, he walked out to the tables, looking for a
place to sit.
His options were, expectedly, sparse. He
paced uncomfortably through the seats, his circumstance oddly reminiscent of
his first day at his new high school. Mercifully, he spotted a small table in
the far corner that appeared to be unclaimed. He quickened his stride and set
off straight toward his target. When he reached the open spot, he slid
carefully into the booth. At the same moment, appearing perpendicularly,
another boy pulled out the chair opposite him and flopped ungracefully onto it.
“Oh, sorry,” Ben said as he realized the
newcomer’s presence.
“Nah, it’s my fault, dude, I didn’t see
you there.” He prepared to return to his feet, looking back over his shoulder.
Then, turning around to face Ben, “Actually, do you mind if we just share? Not
sure there’s much else available.”
“No, I don’t mind.”
“If you’re saving this for somebody else,
like a coach or teammate-”
“Seriously, it’s not a problem. I’m
the only one from my team here.” Ben cut across glumly.
“Same here.” The boy leaned back in his
chair and ran a hand through his disheveled head of hair. He looked
uncomfortable, perhaps even sick. Although he was seated, Ben could tell this
runner was significantly taller than he was. He stretched his long legs
underneath the table, extended his arms above his head and yawned.
The stranger dipped into his breakfast: a
plate full of eggs and a cup of Gatorade. Ben followed suit, taking his first
bites of bagel and doing his best to keep it down within his nervous stomach.
As they ate, a pair of girls passed by the table. One spotted the boy across
from Ben and stared unabashedly, whispering something to her friend, who then
copied. He was either unaware or ignored this odd behavior as they continued
past without so much as a word from their target.
What was that about? he thought, trying to covertly examine
the boy’s face for any clues about his identity. There was something familiar
about the angles of the cheeks, but it was hard to get a good read while his
face was down. And he didn’t look up much. In between bites, he would
diligently check his phone. Not in a rude or standoffish way, but instead as if
he was expecting a message or a call.
“Excuse me, Mr. Springer?” A small boy,
probably only a freshman or sophomore had approached their table. “Can I touch
your leg?”
“Sure, kid,” he replied as if this was a
perfectly natural question. While Mr. Springer continued to eat his eggs, the
young boy reached out a tentative hand toward his calf. After a brief moment of
contact, he ran away, back to a table of his teammates who were laughing and
smiling.
Ben watched in shock, his bagel fixed
halfway between table and agape mouth.
“You good, man?” His tablemate asked
nonchalantly, taking a drink from his cup of Gatorade.
“What the heck just happened?” Ben asked
unable to control his curiosity. His voice tended loud and high pitched in his
angst.
“What-that? Well, I wish I could say that
was the first time ...” He removed the long sleeve shirt he was wearing in
favor of a cooler option. His top layer was now a blue and orange colored
fabric with the name “Union Valley” in bold font across its face. As Ben’s eyes
flicked across the letters, he finally realized who it was that was sitting
across from him.
Jimmy Springer, May 2016
Jimmy picked a little more at his eggs. He
could feel the uncomfortable gaze of his table mate lingering on his chest.
Even as he threw down his fork, giving up on any additional food, the boy’s
stare remained steady.
Jimmy checked down at his phone again.
Nothing. Damn it, he
thought to himself. He checked up again on his shorter compatriot who still
remained silent. Lost in thought. For whatever reason, the boy’s mind always
seemed to be cycling through a complex level of ideas. Feeling uncomfortable,
he prodded at conversation.
“So what are you racing today?”
The boy opposite was finally brought back
to reality. “I’m running the 3200. How about you?”
Why do these kids insist on calling it a
3200? Jimmy
thought to himself as he took yet another drink of Gatorade. Just call it a two mile. No normal
person knows what a 3200 is.
“Yeah, I'm racing that as well. Should be
a fun one. Good luck.”
“Thanks. Same to you.”
I think you’ll need it more than me, Springer thought as he looked the small
runner up and down. He took another long drink from his cup. His headache was
refusing to subside.
“Well, I should probably get going,” Jimmy
said finally, pushing creakily up from the table, his meal half eaten. “Won’t
be long before that warm up jog.”
The boy popped up eagerly. “Did you want
to warm up together?” He asked hopefully, “Since, you know, you said you were
the only one from your team here and-”
Jimmy’s head pounded painfully again. “No
offense kid,” he said clutching at his forehead with one hand and holding his
tray in the other, “But I don’t think you could keep up with me.” And he walked
away from the disappointed runner opposite him, hoping to find something else
that could cure his hangover.
Ben Havleck, cont.
Feeling rather insulted, Ben slumped back
into his chair. For the first time since he woke up, he wasn’t nervous.
Instead, surprisingly, he was angry. Absentmindedly, he resumed eating, finding
room to put away his breakfast. Once more he retreated back into his comfort
zone: his own swirling head of thoughts.
He imagined himself racing head to head
against Jimmy later that morning. Throwing down a surge at the perfect moment.
Leaving a stunned state champ in his wake. Of course, he knew it was an
impossible dream. Not necessarily because of a lack of ability, but because
their schools were not in the same classification.
To give different sized programs equal
opportunity to compete at states, the Pennsylvania Athletic League had split
the championships into essentially two separate meets happening under one
umbrella. For every event, like the 3200 for example, there would be two
different sections contested. The first would be only for schools under a
certain enrollment threshold, the next for those schools that were above it.
Union Valley was in the large school division while Ben’s school, Bloomsburg,
was classified as small. So no matter how fast either of the two harriers ran,
neither could defeat the other.
With a deep sigh, he abandoned his daydream
and refocused on the competition he would actually be competing against in less
than two hours. McKenzie,
Davis and Griffin. Those are the guys you have to worry about, he thought
as he gathered up his dishes, Jimmy
Springer should be the furthest thing from your mind.
“Excuse me.” One of the girls who had
passed by the table earlier had reappeared at Ben’s shoulder. “Can I ask you a
question?”
“Sure,” Ben said nervously. He could feel
his hands getting slightly sweaty against his tray.
“Are you, like, friends with Jimmy
Springer?”
“Uh, not really. We just kinda sat down at
the same table.”
“Oh,” She responded disappointedly. The
girl looked back over her shoulder. Following her gaze, Ben noticed her friend
standing in the corner, mouthing instructions. “Well, if you see him again, can
you give him my friend’s number?” She said, relaying the directions.
“Er-I guess so. But-”
“Awesome! Thanks,” she said placing a
napkin on his tray. It had a string of numbers jotted neatly across it’s
surface. “He’s sooo dreamy, right?”
He gave a fake
smile and accepted the paper as the girl turned to walk back over to her
comrade. Yeah, he thought, I just can’t seem to get him out of
my head.
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