clementine

chapter 22: Clementine is 17 years old

I forgot I forgot I forgot I forgot.

This is what races through my head as I prepare for the race ahead of me. Over the week, I had forgotten about the meet that my coach had been nagging us about for the past two months.

Track.

This meet is against some of the most powerful competitors in the area. And by that, I mean the different teams in Crimson Valley. Maybe some home-schooled kids. We are easily excited in Crimson Valley.

I do sprints down the rubber mat, warming up, loosening muscles, clearing head. Emphasis on clearing head.

All throughout the week, Trevor has pretended as if nothing had ever happened. Like the weekend never happened. It's ruffled me. Is he ashamed of how he acted or did it just not mean anything to him? Has he forgotten? Surely not. I know that I can never forget.

It has been precisely a week to the day, and he has not said a thing. And neither have I.

There, in the terraces, he waves to me, grinning the same grin that once made still makes me swoon. Plastering on a smile, I return the gesture. Around him, our friends are crowded together, shouting encouragement at me already. I wonder if they know that the race has not even begun.

"Hall, here!" The authority rings true in the voice of Coach Wesley, who ushers the team to her side. There are four of us. Julia Po being the only other junior. One senior and one freshman. Just Julia in my division. Just Julia I have to beat.

I don't mind Julia. She's more Shannon's gossip resource than my friend, but she's okay. We exchange fleeting remarks during practice. I do know that she's good.

It scares me to think of all the others that I don't even know are good. Do I stand a chance?

"Girls, remember." Coach tries to sooth our nerves. It's not working. "Breathe. Just breathe. Focus on breathing."

What is air?

"And running. Sprinting, actually." Yes. A sprint. I can totally do a sprint. I am a sprinter.

I can't even walk. When the team disperses, my legs lock into place. Coach Wesley gives me a worried expression. "Listen, Sam." She hushes, as if it's a secret. "You have been fantastic this season. Remember all of the sprint training we've done." Why is she telling me to remember so many things when I can't even remember what time it is?

Over the speaker a tired man's voice crackles. "Five minutes until gun. Lining up." Oh. That's what time it is – race time.

I think my heart is going to roll out of my mouth.

"... Can do it." Coach continues, though she lost me for a while there, mid pep talk.

My mouth feels like it's clogging up with glue. "Okay. Yeah. Thanks."

I watch as all the other girls in my division line up in separate lanes, leaving one free. You're about to race, idiot. I shout at myself. Legs tremble like newly set gelatine and I swim through a pool of competitors. The crowd goes silent. Well, to me, anyways.

I'm about to start stretching and hyping when I notice all the other girls already in their flight positions. Some crouch, some bend, some stand of their tippy toes.

There goes that idea.

Pop! And the gun sounds and my ribs lurch and my body begins thawing before my head can even catch up. Limbs clamber together, but never too close. My legs are tense yet fluid.

Ahead of me, a black ponytail thrashes violently and I clench my jaw. Julia. I have to get past her, is all my mind knows. We have to catch up, is what I tell my muscles.

The pads of my feet slam hard against the mat and I'm closer closer closer

Her head flicks toward me, features twisted in horror, and I watch her fall behind. I'm actually doing it, I muse, overwhelmed. Every part of me lusts to shut down and fall and cry out but for some reason I keep going. Past Julia, past a short blonde and a thin dark skinned girl galloping in front of the pack.

The crowd erupts, as if on que. My lungs heave and choke and splutter like a volcano, more ferocious than the cheers. I fold in on myself, surprised and bashful and excited.

I wish I had lost won.