The Guidebook To Sobriety

Chapter 9

The wind whipped hard against my face as I pumped my arms as fast as humanely possible. Or should I say Mateo-possible. Which probably wouldn't be setting any track records but it was nothing to sneeze at.

I think.

I kept my eyes on the finishing line and dispersed any idle thoughts from my mind as my feet ate up ground. Still, I realized that I hadn't let loose like this (while not in a drug-induced daze) since I was a kid aspiring to be a track athlete, basketball player, astronaut and rocket scientist all at the same time. It was an exhilarating feeling of freedom to reach your top speed and float down a track.

Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through my veins or I was actually having fun, but I felt the intoxicating feeling of my problems being washed away as I neared the finishing line. Had I been focused on winning the race, I probably would've noticed Wyatt gaining on me and probably panicked as any self-respecting amateur would do. Instead, I finished strong, even dipping my head at the line for the heck of it.

As it turned out, that act of showboating was what granted me the inch needed to edge out Wyatt and finish in first place.

And people said you shouldn't showboat. Not the smartest fellows in my opinion.

I turned back to a dumbfounded Wyatt who looked like he had woken up from a nightmare to another one, "That's Mr. Captain Underpants to you."

Wyatt seemed like he was considering attacking me right then and there in the view of everyone, so I wisely walked away before he decided to tackle me to the floor. As I walked away, the last of my adrenaline must have run its course because I felt a wave of exhaustion, and the lactic acid made its intrusive presence known, causing my figurative high to plummet.

I managed not to collapse with much effort and sighed. The rest of team Delta advanced with varying degrees of excitement.  Atlas and Nellie acted like they'd just witnessed a game-winning World Cup goal. Even Thor seemed caught up in the festive atmosphere, wearing a grin that was dangerously close to splitting his cheeks open, while Amir watched us with a look of pride on his face.

Creepy, if you ask me.

Indigo predictably stood off to the side, her body language reserved and under control as usual, but I had learned something when she passed me the baton. Her tell was her eyes. Now, they brimmed with relief as she watched the scene with a neutral expression. 

I grinned inwardly at understanding her more. She'd become more useful to my motives now that she wasn't unreadable.

With my unforeseen adrenaline high gone, Amir made sure that the crash was as intense as I'd felt within those shoddy tracks. He brought on something so nauseating a suicidal thought threatened to break the surface.

Therapy.

Thirty minutes later, still drunk on our victory, we found ourselves again in room Delta for an evening therapy session, which was just code for legal torture. 

"Congratulations are in order for earning the title as the first team to win an event with the most cumulative points earned at this sobriety camp. Your names will be etched in the future history books for sobriety seekers everywhere," Amir said, his emphatic voice imbued with pride.

He sure knew how to be a downer.

"I taught our MVP everything he knows," Atlas said with a huge grin in my direction from his usual spot next to Nellie. He had called my performance the greatest athletic feat he had ever seen and I deemed him qualified to say that.

For egotistical purposes, of course.

"I'm quite enjoying being able to brag myself," Amir said with a chuckle. "You might not guess it, but it gets pretty competitive behind the scenes, too."