American Love Affair (5 Seconds of Summer fan fiction)

Chapter 48

"So what are his friends like?" Emily asks smiling and raising her eyebrows, as we walk to the dining hall before the meet.

I laugh, shaking my head, but reply.

"They're cool. Well they're actually all dorks. But we've been through the whole famous band thing. I don't know. They're such sweet guys. They kind of look like douchebags, but you could take one home to your grandma and she'd be happy."

"Are they...single?" She prompts further.

"Yes. Definitely. Single as a Pringle."

I weave my way into the serving area and serve myself a portion of pasta with parmesan cheese. Then I fill up my Fabor University water bottle and take a seat at a table by the window. My shoes feel like they are tied a little too tight. But I decide to ignore it and fix it later. Emily sits down with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of water.

"Ugh...the 4x800 Is the first event," she wriggles in her seat.

"Calm down. You'll be fine. We're freshman and this isn't a big meet. Plus you're ready. You've been training like crazy since spring break."

Emily stops tapping her fingers on the table and takes a bite of her PB & J. She finishes quickly then the two of us walk to the track. The rest of the team and spring term athletes are making their way to the gym. A blast of air conditioning hits us as we walk in. I take a couple deep breaths and we make our way to the locker room. I strip out of my clothes, carelessly tossing them into my locker and pull on the Fabor track uniform: maroon spandex shorts and Fabor racing tank over my sports bra. I lace up my Nike running shoes and we head up to the track. The other teams have arrived.

They look intimidating of course, but every team does right before a meet.  I try to determine what events people do by their body type and only see a couple of girls who look like they could hurdle.  Throwers of course are easy to pick out with their usually bulkier build and the boys who sprint are much more muscular than the lanky distance runners.  I gather by the jumping pit where the Fabor tent is and drop my water bottle and spikes.  Today I am doing all four of my events unfortunately, because the sophomore who usually runs our 4x400 B team pulled her hamstring.  I jog around the track a couple times trying to loosen up and get rid of the butterflies in my stomach.  

The long jump is okay, it's never been my preferred event, but I do it anyway, especially since our coach thinks I could be good at if I focused on it as much as I do the hurdles.  I stand up out of the jumping pit and wipe the sand off my legs after my last jump.  I try to jump the sand out of shoes which  I know is futile, but the grains Finally the first call is made for the 4x800.  The wind is blowing lightly, making people pull on more layers; the sweatpants and sweatshirts keeping their legs and arms warm.  I stand alone by the start of the 300 when the gun goes off for the first running even.  

Instantly everyone is cheering.  It's not as crazy as the 4x400, the last race, my race, but most athletes and fans have a lot of energy.  

"Go Fabor!"  I shout, my voice ringing out against the cheers for other schools.  

I clap my hands together, intrigued by the pace of the runners.  When the second leg starts I begin warming up.  100 hurdles is next and there's no preliminary heat...just running.  I pull my phone out of my bag, but see no new texts.  No one in the bleachers is calling my name. 

"Ready for this?"  Jamie, one of the junior hurdlers asks, practicing her trail leg against the fence.

"Sure," I say, gulping down the salvia pooling in my mouth.