Her List of Kisses

Chapter 18- Finish Lines and Fat Men

The atmosphere building up at the site of the track meet is utterly contagious. People buzz in conversation, eating the bargain-price provisions of hotdogs and crisp snacks. A loud voice gurgles over the speakers, encouraging participation when the event begins, and the type of music I can sing along to pours from the stereo. The drums roll and the grass is neatly trimmed, and I hide amongst the crowds, trying to catch a glimpse of Will before he sees me.

The teams are warming up, partaking in last minute pep-talks and training on the other side of the field. I spot a figure, complete with hair the colour of rough bronze, and wonder if it could possibly be him. Keeping my eyes fixed on the dot in the distance, I wait with baited breath.

“All runners to your marks!” booms the voice on the loudspeaker. “Mayville to the right, Greenwood to the left, if you please.”

Down the other end of the field, the athletes take their places. I clench my hand around my phone, on which is a photograph of Mark’s letter, channeling my courage.

“Everybody ready?”

A chorus of ‘yes’ tears through the silence and the buzz begins again. I stand in the midst of it all, letting it wave me, thrilling with the excitement and the nerves of seeing him again with good news, and the unknown outcome of our inevitable conversation.

“On your marks!” says the voice. “Get set!” The crowd falls silent. “Go!”

A gunshot sounds, though no gun is actually fired (I hope) and the sprinting begins. My heart powers against my ribcage as they get bigger before my eyes, coming closer and closer and closer. Once again it wants to escape, but this time it's so it can run to Will.

“Run!” I find myself shouting. “Go, Mayville! Run faster!”

I hurl myself through the crowds, a barging human battering ram, until the curtains of people part for me and let me through. Bashing and screaming like a madwoman, I don’t stop until there is just one fat man blocking my view of the runners, and they’re coming too fast, too close!

He’s going to miss me! I think. He’s not going to see me!

“Excuse me!” I scream at the top of my lungs, already lunging forward to battle for the front space. “I have to get through! Move!”

The man grunts obnoxiously and elbows me in the side, but he refuses to take his eyes off of the runners to push me away, so I end up next to him, the head of the crowd at the halfway mark. From here, I can see the runners, their strong legs beating and their chests heaving, every inch of them straining to gain a lead, to cross that finish line first.

First comes the team captain of Mayville, who through my extensive study I know as George Hunter. He towers at well over six foot, dwarfing all other members of both teams prominently. George is such a strong runner- I find myself repeating his track records over in my head- that the odds are almost certainly in his favour.

However, a few seconds and a couple strides behind him follows Will.

There is a grin on his face and his hair sweeps back. He looks exultant when he runs, with his long legs working overtime and a glow from the sweat on the surface of his skin. He calls out a taunt to his captain and George laughs, pounding his feet harder. Will seems to rise to the challenge. Within moments, they are neck and neck. His smile widens.

“Go Will!” I can’t help but shout. “You can do it! You can win!”

Something extraordinary and completely unexpected happens.

Will stops running.

He thrashes his head around, eyes wild, still elated from the adrenaline. Finally, after scanning the crowds for what feels like minutes but can only be seconds, those eyes find me. We share in an entirely electrifying moment of relief and confusion and awe, and then I smile, and he throws his head back, beaming breathlessly.