Melanie turns her head and looks at me. She murmurs something to Christa, and then walks my way with a smug smile on her face. “I thought you were the fastest on the east coast, Lakes.” Melanie picks up a green cup and fills it with water from the cooler. Christa and Katie stand behind her, looking at me.
“That was a relay,” I inform her. “It was up to the whole team to win. Not just one person.” I cut my eyes at Christa.
“But…you came in last place as the final runner for your team.” Melanie’s head tilts, as if she’s really confused by what happened.
I glance at Christa who is smirking. I want so badly to say that we lost because of Christa’s slow ass, but I don’t. Instead I say, “I did come in last place, Melanie. But you know what? It won’t ever happen again. Trust me.”
I turn away from her, and I hear her break out in a girly laugh. “She’s so full of herself,” Melanie tries to say lowly. “I don’t even get why she came to this school.” I almost stop—almost—but I stay grounded and keep walking, making my way to Kendall and Janine who are stretching on the grass.
I sit and stretch with them, listening to them talk about different flavored teas at Starbucks.
Someone approaches, the grass rustling beneath their feet, and I look up. It’s Coach Foster. Her first name is Anna. I haven’t really spoken to her much since coming here. I always thought the name Anna doesn’t suit her. She’s a beefy woman, with thick calf muscles and large biceps. Her hair is short and blond and her lips are thin and dry. She’s always chewing gum.
“What kind of finish was that, Lakes?” she asks, her hands on her hips, and I want to think that she’s teasing, that she’s not serious, but her face is stern. She’s not smiling. Not teasing.
“It was a relay, Coach Foster. The way I finish totally depends on the way the race is performed with the starters.”
“No. When you finish, you finish strong. You’re supposed to be the fastest girl on the east coast? Isn’t that what the news articles and all that mumbo-jumbo say?” She lets out a dry laugh and then her smile rapidly fades and she chomps hard on her gum. “I don’t want to see weak finishes from someone who everyone seems to brag about. You didn’t come here to be lazy or slow. You finish strong, or you don’t run at all.”
She looks me over before walking away and I watch her go, my jaw slack. I’m so confused by what just happened. I don’t know if it was in my head, but there was a look in her eye as she looked me over, like she was repulsed by me,
I put my focus on Kendall and Janine, who are watching Coach Foster walk away one moment, and then looking at me the next. “What. The hell. Was that?” Janine says, still stunned.
“Yo, fuck her!” Kendall snaps. “Why would she say that shit to you? She didn’t say anything to Christa’s turtle-ass!”
I wave it off and drop my head, ignoring the burning in my eyes. “It’s whatever.” I’m used to tough coaching. Not only that, but I’m used to being under-estimated, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.
Coach Foster clearly doesn’t like that I was deemed “the fastest female runner on the east coast” by local papers. It’s not like I asked to be called that. I didn’t ask for any of this. I just run because I love it and I just so happen to be good at it.
“It’s not whatever. I don’t like the way she talked to you. Straight disrespect,” Kendall goes on, her brows strewn together. “We should tell Hamilton. That was a bitchy thing for her to say.”
I reach for the bottom of my shoe to stretch my leg and exhale. When I look up, I spot Coach Torres standing not too far away.
His eyebrows are narrowed, jaw clenched. His eyes seem much darker right now, despite the bright stadium lights. I realize he’s not staring at me though.
He’s staring at Coach Foster.
Coach Hamilton takes us to the locker room after practice and tells us to pick a locker and then fill out the form with our locker number. She advises us to bring our own lock, refusing to be responsible for anyone’s stolen items.
Kendall, Janine, and I take three lockers at the end of the locker hall. After I read the number, I make my way to the clipboard on the bench to fill it out with my name and locker number. I turn when I’m done and bump right into someone’s chest.
“Jesus, Lakes. You should really watch where you’re going.” Melanie folds her arms and because she’s about an inch or so taller than me, she looks down at me. “I hear Foster isn’t too pleased about your performance today. You should really work on that. You definitely don’t want to lose that street cred. Isn’t that what you’re all about?”