Coach Me

I ignore it as best as I can, increasing the volume of the music in my headphones and then reaching behind me to hold my foot and stretch my quads.

When it’s time for us to start racing, Torres meets up to me. “Ready, Lakes?” he asks.

I don’t even bother looking at him. “Sure,” I mumble as I walk past him to get to the track. As I walk, I take off my red BU track jacket and then the red track pants. We received our uniforms two days ago and I have to admit, they look good on us. It’s January and still cold as I stand in shorts and a jersey top, but I know this race will warm me up.

“All right, remember what I told you.” Torres steps in front of me. “Head in the game. Eyes ahead. Finish strong. Don’t worry about the people next to you.”

“Yep, got it.” I want him to go away right now. Why is it even bothering me so much that he was smiling with another coach? It’s good that he smiles…it’s just that it was with her.

And speaking of, that coach is now talking to one of the sprinters, and of course she’s the coach of my biggest competitor. The coach is even prettier up close.

I put my gaze ahead focusing on the official who is waiting for us to get ready.

“This your girl?” A voice rises behind me and I look over my shoulder. It’s that coach. She’s looking at me and smiling.

“Yep, that’s her. Amber Lakes,” Torres answers proudly.

The coach offers me her hand. “Hi, Amber. I’m Coach Medina. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I take her hand and shake it. “Nice to meet you.”

She pulls away and locks her eyes on Torres, giving him a smug smile. He returns the same smugness, and it’s like they’re having a secret conversation with each other and I don’t like it, so I look away.

“You got this, Lakes,” Torres murmurs next to my ear, and then he turns away and walks to the middle of the field to meet with Medina.

I shake off all the feelings I have about whatever it is they are sharing and walk up to the line on the track where the other racers are.

I mean, is she an ex of his? How else would he know so much about Biltmore University? About their best runner? Has he slept with her before?

I peer over my shoulder. Medina is standing close to him as she talks, while he stands with his arms folded, focused on one of the starting lines.

I sigh.

“Lakes, right?” I look to my right and it’s my competitor, Morgan Keely. She’s black, just like me, with dark brown eyes and cornrows.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Yeah, I remember. I saw your tapes. You’re quick. It’s about time I got some competition around here.” She cracks a genuine smile.

I laugh at that. “I’ve been looking forward to this race all week.”

“Same. As soon as I heard we were racing Bennett and Coach Medina told me about a new girl they’d recruited, I was pumped. I saw you pass by but didn’t have the courage to speak yet. Didn’t want to say anything silly.” She extends her arm, her fist stuck out with a smile. I stretch my arm to bump fists with her. “Don’t hold back on me, all right?”

“Oh, I won’t,” I tell her, and I almost hate that I have to race her. She has respect, and I can respect that. There are two other girls. One from another college in a yellow jersey, and another girl in a black jersey.

The official stands at the end of the mark and raises his arm in the air, holding up the starter gun. We get into formation at our lines and I’m ready to do this…that is until I hear someone howl with laughter.

I look to my left, watching Torres walk past us on the sidelines with Medina at his side. Medina is cupping her mouth, clearly embarrassed by her laughing outburst and Torres is doing a casual half-smile, as if proud to have made her laugh so loudly.

What the hell?

“Set.” The official’s voice echoes through the microphone. I lift off my knees and lower my head, ready for take-off.

The gun goes off and I know right away I don’t have a strong start.

I run anyway, passing the sprinters in the black and yellow jersey’s, but Morgan is ahead. I push myself as fast as I can, pumping my arms and legs, but it’s no use. Before I know it, the race is over and I’m second place.

Second fucking place.

I can’t even remember the last time I was second place!

I throw my hands on the top of my head when the race is over, and when I look to my left and see Morgan smiling and jumping, I feel disappointment course through me. Then I look past her at Torres, who has both brows strewn together and his lips pinched tight. Medina is no longer standing next to him; she’s proudly clapping Morgan on the back.