Seconds Page 5

  Chapter Sixteen

  Saturday was cold but clear. When the team had assembled at Cedar Grove, Dave handed out new warm-up suits from their sponsor. Slick. They were black, with the Diamond logo in blue and silver on the back of the jacket. They were perfect for a day like this one. The race was at 1:00 PM. It was an hour’s ride away. They left at ten. Dave drove them up in his van. They talked about the weather, school, movies. Shawn, sitting up front with Dave, seemed to be explaining the highlights of every video game ever made. Paul and Tony started a game of Would You Rather.

  “Would you rather be a penguin or a giraffe?”

  “Would you rather live at the North Pole or at the equator?”

  “Would you rather get caught in a sandstorm or fall in quicksand?”

  “Would you rather eat a cheeseburger with chocolate sauce on it or a pancake soaked in pickle juice?”

  “Oh, man, does anyone else smell pickles?” asked Tony. “I’m hungry.”

  Paul laughed. “You’re always hungry.” He asked the next question. “Would you rather do a thousand math questions or be thrown in a den of lions?”

  “Lions,” answered Tony with a grin, punching Sam lightly on the arm.

  “Would you rather get attacked by a shark or gored by a warthog?”

  What kind of a question was that? Jake would rather they stopped playing for a while. He was trying to focus, to prepare for the race, to get in the zone, but they just kept talking. And talking. And talking. All except Sam. He was working on a Sudoku.

  “Ah, Dave?” piped up Jake when there was a lull in the gaming conversation.

  “Yessir?”

  “Isn’t there anything we should be doing now to prepare for the race?”

  “No. Just relax, I guess.”

  “Well, do we know who the main competition is?”

  Dave’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror to scan the back of the van. “It’s a big race,” he commented, “but I don’t want you guys to worry about that. I just want you to do your best. There will be a lot of runners, but they aren’t the enemy. They’re just other guys out there doing their best.”

  The park in Deep Rapids was a busy place. Convenors and course monitors were giving and getting instructions. Coaches were reading clipboards or chatting. Groups of runners were walking and stretching. Parents were warming up with coffee and hot chocolate. The yellow caution tape marking parts of the course flapped in the stiff breeze, and the bright-orange pylons indicating turns flashed in the sun.

  The boys went with Dave to register and pick up their numbers. Dave had brought along a small tent to keep their gear in, and they pitched it under a huge tree. Dave led them through a long set of stretches, and they had a light snack. Then they did a walk-through of the course together.

  “Pay attention, amigos,” said Dave. “We don’t want anyone to get lost.”

  “Just follow the guy in front of you,” joked Shawn.

  “What if he’s lost?” Dave laughed.

  Jake took everything in. Every detail. He had every intention of being the one out front.

  The starting line stretched across a large field next to a picnic shelter. They would run the length of the field and then follow a path around a huge pond where there were hundreds of ducks. It was going to be important to cross that field quickly so they wouldn’t get caught in the bottleneck at the trailhead. After the pond, the trail wound through the woods. It was narrow there. It would be hard to pass anyone on that stretch. Then it opened out along the lakeshore, where there was lots of space, but it was going to be tough running in the sand, and the wind was brutal out in the open. After a section of small hills back in the trees, runners would return to the field from the other end and run through a tape-marked trough up to the finish at the picnic shelter. “Remember,” said Dave. “You’re not finished when you reach the tape. Don’t stop pumping until you cross the line.”

  Dave had them warm up with a few short runs and some strides across the field. “Get a drink, guys,” he called, “and then come on in for a huddle.” It was twelve forty-five.

  The Diamond team stood together in a circle, arms across each other’s shoulders. Dave grinned. “Well, here we are. You boys have worked hard, and you are ready for this. You’re ready here.” He pointed to his feet. “And here.” He tapped his temple. “And here.” He put one hand over his heart. “You can do this. Run hard. Run smart. It’s a team event. You’re a great team. Do your best! I’m proud of you.”

  Jake wondered how Dave could be proud of them when they hadn’t even run yet. He intended to earn that pride. Just wait until he showed Dave what he could do.

  Paul led a loud cheer. “Let’s kick up some Diamond Dust!”

  Dave shook his head and laughed.

  They peeled off their warm-up suits, dropped them in the tent and made their way to the starting line. It sure was chilly. There was a solid wall of runners, two hundred at least, in all different colors of jerseys. Red. Blue. Orange. Yellow. Green. Purple. White. Black. And silver. Dave had the boys line up one behind the other from the line. Sam. Jake. Paul. Shawn. Tony. Paul was jumping up and down. Shawn was doing some sort of deep breathing. Tony cracked his knuckles and looked for a place to throw out his gum. Dave wrapped it up in a receipt he found in his jacket pocket. Sam just stood, silent, waiting. Jake felt tense, but he tried to focus. Mental toughness, he said to himself. Be the toughest one out there.

  A big man in a red jacket strode out into the field. “Welcome to the regional race,” he boomed through his megaphone. “It is 1:00 PM on my watch, and this is the event for twelve-year-old boys. You’ve all been through the course—and if you haven’t, you’ll get your chance shortly!” He chuckled. “I wish you well. Runners, please take your marks.”

  Jake took a deep breath and moved in behind Sam.

  “Get set.”

  Focus. Focus. A good start was key.

  Bang. The gun went off and the line surged ahead.

  Sam sprinted across the field, and Jake made sure to stay right behind him. They moved with about twenty runners to the head of the pack and found a place on the path around the pond. Jake heard someone huffing and puffing beside him and looked over to find Paul grinning wildly as he passed him. Jake was tempted to sprint up to him, but it didn’t feel right. It was too fast. If he ran that way now, he’d have nothing left later. Jake struggled to find a good rhythm. He tucked back in behind Sam and tried to steady himself. Flocks of ducks exploded into the air as the runners pounded around the first turn. There were six, maybe seven, runners ahead of Sam. The pond, the trees, the lake, the hills, chanted Jake to himself. The pond, the trees, the lake, the hills.

  They had almost completed the loop around the water and were looking to head into the woods when Jake saw Sam veer right to pass. Jake followed. It was Paul. He wasn’t grinning anymore and was running with one hand clenched hard to his side, like he had a cramp.

  I knew it was too fast, thought Jake.

  “Stay in it, Paul,” called Sam. “Go Diamond.”

  That left six guys to pass.

  The trees, the lake, the hills, the field, thought Jake, panting. The trees, the lake, the hills, the field.

  “Looking great, guys!” a voice called out. Jake jumped. There was Dave, stepping out from among the trees alongside the trail. How did he get there? “There’s a bit of a clearing up ahead, if you can use it.”

  Breathe in, breathe out. In, out, in, out. Arms pumping, legs beginning to burn. Focus. Focus. The trail did widen out a bit, as Dave had said, and Sam used the opportunity to pass the runner in front of him and slide back into position just before it narrowed again. Smooth, thought Jake. He had moved right with him. Five left out front. Watch out for rocks, for roots, for low-hanging branches. In, out, in, out. All the way through the woods.

  They felt the temperature change as they charged out onto the beach. Angry waves pounded the shore, and the wind slapped at them and tore at the numbers pinned to their jer
seys. The coarse sand churned under their feet. The lake, the hills, the field, the trough. The lake, the hills, the field, the trough. Jake’s calf muscles screamed at him to pack it in. His shoulders hurt. His lungs ached. Bonk. Bonk. Where’s that little door? he asked himself. Find that little door. He was breathing hard. Squinting against the wind and the sand made his head hurt. Then Dave stepped out from behind a huge rock. “That’s it, fellas! How’s this for wind sprints? Keep it up. More of the same. You’ve got this.” His hood was tied so tightly that his face was all scrunched up. Jake laughed out loud. Man, that looked funny. But Dave’s voice was loud and clear, and Jake suddenly felt stronger.

  Jake moved slightly to the right to get out of the spray of sand Sam was kicking up. Just ahead were the pylons marking the entrance to the trail through the trees. He’d be out of the wind and back on firm ground. Jake felt a charge of energy. Just a little bit farther to the trees. He followed as Sam kicked in with a quick burst of speed to pass two runners just ahead of the pylons. Three left in the lead.

  The change to being out of the wind was so sudden, Jake almost fell over. After all that fighting, he felt like he was floating. Switch gears. Short strides up the hills, longer steps down. The hills, the field, the trough, the finish. The hills, the field, the trough, the finish. Keep going. Keep going. One foot in front of the other. Breathe in. Breathe out. Jake stayed focused on the silver jersey in front of him. Steady. Steady. Then Sam caught a root and stumbled. He threw his hands out in front of him and was up again in an instant. Behind him, Jake jumped the root and pulled even.

  “Keep going, Jake,” said Sam.

  Jake looked over at him. Sam waved him on as he tried to find his rhythm again. There was a flicker of pain in his eyes. Should I stop? thought Jake. I should wait, make sure Sam is all right.

  “I’m okay,” Sam panted. “Keep going, Jake. Go for it.” Sam nodded. Jake hesitated for a split second, then nodded back. “Go Diamond,” called Sam as Jake took off.

  He sprinted up behind a small kid in a yellow jersey. For a short time they were matched stride for stride, but Jake’s stride was longer and he soon moved in front. A white shirt and a red one were all that remained. Up, down, up, down. In, out, in, out. Focus. Focus. Jake pulled up behind the runner in white. He had a good rhythm going, but his breathing was pretty ragged. Looking to his right, Jake saw sunlight streaming through the trees and realized they were coming up along the field already. The field, the turn, the trough, the finish. Dig. Dig deep. He launched himself off his toes and pulled past the white shirt. One more.

  This guy was a great runner. No wonder he was out front. His movements were smooth and fluid. His stride was even and his breathing controlled. Over a black long-sleeved shirt, he wore a red jersey with some type of logo on the back that Jake couldn’t make out, and he had a black knit hat on his head. Step it up, Jake told himself. Step it up just a little. They were in the field now, coming up on the turn into the tape. Dave leaned in from where he stood along the side. “Let it all out now, Jake. It’s time. Let it go!”

  Jake’s legs felt like logs. His lungs were on fire. Bulldogs, he thought. That’s what it said on the back of that guy’s jersey: Bulldogs. He could read it now! He was that close. The turn, the trough, the finish. The turn, the trough, the finish. Dig, dig, dig, dig. Jake found another gear and started to sprint. They were in the trough now, tape flapping on either side. He pulled up next to the red runner. Their arms were pumping, their legs were churning. Run. Run. Run to run. Run to run. Jake felt like a weight was slowly lifting off him. He looked up at the blue sky and sucked in the cold air and found himself grinning. He didn’t think about the other guy. He didn’t think about his legs. He didn’t think about his lungs. He didn’t feel the ache in his shoulders. He didn’t feel anything but free. And fast. Run. Run. Don’t stop running until you cross the line. Don’t stop running. Don’t stop. Don’t. Jake summoned every little bit of energy he could find left inside and flew across the finish line. First. First place. Jake Jarvis.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jake walked around a bit behind the finish line to get his wind back. He wasn’t tired at all. He felt light, excited. He made his way over to the big tree they had made home base. He did some stretches and a quick little happy dance and reached into the tent for his jacket and some water. He heard his name and saw someone jogging toward him. Simon.

  “Jake, that was awesome!”

  “Simon, what are you doing here?”

  “Watching the race.”

  “Yeah, but…” Jake reddened a little. He hadn’t told Simon about the race today. He hadn’t even told him about running with the Diamond Club.

  “I read about it in the paper. I saw your name. I wanted to go, and my mom said she wouldn’t mind shopping in Deep Rapids for an afternoon. She’ll pick me up later.”

  “You wanted to come all the way out here for a race you’re not even in?”

  Simon stared at Jake for an instant and smiled. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  Then Dave and Sam came up, with Shawn between them. Paul was behind them. Shawn’s left leg, elbow, shoulder, chin and cheekbone were all scraped up. “Shawn! Are you all right?”

  “Looks worse than it feels, I think, although it doesn’t feel so great either.”

  “What happened?”

  “Colossal wipeout.”

  “Was it a root?” asked Sam.

  “No.”

  “Rock?” asked Paul.

  “No.”

  “Foot?” asked Jake.

  “No.”

  “Branch?” asked Simon.

  “Negative, dudes. It happened way back by the pond. I slipped on some gooey duck guck and took a major dive.”

  “Gross!”

  “Awesome!”

  “Whoa.”

  “But he didn’t quit,” said Dave. “Took all that scuffing and still came in at fifty-four. Well done, Shawn.”

  The whole team crowded in to pat Shawn on the back.

  “Ouch,” he bellowed. “Ouch, ouch, ouch!”

  “Sorry, man.”

  Shawn looked at Paul and Sam and Jake. “How’d you guys do?

  “Or doo-doo, maybe?” offered Simon. Jake winced. Not the jokes! He hadn’t even had a chance to introduce Simon to the guys yet. The rest of the boys laughed.

  “Twenty-nine,” said Paul.

  “Solid.”

  “Fifth,” said Sam.

  Shawn’s eyebrows shot up. “Nice.” He turned to Jake. “You?”

  Jake wasn’t sure what to do. The superhero pose didn’t feel right this time. Before he could say anything, someone else did.

  “Numero uno,” piped up Simon. “My friend Jake here was the first across the line.”

  Everyone stood silently for a moment. Then they all cheered wildly.

  “No way!” shouted Paul.

  “Awesome,” said Sam, nodding.

  “My man!” echoed Shawn.

  “Leavin’ ’em in the Diamond dust,” said Paul.

  Dave laughed. “It was quite some finish, Jake. What was that all about?”

  “I was just running.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I had somewhere to go.”

  “And it seemed the fastest way to get there?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Well, buddy, I’d say you definitely got there!” They all grinned ridiculously. There were high fives all around. Even for Simon.

  “Sit for a bit, Shawn,” advised Dave. “Then we’ll get you cleaned up. We’re just waiting for Tony to come in.”

  Dave jogged off toward the finish line. Paul ran over to the score sheets plastered to the fence. Sam explained how it worked. Because it was a team event, all the runners’ results counted toward the total. The team with the lowest total score would win. Paul jogged back waving a napkin excitedly in his hand.

  “Guys,” he panted. “I think we have a shot at top three. Look, I wrote the numbers down. The guys from Fletcher—
they’re the ones in yellow—are all in: 4, 22, 23, 67, and 71.”

  Sam added the numbers in his head. “That’s 187 points.”

  “Whoa. How do you do that?” asked Shawn. “What do we have?”

  “Eighty-nine, so far.”

  “But wait,” said Paul. “Red—that’s the Bulldogs—they look good too. They have runners at 2, 10, 17, and 62.”

  “Ninety-one,” whispered Sam. “And we both have one more runner coming in.”

  “What does it mean?” asked the others.

  “It means it’s going to be close!”

  “Tony!” They all rushed over to the tape.

  “Wait for me,” hollered Shawn, hobbling along behind them. “I don’t want to miss this!”

  Runners were finishing in groups of two and three, racing each other through the trough. The display board read 75 as a runner in a black jersey crossed the line. White. Purple. Where was Tony? There! A group of five had turned into the trough. Two green shirts, a red shirt, a silver and a blue.

  “C’mon, Tony!” they all yelled. “C’mon!”

  Five runners hurtled through the trough, legs flying, arms pumping. Red was ahead. Then green. Now blue.

  “C’mon, Tony!”

  Face flushed, he pushed across the line. The board flashed 81. Would it be enough?

  The Diamond team surrounded Tony at the finish and clapped him on the back.

  “Paul,” called Sam. “Go find out how the Bulldog runner finished.”

  They waited anxiously as Paul scurried off toward the sheets. Runners were still finishing, but yellow was all in: 4, 22, 23, 67, 71. Silver, all in: 1, 5, 29, 54, 81. Red. What about red? 2, 10, 17, 62 and what?

  “We’ve got 1 and 5,” said Shawn. “That’s got to be enough to take their 2 and 10, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know,” replied Sam.

  “Seventy-eight,” yelled Paul, coming across the field. “He came in at 78.”