Run

by David Skuy

  “I was thinking about it last night,” Lionel said. “How we get bullied by guys and we never say anything. What if we did?”

  Stephane tugged on his backpack straps again. “I’d like that,” he said. “I’ll speak to Jaime. I know he’s tired of it. We can talk tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Stephane smiled, gratefully. He nodded and turned to leave, then stopped. “Thanks, Lionel. I feel a lot better. Nice to know someone cares.” He gave Lionel another friendly nod and walked off.

  Lionel felt a nasty rumble in his stomach. There weren’t that many people at the track yet. Kiana said practise didn’t really get going until four o’clock. Better go to the washroom in case his stomach needed … relief. And at the back of his head, down at the bottom, he sensed a headache coming on. Was he getting sick right before the practise? Brutal. He was the unluckiest person in the world.

  No time to think about that. He needed a toilet.

  Lionel went back inside the school. He looked around to make sure no one was watching and went into the washroom and slipped into his usual stall. He sat and waited. Sometimes it took a long time.

  Not this time. Gross. Like diarrhea. Yuck.

  His stomach wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easy, either. At least he hadn’t gone straight to the track. The kids would call him Poopy Pants Lionel if he had to race off to the toilet.

  The washroom door opened. He heard talking, which meant more than one person. No one used this washroom after school. He cursed his bad luck. Now he’d have to stay until they left.

  “I pull a muscle and he keeps chirping at me. He should race the guy if he’s so fast.”

  Bryan! Great. He prayed they wouldn’t notice him.

  “You know what he’s like. I feel sorry for that Lionel guy, though. I told Nick to chill, but he wants to kill him.”

  Mohamed!

  And Nick wanted to kill him!

  “How freaky is it that Kiana’s going out with the guy?” Bryan said. “I’m like … okay … you’re not into Nick, but Lionel?”

  “Nick’s lost it,” Mohamed said. “He’s in love with Kiana.”

  They moved to the sink.

  “You know the freakiest thing?” Bryan said. “Lionel is super fast.”

  “Who? Lionel?”

  “I’m telling you. The dude can run. It’s insane. He’s kinda fat, but not as fat as he used to be. He must be on a huge diet. I’m just saying, I had a lead on the guy and he caught up to me. I had a pulled muscle and couldn’t run my fastest, but … it doesn’t matter, and anyway, I gotta get to practise.”

  “What about your leg?”

  “I’ll go easy. I gotta be careful. The sectional meet is in three days.”

  The door opened. They were gone.

  Lionel opened the stall door a crack and peeked out. Coast was clear. He went to the sink, washed his hands, and looked in the mirror. This two Lionels thing was stupid. He wasn’t two people. Only one face looked back — one him.

  Did he really want to hide in a washroom stall?

  Kiana thought he was fast, and so did the Marketeers, and now Bryan.

  He’d thought life was a lot easier in the shadows, where no one could see him. But it wasn’t. The shadows made him sick and fat — and lonely. The shadows had him taking pills so he wouldn’t freak out.

  He knew what he had to do.

  He looked into the mirror again. “Time for track practise, Mr. Fatso,” he told himself.

  He left and ran to the field before he could change his mind. There were about thirty kids huddled around Whellan. He slowed ten yards away. A few kids noticed him, including Bryan.

  “Lionel! Hey! Over here. Told you he was coming, Mr. Whellan,” Kiana said quickly.

  Bryan watched him closely.

  “Fantastic,” Whellan said. “Have you thought about what race? This morning you said you liked long distance.”

  “He’d be perfect for the fifteen hundred,” Kiana said.

  Whellan laughed.

  “The fifteen hundred sounds good,” Lionel said. “I haven’t thought about it. Kiana said I … Maybe I should’ve asked you first.”

  He almost apologized, but caught himself. Kiana gave him an encouraging smile.

  “No worries,” Whellan said. “We only have Bryan in the senior fifteen hundred, and we’re allowed two runners. Why don’t you join in with the others? We’re just going to jog around the track?”

  “Sounds good,” Lionel said.

  “Give me two laps, everyone,” Whellan called out.

  A few kids groaned.

  “Even the field athletes need some cardio,” Whellan chuckled. “And give me a good pace, please. We’re hosting the sectional meet this Thursday. I want to qualify the entire team for the regionals, so we need good results from everyone.”

  They left in a big pack and headed into the first corner. Lionel followed along, but found the pace a little slow. By the back straightaway, he was in the middle of the pack. By the second turn, he was in front.

  “It’s two laps,” he heard someone say sarcastically.

  “Try keeping up with him,” Lionel heard Kiana say.

  “No one can keep that pace up,” another kid said.

  No choice now. He had to keep his pace up or they’d start chirping him — and Kiana. He didn’t feel tired, so he pumped his hands harder and drove his knees up, pushing off with every stride. He felt a bit silly. The other kids would think he was showing off.

  He wasn’t going to disappoint Kiana, though.

  “Go for it, Lionel,” Whellan said. “I’m timing this lap. Go!”

  Lionel glanced at his watch and put it in high gear. Dumb move not staying with the pack. Whellan had called it a warm up, not a sprint. That’s why they were going slow. He was killing himself like an idiot. Up the back straightaway he went, then the corner, and then the front straightaway. Whellan held his stopwatch high overhead and brought it down when he passed.

  “Lionel! That was awesome,” Whellan said. “You took that lap in … sixty-four seconds. Kiana was right. I think the fifteen hundred might be the perfect race for you.”

  Kiana and five of the older kids arrived together.

  “Told ya,” Kiana said jubilantly to Whellan.

  “I’m impressed. Nice, easy stride,” Whellan said. “Okay, come on guys,” he yelled to the stragglers.

  They waited for everyone to bring it in.

  “Give me the field athletes in the middle of the field, please,” Whellan said. “Sprinters, go down to the starting line and do your striding exercises. High knees first for a hundred meters and back with right and left shuffle steps. Do that twice. Distance runners, stay with me.”

  A hand touched Lionel’s shoulder.

  “I knew you’d come,” Kiana said smugly.

  Lionel flushed deeply.

  “Don’t be so serious, Lionel,” she pouted. “Have fun. We’ll talk after practise, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I want to work on our pacing,” Whellan said.

  “Do you remember your one-lap target?” Whellan said. Lionel felt stupid being the only kid without a hand up. “Good. I want everyone to run two laps. I’ll call out the time when you run by for the first lap. Keep to that target pace. You need to train your body to know when it’s going the right speed.” Whellan pointed at Lionel. “Lionel, let’s shoot for a sixty-five second lap, and we’ll go from there. Line it up,” Whellan said.

  A few kids hustled to take the inside lane. Lionel took a spot on the outside.

  “My pulled muscle is still bugging me,” Bryan said to Whellan.

  “Can you run at all?” Whellan said.

  “Yeah. It’s not that bad. I just wanted to tell you … that I can’t run my fastest,” Bryan said.


  “That guy always has an excuse for being slow,” a boy next to Lionel said.

  His friend laughed.

  Lionel looked over at Bryan. He had that look on his face, the same look he had during their race, the look that said, “I’m scared.”

  Lionel readied himself. He wasn’t scared.

  Monday 9:40 a.m.

  Whellan turned from the whiteboard.

  “So, do you see how the character connects to the dialogue? The kind of words you put in the character’s mouth needs to match the character’s personality.”

  The speakers overhead crackled.

  “Sorry for the interruption,” Mrs. Dempsey announced, “but can the members of the track team please make their way to the change room to get ready for the meet. Thank you — and good luck, team!”

  Whellan nodded meaningfully at the door. “I believe we have three track members right here. Guys, get dressed and I’ll be down in ten minutes when class is over.”

  Lionel got up with Kiana and Bryan.

  “The juniors need to do better,” Bryan said when they were out of the class. “Last year the grades one to four barely got any points and our team didn’t make it through to the regionals.”

  “You make the regionals by either finishing in the top four in a final or your team wins the points competition in a sectional meet — then everyone on the team moves on,” Kiana said to Lionel.

  Lionel opened the door leading to the stairs. “How do you get team points?” he said.

  “Top-ten finishers get points — first place ten, second place nine,” Bryan said.

  “Best thing is to focus on your own race and not worry about the points,” Kiana said.

  She was looking directly at Lionel.

  How was he going to win? He’d never raced before.

  “Easy for you to say,” Bryan said. “Hamadi Kalu’s running the fifteen hundred. He’s won every cross-country event since he was a little kid, and he won the Citys last year.”

  “Lionel will beat him,” Kiana said.

  Bryan laughed. “Not sure about that.”

  She looked at Lionel again. “You’ll win. I know it.” She flicked her eyebrows. “See you out on the track.”

  She turned right to go to the girls’ change room.

  Lionel felt weird walking next to Bryan. They hadn’t said a word to each other since their race.

  “Did you run in the regionals last year?” Lionel asked, finally.

  “I got a cold right before the meet — brutal. I could barely breathe,” Bryan said.

  “That’s a drag.”

  “Yeah, and now I have this muscle thing. I have the worst luck,” Bryan said.

  They reached the change room.

  “How do you feel?” Bryan asked tentatively.

  “Okay. I’ve never run in a track meet before …” Lionel reached for the door.

  Bryan stopped him from going in. “Normal to be a bit nervous, even I’m nervous a bit and I’ve been in tons of meets.” He looked off down the hallway. “Since we’re both running in the fifteen hundred, maybe we should have a strategy, like work together, pace each other.”

  “I guess,” Lionel said.

  He didn’t get it. How were they going to work together in a race — piggyback?

  “Awesome,” Bryan said. “We’ll stay with the pack for the first couple of laps, and then push it hard in lap three. We can take turns running in front, cutting the wind for each other. We call it drafting. You’ve seen that, right? We can conserve energy for the big kick on the final lap. Don’t go out too fast, though. That’s a classic rookie error. You’ll burn yourself out and have nothing for your kick. Make sense?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Lionel said.

  Bryan patted him on the back. “You’ll be fine. I’ve been watching you in pratise. You can run.”

  “The Green Machine is about to make his big, fat track debut.”

  Lionel’s heart began to beat faster — Nick!

  “Do you have a transporter machine?” Bryan said.

  Bryan sounded nervous.

  “Told Whellan I had to pee,” Nick said.

  Lionel reached for the door.

  “What’s the hurry?” Nick asked. He grabbed Lionel by the shoulder and spun him away from the door.

  “I don’t get disrespected by losers,” Nick said, “and that means you.”

  “I didn’t disrespect you,” Lionel said.

  Nick laughed. “Check him out. He admits he’s a loser.”

  “We got a track meet …” Bryan said, his voice shaky.

  “We should break his legs then,” Nick said.

  Bryan looked bewildered. “We gotta get dressed, Nick. I need to warm up … my pulled muscle.”

  “I’ve got to get dressed too,” Lionel said.

  Nick pushed Lionel backwards.

  “Badmouth me to Kiana? You’re dead,” Nick snarled.

  Nick straight-armed Lionel in the chest and then side-kicked his thigh.

  “I’m going to rip your tongue out, you fat, ugly, stupid blabber-mouth,” Nick said, his fists clenched, face purple with rage.

  “I didn’t say anything to her,” Lionel said.

  “Sorry, loser. She told me. You blabbed to her about the bet.”

  “I asked her if there was a bet and she said no.”

  Nick kicked him in the leg again.

  “Did I ask you?” Nick thundered. His face turned even darker. “You’re going to tell her you made it all up to make me look bad.”

  “I …”

  “Shut up,” Nick said.

  He punched Lionel in the ribs. Lionel gasped and he stepped back.

  “This is stupid, Nick,” Bryan said. “We got a meet …”

  “Shut up or I’ll rip your face off too,” Nick said. He turned back to Lionel. “As for you, you’re going to tell her you made the whole story up because … you’re jealous of me … or whatever. I don’t care. She thinks I’m a weasel because of you.”

  “All I did was tell her the truth,” Lionel said.

  Nick slapped his face. “No kidding, dummy, and for some reason she thinks that makes me a bad person. So tell her it’s not true.”

  Nick punched Lionel in the stomach.

  It didn’t hurt. The kicks and the slap hadn’t either. Lionel had always been terrified of getting hit. He’d never actually been hit, though, not since his father used to whack him around. But that was a long time ago — and he wasn’t the same Lionel.

  “Are you hearing me?” Nick said.

  Lionel wasn’t really listening. He was thinking about his dad. He remembered how scared he used to be after a baseball game, especially if he struck out or messed up a play. He used to be so scared he wouldn’t want to get in the car to go home. His dad used to hit him all the time.

  Lionel looked up at Nick. He wasn’t going to lie to Kiana out of fear — and he sure wasn’t going to let Nick beat him up because his dad was a jerk.

  Nick charged. Lionel swung his right hand and caught Nick on the side of the head. Nick jabbed with his left. Lionel shifted to his right to avoid the blow and hit Nick in the side with another right. Nick threw a wild right hand. Lionel ducked and drove his fist into his side again, and followed it up with a left jab to the top of Nick’s head. Nick roared and jumped at Lionel with his arms extended.

  The next second Nick lay on the floor.

  “Freakin’ idiot,” Nick sputtered.

  Bryan had body-checked him with his shoulder. He stood next to Lionel, breathing heavily.

  Lionel felt a rush of exhilaration.

  Nick got up slowly, his fists clenched. “Two on one? Freakin’ losers.”

  Nick straightened up and pushed out his chest. He didn’t look the same to Lionel, though. He looked like any other kid,
nothing special, and Lionel wondered why he’d ever thought Nick was so scary.

  “This ain’t over,” Nick said.

  “I think it is,” Lionel said.

  “See ya around, Nick,” Bryan said. “I’ve had enough of you too. So has Mohamed. Go ask him.”

  “Who cares?” Nick said.

  “Let’s get changed,” Lionel said to Bryan.

  He opened the door and Bryan went in.

  “Tough guy is running away,” Nick called out.

  Lionel let the door close behind him.

  “Big, fat, smelly loser,” Nick yelled. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

  Lionel went to an open spot and began to dress.

  A few minutes later, Whellan walked in. “Let’s hurry up, boys,” he said. “The junior events start in about thirty minutes. Seniors, you have a bit of a wait, but I still want everyone to warm up together. So if you’re dressed, get out on the track.”

  Most of the boys got up and began filing out. Whellan came over and sat next to Lionel.

  “How’re you feeling, Lionel?”

  “Good.”

  He ran his hand over his chin. “I’ve been thinking of your race, Lionel. I want you to set a very fast pace from the start. Make it very uncomfortable for everyone to keep up. No free rides. Push it hard, and at the very least stay up with the leaders. By the second lap, most of the kids will be too tired to have much of a kick. If you have more in the tank, I want you to run harder. Keep pushing yourself. I think you have reserves you haven’t even tested yet.”

  “We were going to pace each other,” Bryan said. His face was paler than normal.

  “Bryan, do your best and try to get in the top ten.” Whellan pointed at Lionel. “After two laps, you take off no matter what. Show me what you can do. Okay?”

  Lionel nodded.

  “But I kinda thought we should run together,” Bryan said.

  “Don’t worry about Lionel,” Whellan said. “You run your own race.”

  Bryan seemed about to say something, but then he nodded and looked down.

  “You run your own race, too,” Whellan said forcefully to Lionel.