Seconds (2 page)

“No, no. We take these things seriously. Stick around. I'll get back to you.”

Jake still felt strange as he went to get his gear. He might have pushed it a little far today.

“Hey, Jake.” Simon was sitting on the curb again, changing his shoes.

“Simon.”

“How'd you do today?”

Jake held up two fingers. “You?”

“Thirty-three, that's me.” Simon beamed.

Jake sat down beside Simon. He nodded absently. “I'm pretty sure I could come in first if I had fancy spikes like Spencer's. I wanted shoes like that, but my dad wouldn't buy them for me. He says they're too expensive and I'll just outgrow them.”

“That's probably true,” said Simon. “Your spikes don't look too bad, just experienced.”

“Maybe, but it's not fair. Those new shoes give Spencer a big advantage.”

“They sure look cool,” Simon agreed. He waited. “Maybe Spencer's just fast, Jake.”

“And I'm not?”

“I didn't say that. Second place is no disgrace. I don't mind that he got new shoes.” Simon smiled.

“He gave me his old ones. I used to just wear my running shoes, but spikes make a big difference.” Simon held up the underside of one shoe and laughed. “If you get my
point
.”

Jake didn't. “You asked him for his shoes?”

“No. He offered them to me. They didn't fit him anymore, and they fit me pretty good so…”

“So you took them?” Jake couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“Well, he wasn't going to use them anymore. I thought it was a nice thing to do.”

Jake shook his head. “Simon, can't you see what he's doing?”

“Being a nice guy?”

“No, man! He's putting you down, Simon. He's showing you you're not as good as him.”

“I'm
not
as good as him!”

“Well, I am,” muttered Jake. “And next week, he'll know it.”

The official Jake had spoken to after the race came over. Jake sighed. He wished he hadn't said anything. He looked up.

“I talked to the other runner, son. Says he didn't do any pushing.”

“I figured he'd say that,” said Jake.

“Right. So I talked to my course monitors,” said the official. “They say they didn't see anybody doing any pushing.” He paused briefly before going on. “In fact, they say they never saw you and the other fellow close enough to each other for any pushing to be going on.” He waited.

Jake didn't know what to say. He didn't know what had come over him to make him say he'd been pushed, except that for a moment it had seemed a good way to push Spencer out of first place. “I—I guess it's hard to see everything,” replied Jake sheepishly.

The official frowned, then nodded. “You can be sure we'll keep watching things closely.” He walked away. Jake walked the other way, toward his bike. He could feel Simon looking at him, but he didn't look back.

As he knelt to unlock his bike, Jake heard footsteps on the gravel and glanced up.

“Dad?”

“Hey, Jake. Good race?”

“It was okay, I guess. Uh, I thought I told you and Mom you didn't have to come to the runs.”

“You did.” His dad smiled. His eyes were twinkling.

“Not a lot of people usually come out. Runners need to focus on the race, without any distractions.”

His dad watched the steady stream of cars pulling out onto the road. “Looks like a lot of people came out today.” He smiled again. “You want a ride?”

“I have my bike.”

“Right. I'll see you at home then.”

Jake finished unlocking his bike. It was true. He'd read more than once how a serious runner could not let anything break his concentration. Still, he felt a little sad as he heard his dad walk away.

Chapter Three

“Jake!”

Jake heard his mother calling him, but he was in the middle of a workout in the basement and didn't feel like stopping. He couldn't be in trouble. He'd taken out the garbage and fed the cats. Maybe she didn't really need him and if he just waited, she would forget she'd called. Or maybe she'd call his older brother, Luke, instead. He just listened to music all day and fooled around on his guitar. Hopefully his mom would remember Luke was home too.

“Jake!” she hollered again. Guess not.

Jake grabbed a towel and made his way up the stairs.

His mother was standing in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by grocery bags. The freezer door hung open, and she was holding the fridge door open with her toe. She balanced in front of it with a head of lettuce in one hand and a bag of frozen peas in the other.

“Yes?”

She turned to look at him. “Jake, what is all this?”

“Oh. Yeah. My water bottles. I need to be ready for training and races. And I made ice cubes out of my sports drinks so I can just drop them into the cold water. Sports drinks are good, but they're better diluted, so I thought up the ice-cube idea.”

“Uh-huh. Clever. And this?” She tilted her head toward the wall of green jars in the fridge.

“Ah.” Jake's eyes lit up. “The secret ingredient to running success. Pickles.”

“Pickles are the key to running success?”

“Yes. I've read all about it, Mom. Pickle power. Pre-race days, you eat pickles. On race day itself, you just do the juice.”

“You drink it?”

“Yep.”

“Pickle juice?”

“Yep.”

“That's disgusting.”

“I know, but they say that pickle juice is very effective in preventing cramps.”

“Uh-huh. Who knew? But where am I supposed to put my groceries?”

Jake shrugged. “You could buy another fridge,” he suggested with half a smile.

His mother laughed. “How about you store one jar of pickles, one or two bottles of water and one tray of supercubes at a time, instead of a three-year supply? And keep the rest in the basement?”

Jake rolled his eyes. “I guess.” He sighed. “But then I'll constantly have to monitor the inventory.”

Now his mother rolled her eyes. “You sound like one of those magazine articles you're always reading.” She put on a serious face and deepened her voice. “I'll help you keep tabs on it and let you know when you need to replenish your stock.” Then she smiled and tossed him the lettuce. “Deal?”

Jake caught it and grinned. “Okay. Deal. Did you buy granola bars?”

“Again? I thought I bought a jumbo box last week.”

“They're gone. And so are the bananas. I need to have lots of bananas.”

“I see. Jake, it's not the Olympics, you know. Are you sure you're not taking this running stuff a bit too seriously?”

“No. If you're going to do something, you might as well do it right. Isn't that what you and Dad always say? This is important stuff, Mom. It's a science. Would you like it better if I was eating junk food?”

“No.” She smiled and messed up his hair. “No, I would not. I'll get you those bananas, as long as you remember that a little monkey business now and then is okay.”

“Can I go back downstairs now? I was in the middle of a workout.”

“Sure, but help me unpack these bags first.”

“Aww, Mom.”

“Consider it part of your workout, mister.”

Jake tucked a jar of peanut butter under his arm and grabbed two loaves of bread. “Hey, Mom,” he said as he made his way over to the cupboard to put them away. “Guess who's running in the city league?”

“Who?” she asked, kneeling in front of the fridge taking pickle jars out.

“Simon Patterson.”

“Simon? Really? How's he doing? You boys haven't seen each other for ages. Why don't you invite him over sometime?”

“I don't know, Mom. Simon seems like a bit of a…” Jake paused. The word
loser
was on the tip of his tongue.

His mother turned. “A what?”

“Nothing. It's just been a long time, that's all.”

Chapter Four

This was it. Jake felt it. Today he was going to win. Everyone was gathered at the starting line. There were a lot of runners out today, but he was only interested in one. And there he was, about three meters down the line. Chatting it up with the guys beside him. Mr. Green Spikes himself. “You're going down today,” whispered Jake. “Somebody's going down, and it isn't going to be me.” It made Jake feel kind of bad when he said this, but it made him feel tough too, and he knew he'd have to be tough out there.

The official called all runners to the line. Jake got ready. A good start was key.

“Ready,” shouted the official. He raised his gun.

Steady
. A group of about ten runners popped the line just ahead of the gun. Barely, but still. False start, thought Jake, and he relaxed again at the line. He waited for the runners to return, but they kept going. They weren't coming back! He looked at the official.

“False start!” he yelled.

The official shook his head and waved him on. “Go!” he hollered.

“You've got to be kidding!” Jake grumbled as he kicked into high gear.

This was bad. Usually he started out in the top ten, but now he'd have to plow his way through everybody. He caught up to the crowd at the end of the field. Then the path narrowed, and it was steep on both sides. There was nowhere to pass. A heavyset runner in front of him blocked Jake's way and his view. He was breathing heavily and swayed from side to side when he ran. Move, thought Jake, move! Finally things opened up, and Jake edged by the swayer and at least a dozen other runners. But there were still so many in front of him. Just ahead he saw the familiar flash of the green shoes. Spencer. Good. He wasn't far ahead.

Bit by bit, Jake started to move up. The mob ducked back into the forest on the part of the trail that snaked uphill. Trees lined the path on both sides. Runners ahead started to slow. Now what? Keep going! There was activity off to one side. Someone was down. It happened easily in a crunch like this. He'd have to be careful not to trip. Wait. Simon? Was it Simon? It
was
Simon. Jake recognized the red T-shirt. What had happened? There was blood on his face. His glasses were missing. Runners were chugging by slowly, like cars passing an accident scene. He should stop. Simon needed help. But there was no time for that now. It probably looked worse than it was, and Jake was no paramedic anyway. Plus, there were monitors who would help. It was their job.

There was a narrow path just off the main trail. Jake saw his chance and slid past the crowd. Maybe Spencer was still caught in the crush of runners. He hoped so. He had to keep moving. He passed another runner. Then a group of four and then another two. Now he was all alone. He ran downhill out of the big trees and over a set of smaller hills in the scrub. He followed the trail through the high grass along the creek.
Focus. Focus. Look ahead. Breathe. Breath
e. He kept thinking he'd come up behind another runner, but there was no one. It's mine, thought Jake. It's mine. Yes! He'd played it smart, and it had paid off. All the sweeter because of the slow start.
Keep up the pace. Keep up the pace
. He could see the flags of the finish line off in the distance. Maybe five hundred meters. Over the bridge and then up the hill on the other side.
Come on
. His legs were heavy. His throat ached.

Jake heard him before he saw him. Heard his feet land on the gravel just before the bridge. Heard him breathing, deeply but evenly. Someone was coming up behind him, fast.
Come on. Come on
. He wanted to look back, but he couldn't afford the time it would cost him. He crossed the bridge and ducked under some low trees.
Come on
. One hundred meters to the finish. Only one hundred meters.
Stay ahead. Stay ahead
. He climbed the final hill in short strides.
Push, push. Don't slow down
. I am not eating mud today, he vowed. I am not. Fifty meters. Twenty. Ten. Almost. Almost. At seven meters he saw the green shoes. At three meters he felt mud spray up beside him. He threw himself across the line, but Spencer had beaten him by a step. A second. Second.