Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Jimmy Springer, October 2013

Jimmy picked nervously at his finger nails. After a brief struggle, he chipped a piece off the end of his left thumb. It flew wildly through the air and hit the man next to him in the side of the head. Matt glanced briefly from the road to look at the boy next to him.

“Geez, Springer, would you quit picking your nails?” he said with a slight shake of his head, “Can’t you just get them manicured like Reggie’s?”

Jimmy smiled and pulled his hands apart. “Did he really get a manicure?”

“Nah. Just a pedicure.”

They drove down the road slowly, Matt scanning the street signs carefully so that he did not miss his turn. After successfully completing his next right, he played with the radio dashboard, skipping around for a song he liked. Eventually, he settled on a track and adjusted his volume accordingly.

Meet me in outer space … We could spend the night, watch the earth come up … I’ve grown tired of that place, won’t you come with me? … We could start again …

“Who is this?” Jimmy asked interestedly, his focus momentarily captured. He had been staring out the window as they drove, taking in the unfamiliar landscape.

“It’s Incubus,” Matt replied. “Probably my favorite band.”

“Huh, I guess I’ll have to look into them more.” He continued to look out absentmindedly from the car, letting his mind wander toward his favorite new daydream.

Meet me in outer space … I will hold you close, if you’re afraid of heights … I need you to see this place, it might be the only way …

It was a crisp Saturday morning and the Union Valley Cross Country squad was preparing for the following week’s District One Championships at Lehigh University. To best prepare, the team was taking a trip to the course itself, located in Bethlehem, to do a final workout. Coach Ames had supposedly been saving a difficult test for the team, hoping to put the finishing touches on their fitness before the postseason began.

Jimmy Springer had yet to race across the Lehigh grass, but that had not stopped him from imagining himself breaking the tape as district champion. It was a lofty goal, especially considering his teammate, Glenn Fisher, had beaten him in every race so far this year. However, at the team’s most recent invitational, the Pioneer Athletic Conference Championships, he had finished 2^nd overall and had been gaining quickly on Glenn over the final mile. If I can make up those three seconds the next time we hit the trails …

A buzz in his pocket snapped Jimmy out of his revere. He pulled out his phone and swiped onto his home screen. His wallpaper was a picture of himself and Glenn, arms around one another with medals around each of their necks. Tapping a green icon erased the picture and replaced it with a string of text.

“Who’s that?” Matt asked, catching Jimmy out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s Glenn,” he replied, typing out a response message. “Wants to know how far away we are.”

“Holy crap, he’s there already?!” Matt said in amazement, “Practice isn’t for another 20 minutes or so.”

“And how far away are we?”

“Like 20 minutes or so, I think.” Matt replied slyly causing Springer to sigh in frustration. “What’s the matter?”

“I’d rather be early then be late, that’s all.” Jimmy said sharply.

“But where does ‘on time’ fall on your spectrum?” Matt asked jokingly. He smiled at Jimmy who apparently was in no mood to return the gesture. “Alright, geez … I’ll have to set my watch to match Fisher’s when I see him at practice…”

“What do you have against him, anyway?” Jimmy responded aggressively. “Why do you feel the need to always disrespect him?”

“You know Jimmy, I think you give Fisher a little too much respect. He’s not necessarily a great leader just because he’s fast-”

“He works harder than anybody else! And he actually cares about this sport and this team.”

“He’s not the super hero you see him as, alright. You could stand to have some better role models.”      

“What like you?” Jimmy said incredulously. “Messing around during drills? Walking around with your uniform around your neck like a cape because you think it looks cool?”

“You can’t take this sport that seriously. If you aren’t having fun, you’ll just end up driving yourself crazy.”

“Yeah, it was real fun when you guys berated me for the first few weeks of the year. It was like a damn amusement park.” Jimmy said coldly. There was a pause as Matt struggled for a response. Eventually he forced out a dry laugh, quite unlike his previous playful ones.

“Had that one in your back pocket, didn’t you?” He slowed as the light in front turned yellow and then red. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said softly, now looking at Jimmy, “I messed up. I let my ego get to me and slipped into a guy I didn’t want to be. And it sucks because I can never undo what I did. I can never undo the pain I caused you. But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna do everything I can to try anyway.” The light changed back to green and Matt returned his foot to the gas. “And maybe one day soon, we’ll see if Glenn would have handled my situation any better.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence before they finally reached the open fields of the Lehigh Cross Country course. The clock read 10:01 when Matt pulled his car into a parking space. One minute after practice was scheduled to begin.

Jimmy Springer, November 1^st, 2013

“Did you put in three quarter spikes?”

“Yes, but-”

“I’m assuming you guys have raincoats?”

“Yeah, Coach bought-”

“And extra dry clothes for after the race?”

“Yeah, in the van-”

“And did you-”

“Mom!” Jimmy cut across his mother. She looked angry and her mouth had fallen open, as if she was going to reprimand him. Instead, she thought better of it, closed her mouth and smiled at her son.

“Sorry, honey, what was it you wanted to ask me?”

The rain pounded on the windows of the hotel lobby, but otherwise the hallway was quiet. Although Jimmy was now essentially the same height as his mother, he couldn’t help but feel small looking up into her eyes.

“When you were racing … you said-you said your team’s performance was the most important thing right?”

“I always left everything I had on the course for those other girls. It was my biggest motivation.”

“But, like, what if you had to choose between yourself and the team. Like, only one of you could do well. Who would you pick?”

Mrs. Springer looked questioningly at her son. “Jimmy, you won’t have to pick. The best thing you can do to help your team is run as fast as you can-”

“But what if it wasn’t?” Jimmy said exasperated. “What if you had to pick?” He looked desperately into her confused face. She paused, studying him.

“Well … if for whatever reason I had to choose, I’d pick my team.” She said finally. Her son nodded, slightly solemnly. A short ways behind them, the hotel’s elevator doors opened up and a pack of boys dressed in blue and orange rain jackets stepped out into the lobby. Catching sight of them, Jimmy crouched to gather up his bags from his feet.

“Well, this is it.” He said, nervous energy hitting him like an unexpected punch to his stomach. He looked up into his mother’s face again. She gave him another warm beam which he did his best to match. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, Jimmy.” He began to walk away from her, heading for his teammates who had made their way to the door. Just before he was out of reach, she touched her hand gently to his shoulder, causing him to look back. “I would have picked my team, but I also think my team would have picked me.” He grinned and nodded one last time. Then, trailing the rest of his group, he exited from the hotel into the storm awaiting him just outside.

His mother, rooted to her spot on the ground, watched her son go until the van disappeared into the dark and there was nothing left at which to stare.

Jimmy Springer, October 2013

“You’re late.” Glenn Fisher said as they arrived. Matt walked lazily over, trailing Jimmy by a few seconds. The freshman had exited the car as soon as they parked and immediately made his way to the group of boys sitting on the grass ahead. “And what’s worse, you are dragging our best young runner down with you.”

Matt looked back loathingly. “Shut up, Fish. I'm not really in the mood for your crap right now.” He dropped casually to the ground alongside his teammates Dooney and Armstrong. 

“It’s not ‘crap’, Matt. We are just weeks away from the state championship and you are being a poor mentor for our impressionable young freshman.”

“Don't take yourself so seriously, Glenn,” he said with a snarl, his hands now tightly balled into fists. “You might start to think I actually care what you think of me.” They glared angrily at one another. The rest of the varsity squad sat in tense silence, unsure of how to proceed. Before either senior could escalate the fight any further, Coach Ames arrived from behind them. He was carrying an orange measuring wheel and a matching orange cone. 

The tense air still hung around them, creating an uncomfortable environment. “So what did I miss?” He said with a smile, looking around the circle. “No punches I hope? I’d hate to have missed a good fight.”

Jimmy looked across at Matt who realized his fists were still clenched. “We’re good, Coach.” He said, letting his hands relax. “Fish and I are just a little over excited about this workout.” He stared up at Glenn hoping for some support. They locked eyes for a second while Glenn deliberated. 

“Coach, Matt was late to practice today.” He kept his eyes on Ames and away from the ground where Matt had rolled his eyes and raised his arms in frustration. Coach Ames looked down at his watch to check the time. He seemed fairly unconcerned with this reported indiscretion.

“Well, I guess that means Burke is going to be our Guinea Pig for today’s workout.” He said, putting his wheel on the ground and reaching into a black and white drawstring bag for a bottle of water. “Fifteen minutes, boys. I’ll meet you at the start line.” At his command, the boys on the ground rose to their feet, a few brushing stray grass from their backsides. Then they trudged off into a jog, beginning their warm up routine.

Union Valley circled their route in near silence. Glenn ran haughtily at the front of the pack, controlling the pace, while Matt ran at the very back, looking standoffish. As Jimmy ran, he felt incredibly conscious of his position within the group. If he ran too close to the front or too close to the back, it would appear as if he was choosing a side. The other varsity runners seemed to share his concerns as they dawdled together in the middle.

Over the awkward quarter-hour, they orbited a piece of the course’s perimeter and arrived back at the start line. Coach Ames was still holding his final cone, tossing it back and forth between his hands. When his athletes appeared, he looked up for a moment, gestured at the space in front of them, and then went back to his mindless tossing. Jimmy had come to realize that was his coach’s cue for the team to begin drills and, as obedient students, the Union Valley boys wordlessly began their walking stretches and plyometrics.

Over the course of the routine, Jimmy was privy to both sides of the Fisher-Burke dispute. “He’s just upset because he’s racing so poorly,” Glenn whispered to Jimmy as they began their high-knees. “Hopefully lighting a little fire under him will get him going for districts.”

“Maybe he’ll also tell Ames how I colored outside the lines in 1^st grade,” Matt said a shortly after to Reggie Armstrong while Jimmy was doing strides nearby. “Just so we get everything out on the table.”

As Coach Ames gathered his troops to explain the assignment, Jimmy could not help but be concerned that this animosity might spill over into the workout. He waited anxiously for his commands directly opposite his teacher. Glenn stood tall to his direct left, Matt to his farthest right.

“Alright gentleman,” Ames said, addressing the group with a shrewd smile, “This is going to be a fun one.” Jimmy looked around the group. It didn’t appear as though anyone was in the mood for fun. “If you take a look behind you, you’ll see that I’ve wheeled off specific intervals and marked them with cones.” Springer squinted out from the start line. The sun had risen high above them and shined majestically across the grass. “We will be doing 5 by 1,000 meters along the exact district course. And you’ll get only a minute rest in between each rep so I suggest you pace accordingly.” There was a small stir among the circle.

“I want you to think of this like a race simulation,” Ames continued. “I expect each of you to time yourselves. We won’t be waiting for anybody else out there. Once you finish your interval, your rest begins. Once your recovery ends, you start your next 1,000. No waiting.”

“Coach,” Jimmy raised his hand awkwardly. “What if I don’t have a watch? How will I know how long to rest?”

“That’s up to you, Springer.” Ames said simply. It was clear he was not going to elaborate. Jimmy nodded nervously. “Now, as I alluded to before, there will be a little extra bit of madness thrown into the equation.” He walked around to a cone on the ground that signified the starting mark. “Burke has volunteered to be our rabbit for the opening 1,000. He’s going to help us get out aggressively. And because the state course narrows so quickly,” he placed the cone in his hands about an arm’s length from the one already on the ground, “we will be starting in between these two cones.”

The runners looked around at each other in surprise and concern. At least it’s just at the beginning, Jimmy thought to himself. We can spread ourselves out after that.

“There are a few other tight spots like this,” Coach Ames said as if he had read Jimmy’s mind. “So make sure you always run through the cones when they appear. Make sense?” His athletes begrudgingly nodded their understanding. “Good. So let’s get started. Burke, step on up.” He waved Matt forward and positioned him in-between the cones. “Scatena and Paulson.” Two of the slower runners from the team’s varsity stepped into position just behind Matt, standing side by side. The width of their shoulders was wider than the gap between the cones. “Dooney, Armstrong and Wagner,” this group was lined three across, “and then Fisher and Springer.” Jimmy and Glenn lined up last.

The way they had been organized seemed deliberately inefficient. It would take ages to negotiate the first few steps through the cones. “Everyone set?” Ames said with a small smile. He stepped back to the front of the pack and dropped his voice to speak quietly with Matt so that the rest of the runners could not hear.

Glenn shot a contemptuous look at his Coach before turning to Jimmy. “Since I’m faster, I think you should just let me go first. Rather than waste time fighting over pos-”

“GO!”

Matt took off at his coach’s command, but no one else from the team was prepared for the start. Paulson was nearly knocked over as Dooney tried to force his way through him. Glenn hopped impatiently up and down, looking ahead at the ever increasing gap between himself and the tall figure who had been clear of the madness. Eventually, the next five runners found their way through the cone and broke into their workout pace. Jimmy reacted immediately, sneaking in just after Armstrong and inadvertently elbowing Glenn in the chest, therefore beating him through the opening.

Frustrated, Fisher sprinted madly during the opening stretch, weaving through his slower teammates and making a b-line straight for Matt. Conversely, Jimmy tried to control himself. He too was aggravated, but this workout sounded incredibly difficult. Wasting his energy now would be costly by reps four and five. Gradually, he passed his teammates, using a well-timed surge to circumvent Reggie Armstrong just before another narrow set of cones.

By the end of the first 1,000 meters, Glenn had somehow caught up to Matt and opened up about a two second advantage. Jimmy finished his interval another three seconds back from the top two finishers. One by one, the Union Valley runners slowed to a stand-still and took their minute’s worth of rest. Then, in seemingly the blink of an eye, Glenn was off and running again, beginning his second interval. Matt followed him shortly thereafter. Jimmy looked around as if expecting someone to tell him to begin. Armstrong stepped up beside him and toed the line, still slightly out of breadth.

“What are you waiting for, Springer?” he said annoyed, before he and Dooney took off like their fellow seniors before them. With a pit of dread in his stomach, Jimmy remembered he was supposed to time his own rest. Cursing under his breath, he followed quickly, making up ground in a blur. Realizing how his panic had affected his tempo, he steadied himself with a deep, calming breath.

He reached the 2k mark about the same distance behind Matt as his previous stop, but Glenn was opening up a fairly significant advantage. In an instant, he was done his recovery period and racing toward the 3k mark. This time, Jimmy didn’t wait around for someone to yell at him. As soon as Matt made his move up the starting line, he followed in his wake and copied his stance before they took off together.

“You’re … losing some rest … doing that,” Matt said as they ran side by side. Jimmy held up his bare wrist in response. The senior nodded his acknowledgement. The duo approached another narrow section of the course and both sprinted hard to try and get there first. But Jimmy was just a step quicker, he slipped through the gap and didn’t look back. With another deep breath, he focused his attention ahead. He debated internally whether his tempo was quick enough to begin a comeback against the leader. At the very least, the gap between himself and Glenn was not expanding.

At the 3k, Jimmy estimated he was about 10 seconds away from Fisher. However, he had also opened up a nearly equal advantage on Matt who was fading quickly. This left the freshman squarely in the middle. And still without a watch. Glenn stood at the line, watching carefully as the runners started to trickle in behind him. When his minute neared its end, without a word to anyone, he sprang into position to start his fourth interval. Jimmy made to follow him, but Matt grabbed his arm.

“10 more seconds,” he said softly.

“Is that your rest or mine?” Jimmy replied, noticing the relative strength in his own voice.

“Yours … I timed us both.” They waited in silence as the seconds ticked idly by, Springer itching to recommence his chase. “Alright, get ready … go …”

Jimmy launched himself into the attack. His legs were beginning to feel heavy and his previously rhythmic breathing was breaking down. He tried to distract himself, keeping his eyes ahead on the tall figure of Glenn Fisher. Despite his struggle, Jimmy could tell that Glenn was hurting worse. Although it wasn’t happening as quickly as he wanted it to, he was still chipping away at the ten second advantage his teammate had previously held. He approached a sharp turn into a hill and attacked, taking a quick look back over his shoulder for Matt. A gap had opened between them, enough that Matt wouldn’t be able to split his watch and help time Jimmy’s rest. I guess I have to catch Glenn then.

The fourth rep was by far the hardest, his body weakening with each step. But once he could see the cones that signified the end of his interval, he sprinted as hard as he could to get to the line. He was determined to make up as much ground as possible now. He knew, during the last rep, he would have the extra adrenaline of racing Glenn head to head. This was the stretch that he had to push himself.

By his estimate, he had closed the gap down to just three or four seconds by the time he had reached 4,000 meters of hard running. Glenn leaned over, his hands on his knees, his lungs fighting for air. When Jimmy hit the line, the senior looked up startled. It was clear he had not expected anyone to be following him this closely so late in the workout. The two stood beside one another without speaking a word. The only sound to pierce the air was the labored breathing of the runners, which grew in volume as more teammates joined the throng.

This section of the course was relatively secluded, with trees surrounding them on all sides. It made Jimmy feel oddly primal as he watched Glenn, his competitive instincts seeping into his thoughts, contorting his positive opinion of the captain into bitter rivalry. Negative thoughts that he had previously shoved aside were willingly brought out of hiding and thrown onto the fires of motivation.

Glenn looked down at his watch and positioned himself in between the next set of cones. Jimmy stepped up just beside him and crouched into a matching starting position. After a few seconds watching his wrist, Glenn took off to begin his final interval. Without hesitation, Jimmy followed, pinning himself to Fisher’s shoulder. He felt unexpectedly strong. You can do this … You can beat him …

After a stretch of patiently waiting, Springer decided to make his bid for the lead. He took a few hard steps and inched himself ahead. Seeing this surge, Glenn put his head down and made a hard sprint of his own, taking back the lead and pushing to try and reopen a gap. Without the energy to respond in earnest, Jimmy clung as best he could to the response, hoping to gather himself for a counterattack at the right moment.

With about 400 meters left, the moment presented itself. A final set of tight cones were positioned just ahead of a small, wooded patch of trail. With both runners still stride for stride, the narrow path would slow the momentum of whoever hit the gap second. Making up his mind, Jimmy decided his best chance would be to use everything he had to start his sprint now and get to the cones first. Once through, he would need to hope he had enough in the tank to maintain that effort until the finish line.

Gritting his teeth and pumping his arms, he changed gears and began to power away from Glenn. His opponent fought him for the first few meters, but could not match his top end speed. Gradually, Jimmy began to pull away as they made a small turn and approached the cones. He powered through and continued his furious charge for the finish. Completing the turn, he could see the final cones up ahead of him at the end of the straightaway.

Thud. Behind him, he thought he hurt a dull crashing sound, but he was too deliriously tired to process what it could mean. The few particles of energy he could devout to his brain were all focused on getting to the end of the course as fast as possible. And so he sprinted on without so much as a look back.

Jimmy Springer, November 1^st, 2013

The rain fell steadily from the sky. Jimmy wouldn’t describe it as a storm (there was no thunder or lightening), but it was also far worse than just a modest mist. The course was marred with puddles and the simple act of walking to the team tent splashed mud across his pants. As he approached the shelter, Jimmy lowered his hood and reviewed his surroundings. There were few athletes out in the open. Most were packed together under cover.

One of the few braver, or perhaps more desperate, runners, passed by the opening of the tent so that Jimmy could get a good look at his expression. He looked positively miserable. Pressing forward, the wind whipped water droplets into the boy’s face. He scrunched his nose and lifted his arm in defense. Then, just as the tent began to obscure him from view, he took an awkward step and slipped on a patch of grass. He wobbled for balance and stumbled forward. Fortunately, he was able to keep on his feet. Jimmy could hear the boy swear in frustration as he disappeared out of sight.

Jimmy smiled to himself and looked around the tent to see if anyone else had caught this moment of despair. Most of the Union Valley runners looked just as defeated as the sliding passerby, staring blankly at the rainy landscape. But from the opposite side of the tent, he heard a small chuckle. Jimmy locked eyes with Matt Burke and the two smiled at each other for a moment. Then, in a flash, their expressions became stoic and their eyes darted in opposing directions.

Behind Jimmy, Glenn Fisher was huddled in the corner tapping absentmindedly at the screen on his iPod. Springer turned to look back at the senior. He looked slightly panicked, now ripping his headphones from the socket and fidgeting maniacally with the wires.

“Stupid rain,” he muttered to himself, “I think my headphones short circuited.”

“Here,” Jimmy reached into his pocket and tossed his own pair across to Glenn. “Just use these.” Relief stretched across Fisher’s face.

“Thanks!” He plugged them in hastily and quickly became re-consumed by his music. Watching him, Jimmy’s mind flashed back to the bus ride to his first invitational.  

Did you say something? Glenn’s voiced echoed in his ear. Sorry, I kinda have a pre-race music routine …

Jimmy had been so anxious during that drive. Forced to sit alone with his thoughts, he had worked himself into a fuss. If he had been left in solitude much longer, his first trip to Hershey would have played out quite differently.

You looked pretty bored over here by yourself. Thought you could use a little company. A different voice reverberated inside his head. He glanced vaguely to the opposite side of the tent. But the man he was looking for wasn’t there. Instead, Thomas Dooney sat in his spot, plugged into some music of his own. Jimmy looked back out of the tent, checking the immediate perimeter. When his initial search gleamed nothing, he rose to his feet and stepped out into the rain for the first time since their arrival.

Jimmy Springer, October 2013

After a seemingly endless struggle, he triumphantly crossed the finish line. It was the first time he had ever beaten Glenn in anything. Even on easy days, Glenn had made sure he was the first one to complete the run, sometimes wildly surging over the final few meters. Matt had always found this particularly annoying. Cross Country is 90% mental, Glenn would say and Matt would reply, Yeah … and the other 90% is physical.

As Jimmy turned around to look back at the finishing straightaway behind him, he saw the two ideals collide. Glenn was practically crawling toward the finish line. He would run a few steps and then his legs would waiver, causing him to lose his balance and fall to his knees. On all fours, he would continue desperately forward before pushing himself upright and repeating the process. Jimmy gasped and rushed forward to try and help his friend across the line. As he got closer, he could see beads of water dripping down Glenn’s face: a mixture of tears and sweat.

“Are you alright?!” He asked anxiously, “Here, let me help you.” He stooped toward the ground and extended his arm as support. But Glenn looked at him with disgust.

“Get away from me!” he said with such contempt that Jimmy took a cautious step backwards. Behind him the other runners were beginning to come into view. Matt was first to arrive, pulling up in confusion as he reached the curious scene.

“What the hell’s going on?” he asked breathlessly, looking from Glenn, seated angrily on the ground, to Jimmy standing over him surprised.

“He pushed me down!” Glenn exclaimed furiously.

“No I-” Jimmy tried to interject defiantly, but Fisher cut across him.

“When we went through the last stretch of tight cones, he just knocked me to the ground.” He pointed back down the trail. The rest of the runners were now approaching and stopping to see what the commotion was about. Half exhausted from the workout, they trotted slowly forward, creating a circle around the scene. Glenn was still on the ground, wincing and clutching at his leg while Jimmy turned fearfully in all directions.

“I … I didn’t think I did … I thought I was clear …” he said, unsure of himself. He looked desperately at Matt for reassurance. “You saw it, right?”

“Well, not exactly. The tree was sort of in my way. Jimmy’s heart fell as Matt looked back sadly. However, he quickly turned to the freshman’s defense, “But it wouldn’t surprise me if Fisher was just making things up because he lost.”

“And I’m sure you are completely unbiased.” Glenn replied bitterly. He pushed himself to his feet, limping slightly on his right leg.

“Don’t be such a baby-”

Glenn ignored Matt’s retort and instead looked at Jimmy. “You need to learn to keep your competitive spirits in check,” he said condescendingly, “You’re not being a very good teammate by playing dirty just to get ahead.”

Jimmy looked around at the concentrated faces now surrounding him. The entire team had arrived and most, based only on a preliminary scan, seemed to be leaning in favor of the senior over the “hot shot freshman”. Lurking a few feet outside the circle, Coach Ames was watching curiously. He seemed content to listen quietly and let his athletes settle this recent row.

After a moment of contemplative silence, Jimmy nodded guiltily. “Sorry, Glenn.”

“You got to be kidding me, Fish!” Matt burst out angrily. “Are you really this much of an ass?!”

“Always out to get me, aren’t you? Looking for any excuse to gang up on me, even if you are wrong.”

“Wrong? You just bullied him into thinking he’s wrong! All because you can’t stand to lose!”

“Really? Who is it that can’t stand to lose? Who is it that’s a bully? You’ve been manipulating the kid for as long as he’s been on the team! And all the while struggling to even match times from your sophomore season. So I think we know who the bitter loser is.” Glenn began to hobble off in the direction of the start line. Matt made a move to lunge forward after him, but Dooney grabbed him around the waist and pulled back. Glenn seemed not to notice.

“Jimmy and I were there-we can settle this without you and your ulterior motives getting in the way. You coming, Jimmy?” He looked back over his shoulder. Matt looked at Jimmy in exasperation. The freshman looked back confused and upset. Then, he turned away from Burke and jogged slowly after Glenn Fisher, extending his arm once again to support his injured captain. The rest of the team followed in his shadow, leaving Matt standing alone in the middle of the field, watching the aftermath of his losing battle begin.

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