Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Ben Havleck, April 2016

Ever since I could remember … Everything inside of me … Just wanted to fit in (oh, oh, oh, oh) … I was never one for pretenders … Everything I tried to be … Just wouldn’t settle in (oh, oh, oh, oh) …

Ben turned down the volume slightly on the radio. Cautiously, he turned into the driveway, put the car in park and then felt around in his pockets for his phone. Finding it on his left side, he reached down into his pants and pulled it out. He stared down at its screen, focused on the contact list, flipping through names. The door opposite him opened and a man entered, but Ben didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he pressed the call button, having finally happened across the name he had sought. He put the phone to his ear and looked up for the first time since his arrival.

“Hello,” the man next to him said, purposefully answering the phone. Ben shuttered violently in fearful surprise and dropped his phone beneath the driver’s seat.

“Geez, you scared the crap out of me …” he replied, fumbling under the chair. “How did you get in here without me noticing?”

“Because you text like my grandma,” Neal returned humorously. “It takes all of her focus just to press the buttons, too.” He pulled out his own phone, as Ben emerged victoriously holding his.

“It’s harder than you think,” he said slightly embarrassed, yet smiling. “It’s not one of those new phones with the ‘touch screens’ and ‘automatic correct’.”

Neal snatched the phone from Ben’s hand. While holding his iPhone in his right hand and scrolling through the screen, he typed quickly with his left onto Ben’s. Without looking at it once, he passed the older flip phone back to Ben. “How’d I do?”

Ben looked down at the screen and read aloud, “I’m going to ignore the fact that you just said ‘automatic correct’, because I don’t want it to ruin our kick abs night tonight”

“Dang. One letter away”

     

Ben walked over to his backpack and sat on the ground beside it. He carefully unlaced his blue training shoes and slipped them off his feet. He let out a deep breath and took a swig from his water bottle, which was nearly empty. He tossed it aside gently, letting it fall on the turf with a dull thud. Carefully, he removed his spikes from their bag and gently slipped them onto his bare feet. Pulling each section of laces in order, he tightened the racing shoes until they fit snugly. A rush of adrenaline hit him and he let out another steadying breath. Standing up, he bounced twice on the balls of his feet before launching himself into the air and raising his knees as close as he could to his face. He felt springy and confident.

“Gooo Ben!” A small girl cried out from the stands. Her two parents laughed and smiled down at the infield as their son beamed back. He flashed them a brief wave before turning toward one of the field goal posts a few feet away. Here, he held onto the base of the post for balance and swung his left leg back and forth.

Another boy wandered over to join him, sporting a pair of black tights and a dark blue t-shirt. He seemed quiet and nervous, similar to Ben, and mimicked his swinging on the post. They exchanged a curt nod before each switching legs.

Wait a minute, Ben thought. He looked back up and saw his own thoughts mirrored in the face of the boy across from him.

“Peanut?” the boy said, smiling broadly. He removed his hand from the post and extended it.

“What’s up, Sean,” Ben responded, returning the grin. He took his friend’s hand as they pulled each other together for a brief embrace. “You running this 2 mile?”

“Yeah man, are you?” the boy named Sean responded, now stretching his left arm across his chest.

Ben nodded. “Yeah, I’m in Heat 2, how ‘bout you?”

A moment of shock flicked across Sean’s face, but he recovered quickly. “Me too man. I guess we get to race again!” He said still grinning and now switching arms. They stood briefly facing each other, each somewhat surprised to run into an old friend at this sudden moment. “You know a bunch of the other West guys are here too, I’m sure they’d be psyched to see you.” He nodded back over his left shoulder at a patch of grass just outside the fence. “We post up out there. You should come by after the race and stuff.”

“Yeah definitely, man.” They each started to walk in opposite directions, preparing to finish up the last details of their warm up routine. “Good luck!”

“You too, Peanut.”

“Pull in here. There’s a back lot that nobody uses.” Neal directed Ben from the passenger seat. He flipped on his turn signal and set course down a side street in between a pair of apartment buildings.  “Yeah, just go right in there.” He pointed at a small lot with a few older-looking cars parked close to the left apartments.

“How far is the field from here?” Ben asked as he navigated into a spot in the center. He put the car into park and raised the windows, using a small manual crank on his door.

“It’s not super close-maybe a couple minutes,” Neal responded, opening his door and stepping out of the car. “I assume you of all people don’t mind walking a little bit?” He smiled at Ben who had also emerged from the car. They shut their doors almost in unison and turned north, Neal leading the way. The sun shined brightly down on their path. Neal pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and placed them on.

“Here, cut up through this,” Neal turned right and began to climb a hill towards a small stretch of trees. Behind the leaves, Ben could heard a small bit of cheering. But the source was obscured from view. “Now I hate myself for doing this,” Neal continued, brushing aside a particularly large branch as they began to crest the hill. The volume of the cheering was getting louder now. “But I figured you might want to check this out before we head to the game.”

As the pair moved through the last stretch of trees, Ben saw a dark red oval, surrounded by a short gray chain-linked fence. A pack of men were traversing the perimeter of the field as a tiny group of supportive fans urged them on. With a surprised smile, Ben looked at Neal who shrugged. “I saw they had a home meet on the schedule,” he said as they made their way to the fence’s edge. “This is supposed to be the ‘10,000 meters’.”

“They race 10ks in college?” Ben said excitedly. He looked out at the runners grinding around the track. He followed them as they passed by the finish line and watched the lap counter tick from 12 to 11.

“I figured, 25 laps around the track? Sounds like Ben’s kinda Friday night.”

The lead pack was made up of about seven at this point with a few others fading from the back. Pain was etched across some faces as they looked up at the runners ahead longingly. Ben split his watch carefully as the first runner crossed the finish line. The stop watch feature sprang to life and the seconds began to flash across the screen. He wanted to estimate the pace at which the competitors were running, trying to compare it to his own racing effort.

75-76, that’s-what-5 minute pace? … So maybe 15:40s for 5k, he calculated quickly in his head. As they approached his section of fence, he carefully examined the expression on each runner’s face. A few that had looked promising earlier were now fading hard, while other former stragglers were making encouraging surges back through the ranks.

Ben looked intently at his watch for each lap, even tracking the one thousand meter splits produced every two and half times around. Neal seemed more amused watching Ben than the race. As one runner with a thick dark brown beard surged to the front, Ben gave a barely audible cheer of excitement, causing Neal to break his silence and laugh.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever understand your fascination with running in circles …” Neal said smiling at Ben, who was blushing slightly, but still diligently calculating each runner’s splits.

“To be fair, you’re taking me to a baseball game,” he said, still not breaking eye contact with the track. “It’s pretty much the same thing. Except they only sometimes run in circles.”

Neal smiled and turned his attention away from Ben and toward the race. “Give me some insight here,” he said watching as one of the trailing runners passed at a slow crawl, looking incredibly fatigued and strained. “Where’s the strategy? What’s the nuance?”

“Well,” Ben began matter-of-factly, “See this guy?” He pointed at the bearded man controlling the pace, “He’s putting down a surge- that’s, like, speeding up the pace-to try and tire out the rest of the field for the sprint to the finish.”

“So he’s running as fast as he can? Seems like the optimal strategy …”

“It’s mainly about timing.” Ben pressed on unperturbed, “If he puts too much energy into the surge, he’ll have nothing left for the end. But if he waits, then somebody who has better sprinting speed will go by him on the last straightaway.” There were now two runners who had separated themselves from the field as the clear leaders. The bearded runner and another, slightly taller and lankier fellow. The trailing runner looked comfortable and at ease, despite the surge. The bearded runner’s face was determined and stoic, but there was also a layer of strain poking through when his concentration lapsed.

“This guy in second here,” Ben pointed as the runners came by for the penultimate time, “looks like he’s sitting on the dude in first.”

“Uh, sitting?”

“He’s kind of, drafting off him. Letting him do all the work because it takes more energy to lead than to follow. Then at the end,” the officials rang the bell to signal the final lap of the race as the boy in second charged past into first, “He’ll sprint away.” He finished frustrated.

“Why do you sound so upset?” Neal remarked as the lanky runner began gliding away from the former leader on the back straightaway, “Seems like he’s going pretty fast!” He clapped and cheered as the runner came sprinting around the turn.

“Because it’s lame. He didn’t even try and help the other guy make it fast. He just rested until the end.”

“But he’s gonna win isn’t he? I thought the goal was to win …”

“There’s more than one way to win,” Ben said sourly, watching the bearded man cross the line in second and crumble into a heap on the ground. “C’mon,” he said now turning and walking away from the track, “We’re gonna be late for the baseball game.”

“We’re gonna be really late if we walk that way.” Ben turned around, half frustrated and half amused. Neal returned a broad toothy grin. “Cheer up, kid. I promised you a kick abs time, and you’re gonna get it.”

Ben fidgeted with his dark maroon jersey, tucking it carefully into a pair of short black shorts. He taped a white and black sticker of the number eleven onto his left leg and placed an identical one on his chest. Then he jogged slowly over to the starting line, joining the string of runners preparing to start the race. He was greeted with a polite nod from the athlete to his left. None of the faces looked very familiar to him, but he wasn’t expecting them to. It had been years since he had last raced at Coatesville High School.

Scanning the upper stagger, a line of the top four seeds, Ben found Sean, sporting a dark blue and white singlet and a number three sticker. Two spots to Sean’s left was a tall, imposing figure with a blue and orange jersey. Ben thought he had recognized him from pictures of the indoor state meet that had been posted online at VaniaRunning.com.

The back row of runners all had their unique, individual pre-race ticks. Some would slap their legs, others would jump up and down. One boy was even hitting himself in the face and muttering profanities under his breath. For whatever reason, Ben felt calm and self-assured. He could feel his parents’ and sister’s positive energy from just a few feet away in the stands and it gave him a little extra spark.

The sun had set now, leaving the air cool and comfortable. A set of towering stadium lights illuminated the surface below. About half way down the bend, an official hoisted a starter’s pistol into the air, paused and then fired one sharp blast into the night. The crowd erupted, matching the intensity of the previous shot as the runners sprinted into the first turn.

Ben calmly drifted to the back of the pack. In a field of this size, he was not interested in fighting for position with his limited foot speed and slight frame. There were eight laps available for him to move through the 18-man field. As he jogged comfortably down the back stretch, he was greeted by a wave of cheers from the inside of the track. Runners who had raced earlier in the meet had come out in droves to support the last competitors of the night, urging them on wildly from inches away. Specific sounds were essentially imperceptible to Ben at this stage; it was simply a wave of noise that washed over him, sending energy through his body.

Patience, Ben. He thought to himself, continuing to hold position at the back of the pack. He didn’t want to let himself get caught up in the aggressive early pace driven on by the legion of screaming fans and the hype surrounding the meet’s signature event. As he hit the line, finishing lap one, he caught a quick glimpse of the clock, determining his first split was about 71 seconds. The lead pack was nearly ten seconds ahead, controlled by the runner in blue and orange sporting the number one stickers. Sean was near the front as well, in around 4^th or 5^th, looking smooth and graceful, even at the fast pace.

Ben ran the second lap in a similar pace, finding a consistent rhythm to his stride. Although he could feel the gap between himself and the leaders continuing to expand, his confidence in his strategy did not waver. However, it didn’t sound as though his parents were quite so at ease. As he came through the second lap, he could hear both of them urging him to move up, a small note of panic in their voice. He resisted the impulse to give them a wink or a thumbs up. Something to calm them down. They’ll have to be surprised.

As the race continued, Ben cut his pace down ever so slightly. One by one, he picked off the runners in the field. His curls bounced wildly around his head as he picked up steam, gaining momentum from each pass. A few other students in the crowd had seemed to notice his surge as well. He caught a glimpse of some hands pointed in his direction and random cheers for “maroon kid” were peppering the air.

By the time he hit three laps to go, he had moved up to 5^th place from his humble beginnings at 18^th. And was still feeling strong. He had run nearly perfectly even splits and, although he was beginning to feel his form break and his breathing weaken, Ben was confident that he was in better shape than the ragged looking runners trying to keep pace with him.

The man in blue and orange was well clear of the field now, running alone and running very fast. He seemed like an unattainable goal. But second was definitely possible. And second was Downingtown West’s Sean O’Neill. Ben grit his teeth and let his head droop for a second, before charging on, moving up another spot as he approached the final kilometer of racing. Fans were now jumping up and down cheering for him when he passed, the first wave of observers recruiting their friends to join in on the fun. People love to root for the underdog.

As he concluded his 6^th lap, he could feel his head starting to roll. The spit was flying from his mouth and the familiar burning in his legs was back. But Sean O’Neill was just a few inches away. The crowd was on its feet screaming their approval, but his family’s cries were no longer distinguishable in his fatigued state. Ben’s teeth clenched fiercely again as he tried to bite through the pain.

600 to go now. It was time to make another surge, but his body was fighting him. He had to break down the mental walls as well as the physical ones. Ben fixated on the blue jersey in front of him and tried to embrace the frantic cheering to his left. The students were practically on the track now, waving their arms in wide circles and shouting unintelligible words of encouragement. His head drooped forward and then whipped back as he forced himself into a hard surge into the turn, moving directly onto the shoulder of second place.

Together they both came off the turn for the penultimate time and Ben swung wide to make his bid for second. The bell was already ringing to indicate the leader was beginning his final lap, but Ben was in a different race. As he advanced in front, Sean looked to his right. He recognized Ben immediately and put his head down to try and hold him off, but he didn’t have enough momentum to keep the edge.

Ben couldn’t register anything going on around him beyond Sean’s position. And with 400 to go, thanks to his struggle, he held about a second advantage. With his body screaming and his head on fire, Ben threw himself as best he could down the back stretch, yet he could feel his opposition closing back in, mounting a counterattack.

At 200 to go, it was Sean’s turn to try for the pass, moving to the outside and getting the slight edge over his opposition. Ben countered as best he could, trying to force Sean to stay wide. He could feel his head swingy wildly now, but he was long past the point where he could control his body efficiently. They turned into the straightaway, side-by-side, sprinting now as fast as they possibly could.

Ben couldn’t remember wanting anything more than he wanted to beat Sean. He was sprinting as fast as he had ever sprinted, gritting his teeth and forcing his feet forward into the track. Despite his best efforts, he could feel O’Neill inching ahead of him. But Ben fought feverishly to keep pace, pumping furiously. His mind was a blur, his thoughts barely decipherable in his own head. The only thing he understood was that he was going to die if he kept this up. This seemed like a worthwhile reason to die.

Driving with one last ditch effort, Ben sprinted through the last 20 meters and found one previously undiscovered gear. It was a gear that his Downingtown counterpart could not match and, in a fit of agony and pleasure, he crossed the line and crumbled in a heap onto his back.

“See now that’s called a strike out.”

“I know what a strike out is …” Ben smiled, eyebrows raised. He and the crowd clapped in support of their pitcher as he prepared for the next batter in the order.

“You can ignore him, Ben. Neal’s the king of striking out anyway.”

“I learned everything I know from you, Bryn.”

The man called Bryn put his arm around the woman to his right. “You must have skipped a class or two.”

It was warm, but not oppressive. The air was still without any recognizable wind. As each pitch hit the catcher’s mitt, it echoed beautifully through the anticipatory silence. The stadium was about half filled with fans, mainly students, sporting dark maroon t-shirts.

Neal lounged comfortably in the stands, stretching his legs onto the empty bench below him. His left sandal was dangling precariously from his foot. His elbows supported him as he leaned backward, resting on the open seats behind him.

To his right sat Bryn, discussing one of the players on the field with the woman who sat next to him. He pointed in the direction of the left fielder, holding a water bottle in the same hand, and mentioned something about an economics class. The woman nodded with interest, looking in the direction he point her. She had introduced herself as Colleen and was later (privately) identified by Neal as Bryn’s recently acquired girlfriend. She was friendly, but quiet, willingly defaulting to the excitable personalities of the boys around her.

Sitting a row below his friends, a man the others had called Jared was focused intently on the pitcher. He followed the ball as it soared from arm to plate, breaking low into the dirt. The batter, wearing yellow and black, swung and missed, prompting Jared to clap politely. He turned to Neal, asking something about the pitcher’s number of strike outs. Neal replied simply, letting his gaze drift momentarily from the game before flicking back toward the pitcher.

Ben sat to Neal’s left, quietly observing this group of new acquaintances. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses which Neal had recently given to him after noticing his strained expression. To then compensate for the absence of his own shades, Neal had stolen the hat from Jared’s head a half inning later.

This was Ben’s first encounter with Neal’s friends from college. He hadn’t had many chances to be social since his move to the area. His only friend from high school was PJ Danielson who was typically very focused on academics and independent research projects on the weekend. Neal was practically a different species in comparison. Having grown friendly with Ben at the Barnes and Noble’s bookstore where they each worked, Neal had invited Ben out to Bloomsburg’s home baseball game against Millersville. An invitation which Ben tentatively accepted.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Neal. Quite the contrary: he found him funny and easy to talk to.  At work, when it was essentially just the two of them, they had shared their fair share of laughs. The problem was, he felt that he was closer to the PJ species than the Neal species. He wasn’t sure he was cool enough to fit in with his older friend. Or his older friend’s friends. And his lack of confidence had manifested itself in shy silence through the first five and a half innings.

“What’s that seven now?!” Jared asked as the Bloomsburg players trotted off the field to end the inning following yet another strike out. The crowd had risen to their feet to applaud them.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” Bryn said, sounding impressed. “Three in a row that inning.”

After a moment, they returned to their seats and Bryn turned his attention to Ben. “So, Ben what do you think of Bloomsburg baseball?” he opened his arms widely as if presenting the stadium as the final piece of a magic trick. Colleen smiled and rolled her eyes.

“It’s … um … pretty cool-you’re pitcher’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, he was first team all PSAC last year.” Jared replied enthusiastically.

“In case you’re wondering why he’s wetting his pants with excitement,” Neal whispered quietly, leaning towards Ben, “it’s because that’s his roommate.” Ben flashed him a covert grin.

“In the game last week …” Jared continued, apparently unaware of Neal’s commentary, discussing the previous victory for the pitcher (whose name, Ben was informed, was Charles Woods). The story dragged through the first batter of the inning, who walked on five pitches. He dropped his bat and trotted easily down the first base line.

“And I’d just like to reiterate the guy’s name is ‘Chuck Woods’. I feel like there has to be a joke there somewhere people.” Neal said as Jared finished up his story. Bryn and Ben laughed while Jared’s expression sat halfway between a smile and a scowl.

“So what do you think here, Jared, would you try and pull a hit and run here?” Bryn asked as the next batter stepped up to the plate. Ben recognized him as the shorter, speedy player positioned at shortstop.

“With nobody out? No, why risk the double play?”

“I just feel like we need to get something going. The line-up looks a little flat tonight and we gotta find something to spark us.” Bryn leaned backwards to speak to Ben, “What do you think short-stop?”

“Well, I’d bunt it down the third base line,” Ben said confidently. “The third baseman doesn’t have much of an arm and Garcia is quick enough to put pressure on him to speed up his mechanics. At the very least, you’ve got a good chance of advancing the runner, but I think you could also squeeze out an infield hit or a throwing error.”

There was a general murmur of surprised agreement followed by an awkward silence. No one was quite prepared for such a thorough response. And no one had a sophisticated enough reply to warrant a follow up point. Ben squirmed slightly, uncomfortable with the hush.

“Short-stop … why didn’t I think of that,” Neal muttered under his breath, breaking the quiet for the first time. The group chuckled as they turned their attention back to the batter. After taking the first two pitches, which were high and outside, he had taken a big swing and miss on the third toss. That brought the count to two balls and one strike.

“Runner going!” Jared shouted as the pitcher began his wind up for the fourth time. The runner on first base was taking off toward second at full speed. Meanwhile the shortstop at the plate had lowered his bat parallel to the base below, dropping a carefully placed bunt down the third base line and taking off to first. It was a slow grounder and, thanks to the runner’s head start, the third baseman had no play at second. So, sprinting in to grab the rolling baseball, he turned his attention towards first base.

It was going to be a tough throw, especially with the bunter, Garcia, moving so swiftly down the first base line. The opposing third baseman forced the throw, moving awkwardly to his right and not stepping into his motion. The ball lacked momentum and skipped violently towards the first baseman. He tried to scoop the ball into his glove with a backhanded maneuver, but his heroics were too ambitious. Instead the ball scooted past his outstretched arm and rolled up against the first base stands. The runners advanced to second and third on the error, giving Bloomsburg two runners in scoring position.

The fans in the crowd rose to their feet cheering ecstatically. Bryn turned quickly to Ben and gave him a hard high five that made his hand burn slightly. But in a good way. Meanwhile Jared grabbed Ben by the back of his shoulders, nearly hopping with excitement.

“That was sick, Ben! Nice call!”

“Yeah, how did you do that?”

“Uh-I don’t know. I used to watch a lot of baseball with my Dad. So I picked up a thing or two.”

“Hell ya, you did!” Bryn said, getting to his feet, “Neal, switch places with me for a bit. I want to talk more to the baseball savant you brought with you.”

Neal rose as well, maneuvering around his friend, “That’s cool, Colleen and I could use some time to catch up.”

“Save the gossiping for your slumber party, screw-ball,” Colleen said jokingly, getting to her feet as well and climb back a row. She walked to her left and sat behind Bryn. “I’m trying to talk baseball.”

“She’s a keeper, Bryn.” Neal said, now standing alone and smiling on the outside of the circle. “Her nicknames need some work though.”

“Heyyy, there he is!”

“Go Ben!”

Ben sheepishly walked over to his family, giving a small wave of recognition and a matching smile. He had just finished a short, post-race cool down run and was back in warm clothes. “Thanks for coming guys! And thanks for cheering so loudly for me Cayley.” He said sweetly, stooping down to give his baby sister a hug and a kiss.

“It’s 3 hours past my bed time and I’m not even tired!” She replied excitedly. Ben rose to his full height and gave his parents a slightly guilty look. But his mother only beamed.

“Oh, she’ll sleep the whole ride home,” she said swatting the air with her hand. “What did you think of the race? Did you hear us? We’re so proud of you!” She pulled him into an excited hug, skewing his blue and gray knit hit from its position on his head.

“Yeah, I heard you guys for sure.” He said excitedly. “I had my best race of my life thanks to you.” A broad grin had found its way onto his face. His time, 9 minutes and 24 seconds, was a massive personal record. Previously, he had never covered the full two mile distance under 10 minutes.

“That was some race, son,” Ben’s father said as he took his turn in the congratulations. He pulled his oldest in close to his chest. “We were worried about you in the beginning. You were waaay in the back.”

“And then you just starting passing all those people and we were going crazy!” Mrs. Havleck chimed in. “You’ve always been such a smart boy.”

“Just a gutsy run. You’ve got twice the heart of all these kids.”

Ben blushed, but continued to smile. It had been almost a year since his parents last had the chance to watch him race. It hit him just how much he had missed having them there for support. And it looked as if they had missed watching him just as much.

“Ben, was that kid Sean O-”

“Mom,” Ben said in a frustrated whisper, scanning his perimeter. “Voice down please.”

“Oh, sorry honey … Was that kid you were racing Sean O’Neill? You know from Downingtown West?”

“Yeah that was him, I talked to him a little before the race.”

“He’s gotten so much older since you boys went to school together. Does he have a little facial hair on his chin now?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t inspect him,” he replied, with just a twinge of annoyance. “Why wouldn’t he? I’ve got some chin hair too.”

“Sure you do honey.”

Although he rolled his eyes, Ben couldn’t help but continue to smile. It seemed plastered onto his face.

“He used to beat you pretty consistently right?” Mr. Havleck said, picking up on the discretionary tone more quickly than his wife.

“Yeah, he did. Every race.” Ben paused, his grin nearly splitting his face in pieces now. “So I was kinda out there gunning for him.”

“You should have seen his face when you went past him the first time, it was great-”

“We all know Ben’s really fast, so can we just go home now please?” Cayley cut in. She had sat back down on the closest bleacher and was rubbing her eyes.

“We’ll talk more on the drive,” Ben’s father replied, turning to his youngest. “C’mon sweetie, I’ll take you up to the car.” Mr. Havleck scooped up his daughter and began to walk away from the track. “You know she’s starting to get kinda heavy.” He muttered to his family as they departed.

“I heard that!” Cayley exclaimed from over his shoulder. Ben and his mother laughed for a moment, before the latter turned to leave as well. Ben checked over his shoulder in the direction of the Downingtown West camp Sean had pointed out earlier, noticing the final few members of the team were packing up the tent.

“I’ll catch up, Mom? I just want to say bye to the guys,” he pointed back over his shoulder with his thumb.

His mother murmured her approval but otherwise did not break stride. “Just don’t take too long, or you’ll have two sleeping girls to carry into the house.”

“Thanks ma,” And he jogged off around the fence, trying to catch his old teammates before they left. “Yo Sean!” He called as the last runner turned to walk out to the parking lot. The boy turned around at the sound of his name.

“Yo, Peanut!” He paused in his tracks to wait for Ben. “Awesome race man.”

“Thanks dude you too,” Havleck replied. He tried to extend his hand, but Sean’s were full. The two awkwardly tried to maneuver for the shake but struggled to create the space.

“You know what, screw this,” He threw his bags on the ground and pulled Ben into yet another hug. “That was one heck of a race. I tried everything, but I couldn’t pull away. You’re in sick shape dude.”

“Thanks, you guys are too. That was a PR for you, right?”

“Yeah, by like 10 seconds haha. You too?”

“Yeah … by like 50 or so …”

Sean staggered backward, mouth agape in over exaggerated surprise. “Are you serious right now? How is that even possible?”

Ben shrugged, “I haven’t really run it all out in a while, I guess.”

BEEP! BEEP!

The horn of a van parked on the edge of the lot went off, causing both boys to jump.

“That’s my ride,” Sean said, scrambling to gather up his belongings. “They’re probably pissed I held them up so long.”

“Who all is in the van?” Ben asked curiously, looking carefully across at the tinted windows.

“Oh it’s uh Jake … Josh … Quinn … You know what-come with me for a sec.” And he nodded his head toward the van, breaking into a jog. Ben followed along eagerly in his wake. As they got closer, he could hear screaming and banging on the windows. Finally someone pulled open the door and a trio of runners stormed out to greet them. All three wrapped him up into a fierce bear hug that nearly knocked him off his feet.

When he recovered from the impact, he got a chance to take his first good look at each of them. It had been almost a year since he moved from Downingtown to Bloomsburg and each friend had changed slightly from their days as teammates, yet they were each easily recognizable. It was surreal. These people had essentially become ghosts to him. Nothing more than memories. But now he was staring them in the face and they were staring back.

“Sick race, man!”

“Yeah, that was great!”

“What are you doing back in the area?”

“My little sister had a little, like, gymnastics competition and when I saw it was the same weekend as this meet, I knew I had to try and hop in.” Ben said excitedly. “How did you all do?”

“Pretty solid,” the boy in the middle said as the others defaulted to him. “Josh qualified for districts in the 1600,” he said gesturing to his right, “And then Quinn and I each set PRs in the 3200,” gesturing back to his left.

“I thought for a second she was gonna beat you, not gonna lie,” Sean joked.

“Yeah, I think I helped inspire him.” Quinn replied, gently punching Jake’s arm. They laughed for a moment, letting it slowly fade into silence.

“So your sister is old enough to do gymnastics now?” Quinn asked, turning her attention back to Ben. “Gosh, I can still remember when she was born …” They locked eyes for the first time and Ben’s stomach back flipped. Just like it used to.

“Yeah it’s crazy, I slept over at Jake’s house that night I’m pretty sure,” Ben said pointing across in his friend’s direction.

“Oooh yeah wasn’t that the first time-”

“-I ever did a 5k, yeah.” Ben replied, remembering instantly. “Your mom signed me up last minute to run it with you guys. I had no idea what I was doing.” They laughed again. Ben kept that race bib in an album underneath his bed. On the back he had written his time of 24 minutes and 45 seconds. “But who knows, if that never happened, I might never have started running … My whole life would be different …”

“It’s kinda freaky how each little decision has a butterfly effect like that.” Josh replied, staring blankly off somewhere behind Ben. “Like just imagine how different our lives could have been if even one small event was flipped.”

“For sure,” Ben said, glancing subconsciously to his right. He scanned the faces of his teammates once more, dwelling for an extra second on Quinn. But maybe that’s all the more reason to think everything happens for a reason, he thought to himself.

After a consistent string of runs in the game’s final innings, Bloomsburg baseball cemented a victory over their counterparts from Millersville. As students and fans prepared to leave the stadium, spirits were high among the hometown crowd, including Ben, Neal and their friends. Ben thoroughly enjoyed himself the second half of the game, pushing himself out of his comfort zone a bit as he talked and joked with Neal’s buddies.

“You guys coming back to our place?” Jared asked as they walked single file down the aluminum bleachers.

“Yeah, we’re definitely down.” Bryn said looking back to check with Colleen who nodded in confirmation.

“Do you mind if I invite my roommates to come?” she asked, pulling her phone from her pocket.

“Yeah sure, although if they’re guys that’s gonna really push down our ratio.”

“If her roommates were guys, our ratio would be the least of my concerns.” Bryn joked as Colleen rolled her eyes again.

“Don’t worry. They’re girls. They’re pretty cool actually.” She looked up from her phone to make sure she correctly navigated the final steps. “I think Neal would get along well with one of them-what do you think of that match, Bryn?”

“Tiffany or Stephanie?”

“Stephanie.”

“Yeah, I was about to say …”

“Sorry to spoil this episode of the Bachelor ladies,” Neal said as the group packed up at the bottom of the stairs. “But I won’t be able to make it tonight.”

Jared’s face fell. “Why not?”

“My mom needs me to take care of a few things back at my place.” They cleared the perimeter of the stadium and things began to open up as the crowd spread in separate directions. A yellow and black butterfly flew down and rested on Ben’s shoulder for a moment. “And he’s my ride,” Neal continued, nodding at Ben, “so I’m afraid I’ll be stealing him too.” Ben stirred slightly when acknowledged, motivating the butterfly to float gently away.

“I honestly don’t think I could hate you more than I do right now.” Bryn said somewhere between serious and joking. Neal smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, Ben, you should at least come back for the Shippensburg game next week.”

“Yeah, that would be awesome,” Ben replied as the two parties prepared to walk off in opposite directions. “See you guys later!”

Cutting across the path, Neal and Ben wandered back in the direction from which they had come, doubling back toward the first base line. A group of dawdling girls was standing about fifty yards away, having just descended the stadium steps. From afar, Ben thought he recognized one of the shorter girls in the pack. No … why would she be here?

Like Ben and Neal before, two of the girls split from the group to travel in another direction. His direction. Deciding he had imagined things, he shook his head slightly and turned his attention to Neal.

“So what do you need to do for your mom?” he asked curiously.

“Nothing,” Neal replied simply. “Just didn’t feel like going out.” Confused, Ben opened his mouth to respond, but was quickly distracted. The pair of girls was fast approaching, nearly close enough for him to clearly make out their faces. As they passed one another, the girl Ben had recognized gave him a surprised smile and small wave, which he returned sheepishly. Other than this greeting, the couples passed one another in silence. Although it was a small gesture, it was not one that was overlooked by Ben’s older friend.

“What just happened …” Neal said, snapping his head back and forth, “Do you know that girl?”

“It’s just someone I know from my math class,” Ben said quietly, continuing to walk forward. He was hoping to drop it and move on, but Neal was slowing to a stop.

“Interesting,” he said sneakily, “And what’s she doing here?”

“I don’t know-why would I know th-?”

“So let’s find out!” And Neal turned around and sped back after the duo that had just passed them.

“Neal …” Ben said, cautiously following. “This isn’t a funny joke …” But his friend showed no signs of slowing. “Neal!” He tried to quietly scream, but it was, unsurprisingly, ineffective. Begrudgingly, he jogged after his friend who was now within earshot of the women ahead.

“Excuse me for a second,” Ben could hear Neal say as he approached, “but my friend here recognized you from school,” he gestured at the now slightly out of breath boy beside him, “and wanted to come over and say hello.” Ben gave a slight wave of acknowledgement, feeling his face burn red.

“You know this guy, Nicole?” the taller of the two said, brow raised, eyeing Neal suspiciously.

“Well um,” she replied, “I know him, yeah,” she pointed at Ben, “but not um-what did you say your name was?”

Neal gave a meaningful look to Ben who, after a brief moment of confusion, realized that was his cue to speak up. “Oh-um-This is my friend Neal,” He said awkwardly displaying Neal, who smiled at Ben encouragingly. “We were just at the baseball game. Were-was that why you’re here?”

“Yeah, the girls thought it would be fun for me to see some Bloomsburg athletics while I’m here. I’m actually on a recruiting trip with the soccer team.” She gestured at the older woman beside her.

“Funny you should mention that actually,” Neal said, jumping in enthusiastically, “Ben is here doing a recruiting trip as well!” Ben looked incredulously to his right. But Nicole seemed to have missed it.

“Oh, really? For … what was it you said you did-distance running?”

“Er-yeah, Neal’s hosting me for the-” he glanced quickly at Neal before forcing himself to continue with the lie. “-The Cross Country team.”

“Oh, Cross Country?” the taller soccer player spoke up again, “I had a couple friends who ran in high school. How fast can you guys run for a mile?”

“Well, my best is 4:49-”

“Wow, that’s really fast!”

“-but I just ran a 9:24 in the 3200 so realistically-agh!” Neal stepped hard onto Ben’s right foot: a signal to get him to stop talking.

“Sorry man, I lost my balance for a second there.” Neal lied, straightening up. “I got one of those runner’s cramps. You know how it is.” Ben fought the overwhelming urge to laugh. “I’m more of a six minute guy myself,” Neal continued. “Not quite as fast as my friend Ben here, but he’s top notch. State caliber kind of runner.” He patted Ben on the back affectionately.

Six minutes?, Ben thought to himself. For a college guy? You’re killing us here, Neal.

But apparently the older soccer player was not as skeptical. “That’s still a good time,” she said reassuringly, giving Neal a consoling smile. “You’re still way faster than I am.”

“Well that’s awfully nice of you to say-” he paused to let her insert her name.

“Kim.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet a fan, Kim.” He said, shaking her hand. “After struggling through a 10,000k race, it’s just nice to feel appreciated.” Ben somehow managed to keep his palm away from his face. “Anyway, are you guys headed back up toward campus?” Neal asked, sensing the skepticism from his partner.

Nicole looked to her hostess for guidance. “Yeah, we are heading up to Kehr actually.” Kim said. “Are you guys going this way?” She pointed in the opposite direction of Ben’s car.

“As a matter of fact we are,” Neal said springing up past Ben to walk alongside the soccer player. “I pretty much live at the snack bar. They’re considering naming a sandwich after me …” He walked at a quick pace, but kept his classmate engaged in conversation. Slowly, a gap emerged back to Ben and Nicole.

“So,” she asked smiling, “Why are you actually here? Because I don’t think it’s for cross country.”

“What gave it away?” Ben asked in a mixture of amusement and surprise. “Was it the runner’s cramps thing? Because that’s real. Don’t get too close to me in the hallway.”

She laughed, flashing that toothy smile of straight white teeth. “Not sure I can sit next to you anymore in math class.” They walked in the shadow of their two older comrades toward a building lined with large glass windows. “Speaking of which, I’m definitely not ready for that Math final. How complicated do you think he’s going to make the derivatives section?”

“Hopefully nothing crazy. Probably comparable to the last couple homeworks which weren’t too bad.” Ben pushed open the door for Nicole who followed him through.

“You didn’t think those were that bad?” She asked, sounding impressed.

“Oh-well … I mean relatively to, like, fighting a shark or … something.” He laughed uncomfortably. He glanced quickly around and realized they had completely separated from Neal and Kim. Then he looked back at Nicole who was scanning around the unfamiliar room as well, likely sharing his concern. “You know maybe we should meet up some time,” Ben blurted out before he could stop himself, “To, like, study for the final and stuff.” Once again, he felt himself blush uncontrollably.

“Yeah, that would be cool” she said and Ben noticed that her face also had traces of red. “Do you have my number or-?”

“Um, I don’t think so,” Ben said, fumbling nervously with his pocket. Finally, he removed his phone and clicked onto his contacts section. “You want to read it off?”

“Sure, it’s 642-6532. Usual area-code.” Ben carefully typed the numbers into his phone.

“Alright awesome, I’ll-” But before Ben could finish his train of thought, Neal came flying back into view from around the corner. His hair was slightly disheveled and his shirt had a small rip in it.

“We gotta go,” he said, stopping for a moment beside Ben. “Don’t have time to explain.” He looked back over his shoulder and then dove across the room and under a couch. Emerging from the hallway that Neal had just exited were two, large collegiates, each nearly double Ben’s size in both height and weight. They scanned the room quickly before trudging off down a side hallway. Once they were out of sight, Neal carefully crawled out from his hiding spot and sprinted for the door.

“I guess that’s my cue,” Ben said as he stood dumbfounded a few feet from the doorway Neal had just escaped through.

“Make sure you tell your friend to hydrate. Wouldn’t want any more runner’s cramps.”

GO TO CHAPTER EIGHTEEN