Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Three

Ben Havleck, May 2016

He was sprinting as hard as he could. He tried to focus as best he could on his form. Arms pumping. Head steady. His legs turned over again and again. His quads burned. Then he stopped, tapping his wrist and easing into a slow walk.

What was it, he wondered as he looked down. His watch read 30.6 seconds. Ok, fine. I'll work down to it.

Ben jogged slowly back to his starting position halfway around the track. His breathing returned to normal almost instantly. His legs weren't quite as resilient, but the jogging helped keep them from tightening. Just before the 200 meter mark, he slowed to a walk. Then, steadying himself, he started another repetition.

30.2 seconds.

He plodded back around the track. Alright, this will be the one.

30.4 seconds.

His frustration increased as he started his recovery jog again. Ok, you aren't doing more than 4 of these, so this one has to be under.

30.1 seconds.

Fine, one more. But that's it.

30.3.

30.6.

He slapped his hands together in anger. His temper was rising, his heart already pumping blood through his body at an elevated rate. Despite his reservations about over working himself, he jogged again around the bend and back to the track’s halfway point. His legs felt like rubber, but his determination had blocked out his fatigue.

Just as he had six times before, he readied himself at the start and took off into a sprint. This time, he threw all of his thoughts about control and technique out the window. He didn’t think about proper pacing. The only thought racing through his mind was “faster”. Every 50 meters he tried to dig down and force himself into another gear.

As he approached the finish line, he thrust his body forward into a dramatic lean, stopping his watch with his opposite hand. The weight of his body on his extended leg caused it to buckle and he stumbled, falling wildly forward with his arms flailing. He rolled off the track onto the inside turf, managing to avoid any serious cuts. His body ached and his chest pounded up and down as he reoriented himself. Then, he checked his watch for the time.

30.03 seconds.

“Damn it!” He whipped off his watch and threw it as hard as he could down across the football field. He watched it bounce simply on the turf. It was not nearly as satisfying as he had hoped.

Chris Cline, September 2016

“Now derivatives have many applications to our daily life. For example, consider the concepts of velocity and acceleration. If you take the derivative of a position function, let’s call it ‘s of t’, then we are capturing the change of position over time, which is, of course-”

“Attention please, attention please.”

The school speaker system echoed through the classroom, causing the calculus professor at the front of it to jump. “Sorry about that,” he said, straightening his askew glasses on his face. “We must be having some afternoon announcements today.” Most of the class took this as their cue to pack up their bags. Weekend fever was setting in as Friday’s 7^th period approached its close. Chris twirled his pencil absentmindedly between his fingers, in no rush to leave. With a difficult workout on the horizon at today’s cross county practice, his weekend was far from starting.

“The 2016 West Chester North Homecoming Dance is this coming Saturday night,” a vaguely familiar voice reverberated through the increasingly restless group, “As a reminder, tickets for all students will be available for purchase during lunch periods all next week.” The talk of homecoming reminded Chris of football. Last year’s homecoming weekend had coincided with the Coatesville game making for a particularly memorable experience.   

“We are also pleased to announce that the nominations for the Homecoming Court have official been tallied. 8 girls and 8 boys have been selected from the Class of 2017 for the chance to represent their school as Homecoming King and Queen at our fall homecoming dance …

The class stilled a bit at this piece of news. A few girls in the first row sat up straight, staring attentively at the speaker. Chris smiled to himself, finding their interest somewhat pathetic. Then he remembered that his own girlfriend, Melissa Fredricks, was probably listening twice as intently and his grin disappeared.

“And this year’s court will be, for the women, Catherine Clausen, Jennifer Conner, Hannah English, Melissa Fredricks, Grace Kim, Amanda Lipson, Nora Robinson, and Gabrielle Shepard …”

The class applauded appreciatively as their own Jenny Conner’s name was announced. She was among the girls who sat at the front of the room. Jenny was blushing but smiling widely. Chris was also relieved to hear Melissa had made the court alongside her best friend Gabby. Thank goodness, he thought to himself. He wasn’t sure he would be able to endure the storm of emotions that would have inevitably came as a result of Melissa being left off the list of nominees.

“… And for the boys, Stephen Bishop, Christopher Cline, Rick Collins, Robert Fischer, Anthony Hawkins, Justin Knight, Zack King, and Andrew Rooke …”

Chris jumped in surprise when he heard his name announced. Now it was his turn to receive applause as many of his classmates turned back over their shoulder to beam at him. He smiled uncomfortably and kept darting his eyes around the room, unsure of where was best to look.

“The school-wide finalist voting will be conducted next week in homeroom. Have a safe weekend everyone!” There was a small scratching noise and then the speakers went quiet. The students stared at the clock anxiously, many with their hands wrapped around their bags, ready to sprint off as soon as the bell rang.

“Well congratulations to both Jenny and Chris! Quite an honor to have royalty in the classroom.” The math teacher gave a small chuckle at his own attempt at wittiness, “Now, as I was saying about derivatives-”

Riiinnnggg!!

The bell went off and the class exploded into action, leaving the surprised math teacher straightening his glasses for a second time.

Ben Havleck, May 2016

He ran alone down the road, rain falling down gently onto his warm body. His path was essentially empty. The neighborhood’s casual joggers were shut in, waiting for better weather. Ben ran his hand through his long, wet hair absentmindedly, moving it back off his face.

As he ran, his mind jumped through what he remembered from his last race. He was surging to the lead, enjoying the rush that came with flying down the back straightaway and seeing no one in front of him. Then in a flash it was gone, a pair of sprinting bodies motoring past. His best efforts to keep pace were futile. It angered him to feel so helpless. Without realizing, he ticked down another gear as he jogged further along the road.

Ben turned left, ran past a small playground and then hooked right. Now he was on a long, straight avenue. Even in the rain, he could see far ahead of him, down the dark, dreary street. Another jogger was plodding along slowly some 200 meters away. Automatically, his mind went into attack mode and Ben shifted into chase mode. It was an exercise he had done at least a hundred times. Whenever someone was running ahead of him in the neighborhood, regardless of ability, he felt an uncontrollable urge to pass them. In a race, he would pace himself carefully. He had accepted the fact that he would often be trailing someone throughout the contest. But out here? This was his kingdom and only he was fit enough to rule.

Once more, Ben quickened his stride turnover with his eyes fixed on his target ahead. He was expecting a quick pass, but every time he cut into the gap, it seemed like the jogger would change pace and force Ben to access another gear.

As the straightaway ended, Ben could hear his own breathing becoming increasingly strained. His originally scheduled route called for a left at the end of the block, but the jogger he was doggedly pursuing turned right. So, naturally, Ben made a right, continuing to indulge his competitive instincts. They ran onto a wooded trail between rows of tall trees. The rain would still occasionally split the cover and drop upon the two runners, but Ben trekked through the elements unperturbed.

He was getting close now. A few more hard steps and he would be within arm’s reach. Ben prepared himself to make the pass on the narrow trail, but again the jogger surged smoothly ahead. He put his head down and forced his legs to find an extra reserve of speed. He was hurting now. He could feel his head return to its familiar flailing as he rallied for another try at the front. But as he swung wide again, his foot clipped a stray root and he flew forward, crashing onto the hard ground.

He lay there, his heart pounding in his chest as if it was trying to punch the earth. Now that he had stopped, he realized how incredibly labored his breathing had become.

“You alright?” It was a gruff voice from just in front of him. He spoke easily and steadily, as if he had been standing rather than running. Ben looked up for the first time at the jogger’s face. The man removed the hood of his rain jacket to reveal a head of graying hair.

“You’re old?!” Ben exclaimed in exasperation. “Er-sorry,” he apologized, realizing how rude he must sound. To his surprise the man laughed.

“I think the politically correct term is ‘youthfully challenged’,” he said extending his hand to the boy on the ground. “Where are you heading back to? I’ll jog with you.”

Moving at a more reasonable pace this time, the duo jogged side by side to the opening of the trail and then looped back toward Ben’s house.

“So who do you run for?” The man asked, scanning Ben for any school insignia.

“I run for Bloomsburg.”

“BU? This is pretty far for you isn’t it?”

“No, Bloomsburg High School,” Ben replied, pointing the man toward their next turn.

“But that’s impossible, there’s no team here. Unless … are you by chance Ben Havleck?”

“Yeah, I am,” he replied, pleasantly surprised, “How did you-”

“There’s only one high schooler in Bloomsburg who could run the pace we were running.” Ben looked down, slightly embarrassed. He saw a small lady bug crawling along his muddy chest. Carefully, he picked it off his shirt and lifted his finger to the air, letting it fly away. “Third in the state. That’s pretty good.”

“Third for small schools,” Ben replied bitterly. “That’s not third in the state. Most of the top guys run the large school races.”

“Well there’s a reason for those classifications. There are certain advantages a school like Coatesville has over the tiny programs. More money, better facilities-”

“An actual coach,” Ben cut in, “They’ve got a guy who coached Olympians and I’m just winging it off some Matt McWilliams book.”

The man smiled to himself as if sharing some private joke.

“What?” Ben asked confused.

“You remind me a lot of myself is all,” the man replied. They turned onto Ben’s block. The aching in his legs made him grateful to be so close to home. Amazingly, the jogger to his outside seemed completely fresh.

“Well this is me right up here,” Ben said, pointing to his house. “Maybe we can meet up again some time for a run? I do things mostly by myself so it would be nice to have company.”

“I have a feeling we will see each other around,” the man said. Ben slowed to a stop at the edge of his lawn as the man continued past. “Good bye, Ben.”

“Good bye ... um ...”

“Sorry, I should have introduced myself sooner.” He responded, briefly jogging backwards. “I’m Matt. Matt McWilliams.”

Chris Cline, cont.

Chris exited class last of his peers, hoping he could avoid the post-school rush through the hallways. He was sure to get a variety of congratulations thanks to his inclusion on the homecoming court, but he didn’t want any extra attention. He was hoping for a peaceful walk to gather his thoughts in preparation for the upcoming workout. As he sauntered out of his calculus class, things looked fairly empty. He smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. Then, he readjusted his backpack on his shoulders and trudged off on the path to the locker room.

“Sir Cline! Sir Cline!” Matt Schmidt was shouting dramatically in a mock British accent from the far end of the hall. “It is my highest honor to embarrass you within the confines of this most regal hallway.” He bowed dramatically into a kneeling position and rested his head on his knee. The few students sprinkled within the hallway laughed.

“Can you get up?” Chris groaned, looking around.

“As you wish, my liege.” He popped to his feet and grinned widely.

“Thanks for that,” he remarked sarcastically as Matt joined him on his walk. Up close, he noticed the junior was wearing some type of ornate brown vest. There were still a few giggles hanging in the air as they cleared the first hall.

“It could have been a lot worse for you. Andy’s going much bigger on Ricky’s celebration … We’ve been planning that for days.”

“Days?!” He replied shaking his head in amazement. “How did you even know? They didn’t announce it until today …”

“Oh, Sarah, told us. This past weekend at the game.” Matt ducked down to stop at a fountain and grab a swig of water. “Didn’t you recognize her reading the announcement?”

“Ooooh,” Chris said, realization washing over him. “That explains why she was being so weird on the run yesterday. She kept making ‘knights of the round table’ references and I had no idea why.”

“How the heck do you work ‘knights of the round table’ into conversation? Nevermind. Don’t answer that. I want to be surprised … So are you excited about the big news?”

“I’m ecstatic,” Chris said unenthusiastically, kicking a stray pen that lay innocently in his path.

“Woah, woah, what’s with the pouty face, Zoolander? Not excited to be a member of West Chester North royalty?”

“I could do without the extra attention.” They turned the corner and walked down a nearly empty path, shared only by a pretty girl with short blonde hair.

“Congrats on homecoming court, Chris,” she said beaming at him as they passed.

“Thanks.” Chris smiled politely, but otherwise paid the girl no mind and kept pacing forward. Matt turned back in outrage as the gap between the two parties widened.

“Yea, it must be terrible to have all that extra attention.” Matt said outraged. Cline looked at the junior, his eyebrows raised. “I mean look, I get it. Privacy is nice, you’ve got a girlfriend, blah, blah, blah … But would it have killed you to have thrown my name in back there?”

“Thrown your name in?” He responded confused.

“Yeah, you know, something like … ‘Hey, this is my friend Matt, he showed me how to throw a spiral’ or ‘Have you by chance met Matt? He’s got some really nice legs.’” He flexed his calf muscle to accent his argument.

“You wanted me to work that in?”

“Yeah …”

“To that two second long conversation?”

“Yeah! C’mon, dude, I thought you had my back.” Chis rolled his eyes as they continued their walk to cross country practice. As they made their final turn, the pair almost ran straight into another duo.

“Sorry about-Andy? Is that you?” Andy Eggleston stood dressed from head to toe in a knight costume, complete with authentic looking body armor. He carried a stick between his legs that had a stuffed horse head attached to the end. To his right was Maggie Warren, Sarah’s friend who Chris had met at last week’s football game. She was, unsurprisingly, not wearing a knight costume. Or anything medieval for that matter.

“I told you it could have been worse,” Matt muttered utter his breath.

“Ah, sir Cline,” The knight reached for his pocket, pulling out a small scroll of paper. “I bring to you a limerick from the-”

“Save it, Andy, he’s not in the mood for limericks.”

“You know, I might be in the mood for one.” Chris said amused by the pure ridiculousness of the situation. “Maggie, have you heard a limerick of his yet?”

“Yes, I think all of the second floor did actually.” She seemed a bit more confident in herself today. It likely helped that she didn’t have to hand him any mustard.

“And was it really a limerick?”

“Not even close.”

“Then I think I would like to hear this limerick, thank you.”

“Of course sir!” Andy cleared his throat and unrolled his scroll.

Come one, come all and hear the tale,

Of a man more manly than the Mannings,

His body fit and toned,

His weight about two Dakota Fannings,

Of all the fair lasses he’s pursued,

I’ve heard not one negative retort,

So please good nobles if you will,

Welcome Sir Cline to the homecoming court!

They all applauded as Andy took a bow. “Wow … that was actually really good.” Chris said, suddenly feeling much cheerier.

“Thanks for showing me up, Eggleston.” Matt said as they laughed again. Now a pack of four, they continued toward the locker room. Andy’s armor clunked loudly, echoing off the walls and drawing a large amount of attention in their direction. “You should have seen Chris earlier, his face was as long as this horse’s.” He tapped on the stuffed head.

“C’mon, it wasn’t that bad-”

“Laura Connelly congratulated you and all you could say was ‘thanks’ … In a voice that made it sound like you got shot in the leg.”

“Wait-did you get to meet Laura Connelly?” Andy asked Matt excitedly. He raised his visor curiously.

“No. Chris didn’t introduce me.”

“I mean it was like a two second conversation.”

“Well, did you at least throw his name in?”

 “No it was literally two sec- and wait, why is this a thing? Am I missing something?” Chris looked at Maggie questioningly for support.

She shrugged and smiled. “I’ll never understand these two. Anyway,” she nodded to the right as they reached a T-shaped intersection, “I have to head this way … I’ll see you guys later.” She darted off leaving the boys alone. Andy led the way pushing the door to the locker room open with a gloved hand.

“How do you guys know each other?” Matt asked as they made their way to the cross country team’s section. Most of the team was already there talking and changing into their running gear.

“Who, Maggie?” Chris asked, putting his pack down. “We met at the football game last weekend. She seems nice. Definitely a little awkward. But nice.”

“Of course she was awkward,” Andy said, breathing freely as he removed his helmet. “Considering she was meeting her hero.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s your biggest fan!” Andy said, letting the armor clang to the floor as he unraveled himself. “When we used to talk crap about you and the football team-

“-And believe me, we talked a lot of crap about you and the football team-”

“-she would always stick up for you.”

“He was in my geometry class and seemed really nice!” Matt mimicked Maggie’s high pitched voice, “And he was actually pretty smart too.” Chris shook his head, blushing slightly. He pulled a pair of gym shorts from his bag.

“I’ll take any fans I can get these days. The Drew McDermott hype is gaining some steam.”

“Dude, that booger eater isn’t any good,” Andy had finally finished removing his entire costume. “I’m sure Laura Connelly wouldn’t congratulate him on making the homecoming court.”

“Yeah, but he probably would have thrown my name in.”

“Alright, alright,” Chris said grinning widely. “C’mon you two, let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“I’m introducing you to the cheerleading team.” The juniors considered him confusedly. “I lost that bet, remember?”

Matt and Andy looked at one other giddily. Then, Chris led the way out of the cross country team’s section toward the door.

“Wait,” Chris said holding out his arm to block the pair from advancing. “Andy, can you put some pants on this time?”

“What?” Andy paused and looked down, realizing he was wearing just his boxers. He hung his head and turned around, jogging back to his locker. “Sorry … I get excited …”

GO TO CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR