Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Jimmy Springer, August, 2013

“Are you excited for today?” James Springer asked his son. Jimmy nodded enthusiastically from the passenger seat next to his father.

“A little nervous though,” he said smiling sheepishly. It was briefly silent. He turned away from his father to stare out the window, letting his thoughts wander. “What if ... What if I’m the worst one?” He felt silly asking, but he felt it was necessary to stop the squirming in his stomach. After a moment, he took a quick glance back at his father, who was smiling.

“In every race, somebody has to finish last. Even the Olympics.”

His son frowned. “When I become a dad, am I only going to be able to speak in cliché?” They laughed as James made the turn into the high school. A few other students were already standing at the edge of the parking lot, one looking small and nervous: exactly as Jimmy felt on the inside. He must have been another freshman.

“Do you have your physical form?”

“Yeah, it's in my shorts pocket.” He removed it as proof while his father pulled into a parking spot. With the car in park, James could finally take a moment to look down at his son. He fidgeted slightly under his father’s gaze. “Alright ... Well I’ll see you after practice?” Jimmy turned to open the door.

“Jim, don’t be scared of being the slowest. The real pressure is on whoever is the fastest.” He smiled and gave his son a wink.

“Haha ... Well luckily I don’t think I’m going to have worry about that.” And with a quick wave goodbye, he shut the door, leaving to walk nervously toward the growing group of runners gathering by the grass.

“We’ll see.”

Chris Cline, July 2016

A small rock skipped its way up the sidewalk before coming to a stop. Then a foot swung and the rock was on the move once more. Chris and a group of friends, about eight men in total, were walking along School Lane towards West Chester North High School. Two of them were casually tossing a football back and forth while, much to his chagrin, Chris’s thumbs were fiddling away on his cell phone. As soon as he managed to finish a text and store his phone away in his pocket, it would buzz and call him back into duty.

“Geez Chris, who do you keep texting? Siri?”

“It’s Melissa, dude. She’s got no damn off-switch.” He pocketed his phone again and gave his rock one last casual kick, before he could feel the buzzing again.

“What are you guys talking about that she has so much to say?”

“Dude … literally nothing.”

“Well, at least she’s hot … Yo Joey, hit me!” The football came flying into view and Chris’s friend sprinted up the lot before making a smooth overhead catch. He did a small touchdown dance before tossing the ball back in the direction it had come. “See, everybody thinks we’re so good because of Chris,” he said to the group at large, “But look who he’s throwin’ the ball to, baby.”

It was late afternoon on a Friday. The sweltering heat that had melted spirits earlier in the day was cast aside and a slight cloud cover made the conditions a couple levels above reasonable. Chris and a few of his friends were headed to the high school for another game of two-hand touch football, their last chance to play before the school’s preseason mini-camp began.

The eight boys were rising seniors, having been in the program together for three years. Growing together in anticipation of this moment when all their hard work might come to fruition. Ernie Tyrell was Chris’s trusted wide receiver and one of his best friends. And that had translated on the field as Ernie led the conference in receptions in 2015. Paul Mintz, Dennis Petrov and Reese Wallace played offensive and defensive line. Chris’s neighbor, Jacob Naughton, captained the defense in the linebacker position. He had already committed to Penn State for 2017.   

The previous season, West Chester North had made it to the Quarter Finals of the State Playoffs. It was the farthest the program had ever advanced and, considering North was one of the smallest schools in the division, an event fairly unprecedented in state history. But that wasn’t enough. After losing on a heart-breaking last second field goal against district powerhouse North Penn, Chris and his teammates were hungry to get back on the field and go further.

During the loss, Chris amassed 350 total yards and four touchdowns against one of Pennsylvania’s toughest defenses. It was the culmination of an impressive first season as the team’s starting quarterback. Slowly, he had become something of a celebrity around the township and, unexpectedly, one of the most popular students in school. Now his phone was always buzzing.

“C’mon bro, you planning to play quarterback with one hand.” Chris looked up from his phone to see a football inches from his face. He caught it easily with his left hand.

“No, actually I’m planning to be our number one receiver.” He tossed the ball back in a perfect spiral while finishing his last text. Finally. With a renewed sense of freedom, he sprinted ahead and intercepted the lackluster pass that Paul Mintz had aimed at Ernie. His momentum carried him easily through the gate to the football field.

“Hey Naught, look who it is?” The football field was empty, but a pack of four gangly, shirtless boys was traversing the track that surrounded it. Jacob smirked in response.

“Ah my best friends!” They were now within earshot of the runners who were focusing the majority of their attention on ignoring the new arrivals. In a two by two square, the pack of harriers motored swiftly down the straightaway in front of them. “Sorry, I left my shorts at home! I thought we were saving them for Monday!” Jacob called after them in a purposely flamboyant voice. A few of his fellow teammates roared with laughter. Chris forced out a small chuckle before moving onto the infield, out of the way of the runners. Here, he sat down to lace up his cleats. Pete and Reese joined him shortly thereafter, but a few others stayed along the track.

“Hey, let’s play chicken!” Paul Mintz walked to the middle of the track’s first lane and stood as the runners began to circle back in his direction. He waited patiently as they approached, unyielding, but the runners seemed determined to hold ground. At the last second, Mintz jumped aside and the runners, who had just broken formation, were swinging wide to avoid him, tripping over one another in their confusion. Again the crowd of football players went wild.

“Get after it boys,” Ernie slapped the trailing runner on the rear as he went past. It was a joke that particularly hit home with his fellow players. Dennis Petrov even fell to the ground to roll with glee at the humor.

“Alright are we gonna play football or are we just going to stand around slapping dudes’ butts?” Chris said impatiently. He was stretching his hamstrings carefully at the forty-five yard line while Reese and Pete were tossing the football back and forth. Somewhat reluctantly, the football team regrouped at midfield.

“Hey … if I choose the butt slapping, does that mean I should have joined the track team?”

“Ern, you slapped my butt twice on the way over here. I think you’re fine where you are.”        

Ben Havleck, January 2016

After Winter Break had ended, Ben returned to school for the second semester of his Junior Year. He picked up his newest schedule from the Guidance office and set off up the stairs to his first period History Class. As he climbed the stairs, his legs ached slightly from his morning run around the campus. Ben was planning to run twice on Mondays and Wednesdays, once in the morning and once in the afternoon, called “doubling”. This would allow him to increase his total mileage while maintaining the average length of each individual run.

His hair hung wet after his morning shower, slightly obscuring his face as he slipped into class and took a seat at the back of the room. He preferred to be an afterthought in the classroom. It was not that he was afraid of being called on by the teacher or that he disliked school, but rather he did not want to come across as a know-it-all. Or perhaps worse, a teacher’s pet. He was still molding his reputation among his peers and did not want a blemish like that on his record.

The first half of the day was a typical first day back. Teachers refreshed the students on what they would be studying during the second half of their courses and returned the used textbooks to students who were renting them. Therefore, as Ben walked to lunch, he lugged a backpack about the size of a six year old with an affinity for chocolates. Considering his own height was roughly equivalent to said six year old, he could imagine how silly this looked. Fortunately, his locker was only a minor detour en route to the cafeteria, so he adjusted course accordingly.

As he approached, Ben spotted his locker neighbor, P.J. Danielson, fidgeting with what appeared to be a Chemistry book and a bright blue lunchbox. P.J. and Ben met in a last year’s fifth period math class and had since got along reasonably well. They were both smart and studious, but that was about where the similarities ended.

“Hey P.J.,” Ben said as he approached, giving a small nod of recognition. P.J. looked up surprised and slightly frazzled. His glasses were slightly askew and the collar of his shirt was flipped upwards on the left side.

“Hey Ben,” he said exasperated, “Do you think we will need books in both Math and Physics today? Because I’d like to start the Chemistry reading during study hall, but I’m worried the weight of my backpack is going to-”

“I’m not taking Physics this semester actually so I wouldn’t be able to tell you,” Ben replied as he switched out his first-half-of-the-day books and zipped his now empty backpack.

“Oh, ok.” P.J. looked slightly crestfallen at the idea the two would no longer be sharing the class: they had had the exact same schedule the previous semester. “What are you taking instead?”

“Um … introductory Spanish” He said sheepishly, and added quickly, “Want to go to lunch?” The two turned and headed down the main hallway.

“You know, Ben,” P.J. began, Ben’s attempts to change the subject thwarted, “Physics is a very useful subject and extremely applicable to the world around us. Statistics show that students enrolled in Physics are twice as likely to be accepted into Ivy League institutions … Not that a foreign language doesn’t show diversity and worldliness, but at an introductory level you won’t be able to even take an AP test in the subject … Unless of course you take some summer courses, but then …” Ben let P.J. continue to air his concerns as they walked to the cafeteria, nodding or reaffirming wherever appropriate. Sometimes when P.J. really got on a roll, that was all you could do.

By most definitions, P.J. was the stereotypical television show “nerd”. If you didn’t know any better, you might think his entire appearance was simply a clever and elaborate joke: the glasses that were often slipping down his nose, the collared shirts, the pencil behind the ear. He regularly misread social cues and had trouble fitting in. Sometimes, Ben got the feeling that, despite their limited contact, he was P.J.’s closest friend.

“I’m just going to stop here for a drink,” Ben stooped at the water fountain.

“People often underestimate the importance of hydration during the winter,” he replied as Ben straightened up and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“People often underestimate the importance of hydration,” a large Senior mimicked P.J.’s voice as he passed, simultaneously miming the act of pushing imaginary glasses up on his face. His friends laughed obnoxiously and pointed, but P.J. was, impressively, unphased. Together, he and Ben found a table inside the cafeteria and pulled out their lunches.

“Doesn’t that stuff bother you? If it was me I’d have been tempted to punch that kid in the jaw.” He dumped the contents of a brown paper bag onto the table, catching his apple before it rolled off the table.

“I’ve learned to ignore it.” He responded simply. “It becomes a more amusing hobby if I react poorly.” He carefully laid out a napkin on the table and pulled out a perfectly sliced turkey and cheese sandwich. “Besides,” he said through his first bite, “The probability of you succeeding in a fight with an Offensive Lineman on the Football team is not statistically different from zero.” Slightly stung, Ben fought the urge to mime pushing glasses up his own nose.

The second half of the day began just as uneventfully as the first. In fact, in Spanish class, Mrs. Stillin let the class out five minutes early because they had finished everything they needed to cover with time to spare. As a result, Ben was the first one to his seventh period Calculus class. Picking his favorite seat in the empty room, he pulled out his notebook and began to sketch the workout he was hoping to do on Tuesday, scribbling down splits and carefully adding up times. He barely even noticed as students started to file in and fill the previously empty room, not diverted from his task until someone sat down in the seat next to him.

He assumed it was P.J., preparing to tell him about whatever riveting physics discussion he had missed an hour earlier. He looked up to check briefly, noticed a girl sitting there unpacking her books and then returned to his work. Wait, what? He did a double take, checking again to see who was willing to sit next to the new kid. Ben’s stomach did a three-sixty flip as he realized this was Nicole Christian: his secret crush since the first day he arrived at the school. After a moment, Ben realized he was staring unabashed in her direction and frantically turned to start unpacking his own books, stuffing his track notebook out of sight.

The lecture for class was essentially a haze as Ben alternated between sneaking sideways glances at his neighbor and day dreaming about the significance of this monumental event. But was it monumental? Could it not simply be coincidental? What other seats were left by the time she came in? He silently cursed his obsession with his track notebook for distracting him.

But the next day, after Ben powerwalked his way out of Spanish to get to Math Class first, she sat next to him again, even giving him a small smile before beginning to organize her desk. She was locked into that spot now, he thought. By the end of the second day, the seats you choose essentially become pseudo-assigned seats. It’s just basic classroom etiquette.

With an unprecedented amount of enthusiasm, he listened to the professor’s lecture.      

Jimmy Springer, August 2016

It was a surprisingly pleasant August afternoon. The rain earlier in the morning had cooled Union Valley and, besides the occasional puddle or muddy stretch of terrain, it was reasonable conditions for the team’s first official practice. Jimmy steered his car carefully through the parking lot, navigating around the other vehicles dropping children off for fall sports. He wheeled into a spot in the back and punched off his radio before removing his keys. A few runners had already positioned themselves on the edge of the parking lot. It was striking to Jimmy how tiny and timid they all looked. Certainly, he had not looked the same way three years earlier.

Rustling through some trash in his back seat, he pulled out his running shoes. The untied laces tapped gently against the back of his seat as he brought them up front. Jimmy sat for a moment, holding the shoes, staring through the front of his car window. You don’t have to keep going, he thought. No one will stop you if you decide to quit. Silently, he turned his left shoe over in his hand. His mother had got him a brand new pair of trainers for his 18^th birthday. There was a certain thrill about new shoes. A small excitement was brewing inside him. The desire to run hard, to run fast, to run far. A desire to make these new shoes old shoes.

Even after all the struggle, all the sacrifice, the sport was still calling him back for more. And he accepted the invitation once again.

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