Chapter 3
Somehow, I manage to stop thinking about all that’s off about this place long enough to finally fall asleep that night, but I jolt awake what seems like moments later.
It’s not even light out. My mouth is sandpaper dry, my heart doing its own mid-distance sprint. I’m about to have my very first track practice. At my fancy new school. The whole reason I’m here. Holy shit.
I roll out of bed and take out my new clothes. Draycott provides its athletes with all the bells and whistles—I even have socks in matching school colors. I put the whole thing on and look in the mirror. Okay, I look ridiculous. All this maroon and gold.
“Hey, I’m Lia,” I say, striking a pose.
Nope. I take off the outfit and put on my old gear instead, but as a compromise, I leave my new socks on.
The school grounds look so different now, in the half dark. There’s no one around, and the grass is all dewy and cold. It feels like I’ve walked into a fairy-tale forest.
I’m the first one at practice. Now what? I walk around the track for a bit, getting a feel for it. Look at this rubber. No holes or tears. And in the middle, the grass is pristine, uniform in length. The grass is way greener on this side, no doubt about that.
The clang of the stadium doors startles me. A tall, white girl with purple hair walks through the doors, yawning and stretching her neck.
“Hi,” I call out.
She stops mid-yawn and stares at me.
“Um. I’m Lia.” I hold out my hand for her to shake, but she just looks at it without moving. I tuck my hand into my pocket, my cheeks burning. “Anyway.” I turn away, pretending to be busy with…something. Anything.
“You a transfer student or something?”
“Yeah!” Take it down a notch. “Yeah.” God, I’m not doing well. But she’s my teammate. And I want—no, I need—to fit in with my new team. I need it so much, it’s almost a physical ache.
“Freshman?” she says, and her voice is almost accusatory. Maybe I don’t have to get along with this particular teammate.
“Sophomore. You?”
“Huh. Didn’t know they let non-freshmen in,” she says, and then she turns and starts jogging around the track.
That went well.
I keep my eyes down and focus on stretching my hamstrings, trying to ignore the awful, squirmy feeling in my stomach. The stadium doors clang open again, and this time, it’s the coach.
Without breaking stride, she calls out, “Hey, girls! You’re here early. Is that a new hair color, Stacey?” She grins wide when she gets to me. “New kid. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you properly. I’m Coach Iverson,” she says, catching my hand in a strong, reassuring grip. “You’ve got some impressive records, young lady. Glad to have you here.”
It’s impossible not to return the huge smile. “Glad to be here, Coach.”
“Good timing too! Heard about the budget cuts at your old school.”
I feel the smile slipping at the reminder that there’s no longer a track team at South Melville High. If I don’t cut it here, I have no chance at a college scholarship.
“Did you get an invite to the team’s Google Calendar? It’s got all of our meets on it and reminders to see the school nurse every two weeks.”
“Every two weeks? What for?”
“Drug test,” Stacey pipes up from behind me. She reties her ponytail with a smirk. “Ever since Sophie got busted for drugs, the school’s cracking down. You don’t have anything to hide, do you?”
What’s her problem? The squirmy feeling in my stomach hardens into iron. “Do you?”
“Hey, no. None of that,” Coach Iverson says, clicking her fingers between us like we’re two naughty dogs. The doors swing open again, and a few more girls walk into the stadium. Coach Iverson waves them over and has us stand in a circle. “Girls, meet your new teammate, Lia Setiawan. She’s a mid-distance runner, freshly recruited from South Melville.”
At the mention of South Melville, lips curl into a sneer. One girl snorts out loud.
“Is that how you’re gonna treat our new star runner?” Coach Iverson says.
Oh god. I’m sure she said that to be funny, but she doesn’t know the stuff that’s been said on DD. All that crap about me replacing TrackQueen. Which one of these people is TrackQueen? Everyone here is wearing her very best resting bitch face. Anyone here could be TrackQueen. My nerves are so tightly wound by now, I just want to crawl into a hole and hide.
Coach Iverson tells everyone to introduce themselves for my benefit. I forget all their names almost immediately, except the mean one with the purple hair. Stacey Hoffman.
I try to ignore the dirty looks as Coach divides us into our training groups. As we go through our warm-ups, I start feeling better. Who cares if my new teammates hate me? I’m not here because of them. I’m here to run. We go into position. This is it. Time to shine.
The whistle blows, and everything—all the bullshit like DD, Danny, and my new teammates’ attitude—is shaken off. There’s no room for anything else but me and the track. I’m a shooting star, blazing past everyone, and the only sound in my ears is the pounding of my blood and my feet on the rubber. I hit the finish line way before anyone else does, and Coach whoops and rushes forward then hugs me, raving about breaking records and colleges and I don’t know what else.
I know I’m being petty as hell, but when I catch Stacey looking at me, I give her a wink. She freezes, then turns away. Ha.
A couple of the other girls actually congratulate me, which is really nice.
When practice ends, I trudge to the locker room, exhausted but happy, half-listening to the chatter among my teammates. Someone slams into my shoulder as she walks past.
“Ow.” I’m trying to see who it was when someone else shoulders past aggressively. “What the hell?” And then it feels like the entire team brushes past, shoulder after shoulder thumping into me until I’m suddenly alone, the girls’ laughter fading away.
I’ve dealt with worse. This isn’t anything new. Still. My breath is coming out all rapid, and it has nothing to do with running. Tears burn the backs of my eyes and I take a shuddery breath. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.
“That’s why you shouldn’t show off during practice,” someone says.
Ugh. Surly Stacey. Still, her sudden appearance jars the tears away, and I ignore her and head for my locker.
“Did you hear what I said?” she says.
I open my locker in time to see my phone screen light up. A DD post. My stomach takes a dive and spatters at my feet.
“I know you can hear me, so I’m just gonna say it: Stop showing off. It’s not going to win you any friends.”
I give her my best side-eye, ignoring the painful thump of my heart. “I don’t care about winning over people if they’re so insecure, they can’t take competition.”
“It’s not that. It’s Mandy Kim.”