Mr. Flack tells his son jack,

"Run hard - with no excuses."

Mr. Brill tells his son Will

He'll kill him if he loses.

Mr. Drew tells little Lou,

"Be Fearless, but beware."

And little Trace, he won the race.

(His father wasn't there.)

Before the Race - Shel Silverstein

Percy stood nervously, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for his race to be called.

He had yet to go to the same school two years in a row, and yet they were all so similar, with one specific shared trait sticking out like one of so many scars in his "elementary experience," but so much larger and uglier than the rest; the one day they were forced to wear matching t-shirts and shorts to represent their school and display who would rise to the top in the years to come and who would sink to Rock Bottom in the social River of school: track day.

Percy hated track day.

Standing on a big open field in the far too large fluorescent green t-shirt and orange shorts, displaying cuts and bruises dismissed by teachers as over rambunctious horseplay— I told him to the playground at recess or home after school he knew they'd be shocked with a completely different story. He tried to shrink into himself and avoid eye contact with any of the kids from the other schools he's gone to, mostly failing as old bullies wandered over to whisper taunts and stumble into him, taking every chance to push him flat on his face 'by accident.'

Wandering toward the bleachers to hide again he saw parents talking to their children— encouraging them, inciting them to try their hardest— and couldn't help but wish his mom could get time off one of her for jobs, skip home and smelly Gabe, and come to see him run— just once.

Unfortunately, missing more than an hour at any of the jobs would lose it for her, and then they wouldn't be able to pay off Gabe's daily drinking and gambling debts, so that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon.

"I want no excuses no, Jackie, not one excuse from you. You will win today!" Said one parent, looking determinedly at his son.

Another shook his son by the shoulders and warned, "If you lose, I might just kill you myself, as Percy past, making him flinch— he heard that often enough, and it was usually partnered with a blow.

Percy fought back tears as another father told his daughter, "Run hard, don't let your nerves get the best of you, but be careful. We don't want you tripping and getting hurt!" He envied the girls sheepish but easy Smile as she double-checked her shoelaces.

He wanted a dad.

He didn't have one— never had before smelly Gabe as far as his memory stretched— but his mom had told him about a tall, strong, kind man who loved her and loved the boy he knew he wouldn't get to see horn. Every time she talked about the mystery man, Percy had to stop himself asking her why such a good, kind man would leave them to smelly Gabe and his bills and his fists.

Percy's thoughts were broken by an announcer's voice calling his race and his and the other contestants names. He crawled from under the bleachers and moved to the line.

Waiting nervously as the other contestants arrived and they were lined up by last name, he saw the man calling their names look twice at Percy before moving on with an extra crease in his forehead. He looked down at his shoes. A few minutes later, they were being told to get ready, and then they were off.

And then it was over.

Percy wasn't entirely sure how it happened— never was, even years later— but the next thing he knew he was panting on the other side of the finish line and other kids were racing past him, slowing themselves down as they went.

He didn't look up when they announced his name as the first place in the boys 400-meter race.

He hid the cheap medal they gave him at the bottom of his backpack— the one his mom had used from first grade to high school and he would do the same with— and trudged home after school that day back in his dirty jeans and only slightly less baggy dull gray t-shirt from the charity box at the front of the school.

He didn't tell his mom when she got home a little after midnight. He never mentioned it to any of the kids at any of the schools he attended.

He only pulled it out once.

That night, after he dragged his sore, tender, bruised body under his bed along with a blanket and pillow and his backpack, he felt around in the bottom of the bag until his hand touched hard plastic.

He pulled it out from the depths of the old, well-loved bag and stared at it in the Moonlight and thought, hope you're proud of me, wherever you are, dad.

Wrote this in... I don't know probably 7th grade? Maybe 8th? It's based on Hershey Track Day that I had to do all the way through elementary school. 400m was the longest of the levels, which your teacher signs you up for based on how quickly you can get an eraser from one end of a marked area in the hallway to another. The whole thing sucked for a bookish girl with self- esteem issues; How many meters you got signed up for determined your social status, and I never got above the 200m mark. Idk if they even have something like that on the east coast, but I figured it was worth a shot. Anyway I was really proud of it back then. It was the first short story I ever finished. Also it was the last thing in the first notebook I ever filled completely. Hope you enjoyed it. I felt like it was about time I put it up.

Sorry it's taken me so long to post anything anywhere, senior year has consumed me. I am doing daily battle against such fearsome monsters as 10 page papers and Moby Dick. At least it's not Le Miserables again. I will try to post things as often as I possibly can, but I'm not taking a break year after I graduate, so I have to be focused on preparing for college right now. It sucks, but RL is as RL does.

Gomenasai!