THE COMPETITION.

Part two.

Gil & Greg friendship.

A week in Greg's life. It's Saturday, and Greg looks back on the events that altered the course of his life. It all started on Monday…

Things had started to get out of control on…

MONDAY (flashback)

It was late in the evening and Greg was about to leave for work, when his phone rang.

"Greg Sanders," he said promptly.

"Hey, Sanders," came the reply, "Do you always answer the phone with that wimpy voice?"

"Excuse me?" He asked. He hadn't recognized the voice at first but when the guy burst out laughing, Greg knew who the voice belonged to. Still, he had his doubts. "Who is this?" he asked cautiously.

"Chip Barnes!" replied the man, "Chip Barnes, Sanders; the one who used to mop the floors of Lincoln High… with your head! Bwah, ha, ha, ha! Remember me?"

Oh, that Chip. Greg remembered, all right.

"Hello? Sanders? You there?"

Unfortunately, Greg thought. He didn't want to talk to this guy; they'd never been friends, and the last time they'd spoken had been twelve, thirteen years ago.

Not that Greg hadn't heard about him since then. He knew that Barnes lived in Oregon, for instance; he also knew that, in a bizarre turn of events, Chip had ended up working as a DNA technician too, (hey, the guy was not stupid, he was just a jerk).

"What do you want?" Greg asked dryly.

"I just thought I'd let you know that I'll be seeing you, soon." He said, "I'm gonna run on Sunday, too."

"You?" Greg frowned, "Why would you do that?"

"I'm working in law enforcement now!" Chip said cheerfully.

"Weren't you working for a pharmaceutical company?"

"I was, Sanders; not anymore. Now I work for the Oregon Police Department! I'm running with them this year! By the way," he added, "I heard you're running too. I was surprised, you know? You stank at sports. But then I found out who you're running with, and it all made sense."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, I've heard those guys from CSI haven't finished a race in years." He said, "It looks like you're stuck with the losers, Sanders. AGAIN. Bwah, ha, ha, ha!"

Chip made some other comments, and then he hung up.

Greg threw the phone at the opposite wall. 'Take that!' he hissed, and he wished the phone had hit Chip in person and not a poster of his favorite music group.

God, he hated Chip-

Chip. Why did bullies always have names like that? Chip, Chuck, Mick.

One-syllable names for one-track minded guys. Chip was older now and a scientist, but the bully had survived in him.

Some things never changed.

But others did. It suddenly dawned on him that Chip Barnes would not be able to mop any floors with his head now. Greg Sanders was not a skinny weakling with a bad case of acne, anymore. He pumped iron and he ran; his face had cleared, and, most importantly, he was a wiser man now.

Unfortunately... the part about being stuck with the losers might just be true.

Saturday:

Greg took off his tennis shoes and put them in his locker.

Thinking of Chip's call made him realize just how childish the man was, calling him and talking as if they were still teenagers. And the worst part was that Greg had reacted in the same vein.

Now Greg wanted to believe that if things hadn't changed so dramatically, he would have taken the high road when he faced Chip. He would have uttered the grown up version of 'stick and stones...' and then he would have run with his CSI pals.

But he had received yet another call, and this one had set a new chain of events in motion.

That call came on Tuesday…

TBC