Free What They Always Tell Us by Martin Wilson Page A

coach says, pausing in front of him.
    “Yes, sir.” He stands and, for lack of anything else to do, shakes his hand. “Uh, thanks for letting me try out today.”
    Coach Runyon is all business. “We have a solid team here. Not the best in the state, but pretty darn good. But we’re short one man, which I guess Nathen told you about. And we need a full roster to be competitive in the team competition. So I’m looking for someone to fill in this coming spring season. We’ll be doing some track events, but we also have some road races.”
    “Great,” he says, even though he knows this already.
    “I’ve tried out a few other guys already, but no one has really impressed me. Nathen says you’ve got talent.”
    Alex lets out a shy smile and shrugs. He’s never been able to take a compliment or praise.
    “So,” Coach says, “I’m going to have you run a mile, just to get a look. That’s basically four laps around the track. You about ready?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    With Nathen watching and with Coach Runyon’s hand on his stopwatch, Alex takes his place behind the fat line that marks the starting point in the innermost lane. Coach counts down from five and then Alex takes off. His rubbery legs suddenly kick to life and he lets loose, as if racing next to actual opponents. He hears Nathen shouting encouragement as he passes them after the first lap, and then the second. By the third lap he is sucking for air. He probably started out too fast, but he feels good—nice, even strides, pumping his fists, his legs feeling bouncy on the track, like they could keep going for hours. When he passes them for the last lap, he sees Coach Runyon scrutinizing the stopwatch, Nathen hovering at his shoulder.
    Approaching the end of the run, Alex knows that in a few minutes his fate will be sealed. Coach will want him or not. He’ll either return to gym next semester or be part of this team. Both prospects are scary. And how will he face Nathen if he fails, not to mention James? Will Nathen drop away, back to being James’s friend and on the periphery of Alex’s existence? He almost doesn’t want to finish running, afraid of what comes next. But he crosses the finish line anyway, slowing down, breathing heavily but evenly. He walks ahead and soon Nathen is at his side, slapping him on the back, saying, “Great job, bud!”
    Nathen is proud of him, at least. Alex turns back and heads toward Coach Runyon, whose opinion is the only one that matters.
    Coach Runyon walks toward him, still eyeballing his stopwatch. “Five minutes, forty-three seconds. Not bad for a novice with no training,” he says. “You’ve never run competitively before?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Doesn’t matter. Nathen’s right—you’ve got talent. A nice stride, though you need to shorten it. And you definitely need to learn about pacing. But it’s a good start.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Now, I want you to work on cutting your time before January. I’ll give you a chart with times to aim for, and splits. And I want you to come see me after school a few days a week, to work on your form. You’ll need to do some training on weekends, too.”
    Alex nods, then says, “So…” He looks at Nathen and then back at the coach. “Does this mean, well, that I’m on the team?”
    Coach, ever stone-faced and earnest, extends his hand. “You’re on the team. Congrats.”
    Alex is speechless for a moment, but he manages to squeak out a thanks.
    “I knew you’d do it,” Nathen says, walking Alex to his car. He has his arm draped lightly around Alex’s shoulder, and this only adds to his stunned euphoria.
    “I still can’t believe it,” Alex says. But he edits himself from saying what he’s really thinking—I can’t believe I’m an athlete now; I can’t believe I belong to a team; I can’t believe your arm is around me.
    Almost everyone from school is long gone, so there’s nobody in the parking lot, save for a few cars here and there, sprinkled about like