My bad for the delay in the chapters, I just got back from a track meet.
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Kayla Fisher's alarm went off at 5:45 AM, and unlike mosts teenagers, she didn't hit snooze. Saturday morning practices were optional according to Coach Torres, which really meant they separated the serious athletes from everyone else. Kayla had never missed one.
She slipped out of bed and into her training clothes, laid out the night before to avoid waking her younger sister, Emma, who shared the room with her. The apartment was quiet as she tiptoed to the bathroom, careful to step over the creaky floorboard outside their door.
In the kitchen, her dad was already up, making coffee in his security guard uniform. He worked weekends at the mall, which meant early mornings for both of them.
"Morning, Kay," he said softly, sliding a banana and a protein bar across the counter to her. "Got time for eggs?"
"Thanks, Dad. Just this is good." She took the offerings and stuffed them into her training bag. "Mom still asleep?"
"Yeah, late shift last night." He poured coffee into his travel mug. "Need a ride? I can drop you at the school before my shift."
"Nah, Amara's mom is getting us." Kayla filled her water bottle at the sink. "But thanks."
Her dad nodded, used to her independence. "States coming up soon, right?"
"Two weeks," Kayla confirmed, a flutter of nerves accompanying the words. "Coach thinks I've got a shot at finals in the 300."
"That's my girl." He smiled, the pride evident in his tired eyes. "Give 'em hell."
"Always do." She kissed his cheek and headed for the door, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Tell Mom I'll be back by noon."
The hallway outside their apartment was dimly lit, the elevator perpetually out of service. Kayla jogged down three flights of stairs to the building's entrance, where Amara was already waiting in her mom's car.
"You're late," Amara announced as Kayla slid into the backseat.
"By like thirty seconds," Kayla rolled her eyes.
"Still late," Amara's mom chimed in with a smile. "Morning, Kayla."
"Morning, Mrs. Davis. Thanks for the ride."
"No problem, honey. I've got errands anyway." She pulled away from the curb, navigating the early morning streets with practiced ease. "You girls were out late last night."
"It was just a get-together, Mom," Amara said quickly. "Nothing crazy."
"Mhmm," Mrs. Davis hummed skeptically. "And how was the Westridge boy's house?"
Kayla caught Amara's eye, both of them attempting to hide their smiles. Mrs. Davis missed nothing.
"It was fine," Amara replied casually. "Very... clean."
"I bet." Mrs. Davis glanced at Kayla in the rearview mirror. "And how's that sprinter boy you've been texting?"
Kayla felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Miles? He's good. Just a friend from meets."
"A friend she disappeared with for twenty minutes," Amara added unhelpfully.
"We were just talking," Kayla protested, kicking the back of Amara's seat lightly.
"Save the drama for after practice, ladies," Mrs. Davis laughed as she pulled up to Central High's campus. "I'll pick you up at 11:30."
"Thanks, Mom," Amara said, already climbing out of the car.
"Thanks, Mrs. Davis," Kayla echoed, following her friend toward the field house.
The sky was just beginning to lighten as they approached the building, a few other dedicated teammates already stretching on the grass outside. Coach Torres's car was parked in its usual spot, which meant they weren't the first to arrive.
"So," Amara began once they were out of her mother's earshot, "you gonna tell me what really happened with Track Boy last night, or do I have to pry it out of you?"
"Nothing happened," Kayla insisted, though she couldn't keep the small smile from her face. "We just talked."
"Outside. Alone. In the dark."
"It wasn't dark. There were patio lights."
"Oh, patio lights," Amara mimicked dramatically. "So romantic."
Kayla shoved her friend playfully. "Shut up. We were just talking about the meet coming up."
"For twenty minutes?" Amara raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"And other stuff," Kayla admitted. "He's... different than I expected."
"Different how?"
Kayla considered the question as they entered the field house, the familiar smell of rubber track and sweat greeting them. How could she explain Miles Carter? He wasn't like the other track guys she knew—the ones who couldn't stop talking about their times or their muscles or how they were definitely getting recruited by some D1 school.
"He's quiet, but not in a boring way," she finally said. "And he's actually funny when he's comfortable. Plus, he's into good music."
"And he's hot," Amara added helpfully.
"I mean, yeah," Kayla conceded with a laugh. "That doesn't hurt."
They joined the small group of athletes already warming up on the track. Saturdays usually brought out about half the team—mostly sprinters and jumpers who needed the extra technical work. Coach Torres stood by the starting blocks with her clipboard, deep in conversation with Jen, Central's top 400 runner.
"Fisher, Davis, you're late," Coach called out without looking up. "Three extra 150s at the end."
"We're five minutes early!" Amara protested.
"Everyone else was ten minutes early," Coach countered, finally looking up with a hint of a smile. "Standards are rising. Warm up and join the dynamic circuit."
Kayla nodded, used to Coach Torres's style. She wasn't actually mad—this was just her way of pushing them. State championships were approaching, and Coach believed in peaking at exactly the right time.
As they began jogging around the track, Kayla felt her phone buzz in her pocket. Against her better judgment, she pulled it out quickly to check.
morning. good luck at practice. try not to die
Miles. She smiled and quickly typed back before Coach could notice.
already dying. extra 150s for being "late" 🙄
She stuffed the phone back in her pocket, oddly warmed by the simple exchange. They'd been texting more frequently since counties, but this was the first time he'd messaged her first thing in the morning.
"Is that him already?" Amara asked, noticing Kayla's poorly concealed smile.
"Maybe," Kayla admitted. "He's wishing me luck at practice."
"Cute. Did you tell him you're going to smoke his entire team at states?"
"Not yet. Saving that for when I actually do it."
They completed their warm-up and joined the rest of the group for dynamic drills. Coach Torres was in rare form today, nitpicking every movement and demanding perfection. As one of Central's top 300 specialists, Kayla received particular attention.
"Fisher, your arm drive is still collapsing at top speed," Coach called out as Kayla completed a flying 30. "You're leaving time on the track. Again, and focus on driving the elbows straight back."
Kayla lined up again, focusing on the technical correction. Coach Torres was tough, but she'd taken Kayla from a decent middle school runner to a state qualifier in less than two years. If she said arms were the issue, then arms were the issue.
The next repetition felt cleaner, and Coach's slight nod confirmed it was better.
"Good, Fisher. Now maintain that through fatigue. That's what separates finalists from champions."
Kayla absorbed the feedback, tucking it away with all the other technical cues she'd collected over the years. Her path to states hadn't been marked by raw talent like Miles's seemed to be. She'd grinded for every tenth of a second, every ounce of improvement.
After the technique work came the brutal part of Saturday practice: race-specific endurance. Today that meant 250m repeats at 90% effort with incomplete recovery. The kind of workout that left you questioning your life choices by the third repetition.
"Davis, Fisher, Chen, Patel—lane assignments are posted," Coach announced, pointing to the whiteboard. "Four reps, 3-minute recovery. I want consistent splits, not a heroes-to-zeroes situation. Got it?"
"Got it, Coach," they responded in unison.
As they lined up for the first rep, Jen Chen edged closer to Kayla. "Heard you were hanging with Westridge last night," she said casually. "What's their team like? Coach is always talking about their training methods."
"Wasn't exactly doing reconnaissance," Kayla replied, adjusting her starting position.
"Shame. Would've been good to know what they're doing differently. Their girls and guys are both crushing it this season."
"Their coach is legit," Kayla confirmed, remembering how Miles talked about training. "But so is ours."
"Better be," Jen said as Coach raised the whistle. "I'm not ending my senior year watching Westridge dominate headlines."
The whistle blew, and conversation ceased, replaced by the rhythmic pounding of spikes against the track. Kayla settled into her pace, focusing on the arm drive Coach had critiqued earlier. The first 150 meters felt strong, controlled, just as they'd trained. It was the last 100 that burned—legs heavy, lungs straining, form threatening to collapse.
Kayla gritted her teeth and drove through the line, immediately checking her watch.
"Thirty-one five," Coach called out. "Good, Fisher. Rest interval starts now."
Three more to go. Kayla walked slowly around the track, shaking out her legs and taking measured breaths. Amara jogged up beside her, having finished a second later.
"So," Amara picked up their earlier conversation as if there hadn't been an interruption, "are you two officially a thing now, or what?"
Kayla took a swig from her water bottle. "No labels. We're just... I don't know. Talking?"
"Talking," Amara repeated skeptically. "With a side of intense eye contact and disappearing to dark patios together."
"Not dark," Kayla corrected automatically. "And it's complicated. We go to different schools, and we're both focused on track right now."
"Excuses, excuses," Amara waved dismissively. "You like him."
Kayla couldn't deny it. There was something about Miles Carter that kept drawing her attention, and it wasn't just his impressive times or striking looks. She'd noticed him before counties, of course—everyone had. But it was during their smoothie not-quite-date that she'd started seeing past the quiet exterior.
"Maybe," she conceded. "But states comes first."
"Such a typical Fisher response," Amara laughed. "Always prioritizing the finish line."
"Ninety seconds!" Coach's voice cut through their conversation. "Second rep, positions!"
The next three repetitions blurred together in a haze of effort and recovery. By the final rep, Kayla's legs felt like concrete, each stride a battle against mounting fatigue. This was the part she secretly loved—pushing through when her body screamed to stop. Finding out what she was made of.
"Thirty-one eight," Coach called as she crossed the line for the final time. "Consistent. Good work, Fisher."
Kayla bent over, hands on her knees, lungs heaving. A mix of exhaustion and satisfaction washed over her. Coach Torres rarely gave compliments, so "good work" was high praise indeed.
"Now for your bonus 150s," Coach added with a hint of a smile. "Since you were 'late.'"
Amara groaned dramatically beside her. "You're killing us, Coach."
"Not yet, but I'm working on it." Coach checked her watch. "Take five, then line up."
As the other girls dispersed for their recovery, Kayla walked over to her bag to check her phone. Two new messages.
please tell me the 150s aren't actually extra
And then:
if you need life support after, just say the word. i know a guy
She smiled, typing back: might need that guy's number. coach is on a mission today
His reply came almost immediately: what doesn't kill you makes you faster? idk that's all i got
very inspirational. putting that on a t-shirt
"Fisher! Phone away!" Coach Torres called from across the track. "Recovery time's for recovery, not socializing."
"Yes, Coach!" Kayla quickly stashed her phone, but the smile remained.
The extra 150s were punishing as promised, but Kayla pushed through them with the others, focusing on maintaining her form even as fatigue set in. By the time Coach finally released them, every muscle in her body was protesting.
"Good session today, ladies," Coach said as they gathered their things. "States is two weeks out. Everything we do between now and then matters. Recovery, nutrition, sleep—all of it. Fisher, Chen, a word before you go."
Kayla exchanged a glance with Jen. Being singled out could mean anything from extra critique to good news. They approached Coach as the others headed for the showers.
"Your 300 times are both in qualifying position for states," Coach said without preamble. "Based on the performance data, you both have a legitimate shot at making finals."
Kayla felt a surge of excitement despite her exhaustion. Finals at states had been her goal since the season began.
"That said," Coach continued, "the competition this year is fierce. Particularly from schools like Westridge and North Heights."
Jen shifted beside Kayla. "Carter's school has a strong girls' team too."
"Yes," Coach nodded. "Among others. I've been reviewing the schedule, and if projections hold, you'll be running your 300 right after the boys' heat with Carter. All eyes will be on the track after his race."
Kayla's stomach did a small flip. Running immediately after Miles hadn't really crossed her mind. Girls and boys races were always separate, but in the 300, they often ran alternating heats on the same schedule.
"Good," she said with more confidence than she felt. "Should be interesting."
Coach Torres studied her for a moment. "Just remember, on the track, there are no friends. Only competitors."
"Yes, Coach."
"Alright, get cleaned up. Recovery shake within 30 minutes, ice bath if you can. See you Monday."
As they walked toward the locker rooms, Jen nudged Kayla's shoulder. "So you're friends with Carter now?"
"Sort of," Kayla hedged. "We've talked at meets."
"Hmm." Jen seemed unconvinced. "Just be careful. Westridge boys have a reputation."
"For what?"
"Being entitled," Jen shrugged. "The school's in a nicer area than ours. Different world."
Kayla thought about Miles, about his worn sneakers when they weren't his track spikes, about the way he'd mentioned working around his mom's nursing schedule. He didn't strike her as entitled at all.
"I think that's a generalization," she said carefully. "Miles isn't like that."
"If you say so," Jen replied, clearly unconvinced. "Just don't let whatever this is distract you from states. We need you focused."
"I am focused," Kayla insisted. "Track comes first."
But as she showered and changed, she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to compete with Miles watching. Would it make her nervous? Push her to run faster? The thought brought a mixture of anxiety and excitement that she wasn't quite ready to examine.
Back at home, Kayla sat on her bed with her recovery shake, scrolling through her phone while her sister played some kind of puzzle game on the family's shared tablet.
"How was practice?" Emma asked without looking up.
"Brutal," Kayla replied. "Coach is in states mode."
"Did you throw up?"
"No," Kayla laughed at her twelve-year-old sister's fascination with the more extreme aspects of track training. "Close, though."
"Bummer," Emma said, clearly disappointed by the lack of drama. "Mom said to tell you she's working until eight, and there's leftover pasta for lunch."
"Cool." Kayla checked her messages again. Miles had sent a post-practice check-in.
survived my workout too. coach made us do 500-300-200-100 ladder. think i saw the light at one point
She smiled and replied: weak. we did 4x250 plus those extra 150s. pretty sure i left my soul on the track
just checked, i think our souls are hanging out together by the finish line
Something about his texts made even her exhausted muscles feel a little lighter. It was nice having someone who understood the particular kind of suffering that came with sprint training.
"Who are you texting?" Emma asked, suddenly peering over Kayla's shoulder. "You're doing that weird smile thing."
"None of your business," Kayla turned her phone away.
"Is it a booooyfrieeeend?" Emma teased in a sing-song voice.
"No, just a friend," Kayla insisted, though she felt her cheeks warming.
"A boy friend or a boyfriend?" Emma pressed, fully abandoning her game now.
"Just a guy from track," Kayla said, attempting to sound casual. "From another school."
Emma's eyes widened. "Ooooh, Mom's going to freak. She always says focus on school, not boys."
"Which is why we're not telling her, right?" Kayla gave her sister a meaningful look.
Emma considered this, clearly calculating the value of her silence. "What's in it for me?"
"My undying gratitude?" Kayla offered.
"Try again."
"Fine," Kayla sighed. "You can borrow my blue hoodie for your field trip next week."
"And your silver earrings," Emma added.
"Don't push it."
"Deal." Emma extended her hand formally, and Kayla shook it, trying not to smile at her sister's serious expression. "So, is he cute?"
Kayla hesitated, then pulled up Miles's Instagram, showing Emma a team photo where he was tagged. "That's him."
Emma studied the picture, her eyes widening. "Whoa. He looks like someone from a magazine or something. Like, actual perfect." She looked up at Kayla with newfound respect. "How did you even talk to him without getting weird?"
"He's just a normal guy," Kayla laughed, taking her phone back, though she couldn't deny her first impression had been similar. "Now leave me alone. I need to stretch before my muscles seize up completely."
As Emma wandered off, Kayla pulled up the state championship heat sheets Coach had emailed out. Sure enough, the preliminary heats for the boys' and girls' 300m were scheduled back-to-back. She'd be running right after Miles.
The thought sent a flutter of nerves through her stomach that had nothing to do with competition. She'd have to find that line between supporting him and focusing on her own race—something she'd never had to consider before.
Her phone buzzed again.
what are you doing for the rest of the weekend?
She thought for a moment before responding: recovery today, homework tomorrow. thrilling stuff
same. wanna be bored together? could study at the library or something
Kayla smiled, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. An actual invitation to hang out, not just run into each other at track meets or team gatherings.
sure. which library?
They worked out the details for the following afternoon, and Kayla set her phone down, unable to stop smiling despite her aching muscles. Her mom would probably give her the "focus on your grades and track, not boys" speech if she knew, but Kayla figured what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
Besides, it was just studying. With a boy she couldn't stop thinking about. Who happened to be her potential competition's teammate. And who made her heart beat a little faster whenever he texted.
Totally uncomplicated.
Kayla flopped back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Two weeks until states. Two weeks to stay focused, to perfect her race strategy, to get her mind right.
She could do this. She could balance everything—school, track, family, and whatever this thing with Miles was becoming. She'd been juggling responsibilities her whole life.
As her muscles gradually relaxed, Kayla allowed herself to imagine standing on the awards podium at states, medal around her neck. In her mind's eye, she could see Miles watching from the sidelines, that small half-smile on his face.
The image made her more determined than ever to make it happen—not for him, but for herself. To prove that she belonged among the elite, that all her early mornings and weekend practices had been worth it.
With renewed resolve, she rolled over and began her stretching routine. States was coming, and Kayla Fisher would be ready.